#ursula danforth

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Titus

They had gathered for his father’s 90th birthday. The old sack was close to dying, finally, so he had been adamant to cash in on just as many promises, I-owe-yous and revenge plots that seemingly fell through the cracks over the years. 

Luckily for him, his tenacious sister Ursula had taken care of all the planning, making sure that the weeklong celebration would be the goriest, gnarliest, most satisfactory of his life. Even Titus had promised to be on his best behavior, and even though that meant little, it would help them get through it gracefully at the least.

Their estate had started buzzing with people as early as nine in the morning. It somehow felt inhuman, ungodly, for so many people to be parading themselves up the driveway in their summer best, fake laughter and polite conversation filling up the breathable air with tension and distrust.

It was no secret the other families didn’t respect them. They didn’t have to, it had always been enough for them to be feared. That’s how they maintained their power. How they kept everyone pliable and loyal. But it was at these gatherings that it became unbearable for Titus to deal with the phoniness.

He could smell the discomfort on them. Would catch the slightest flinch, the tension in their bodies, the disdain hidden behind turbulent eyes. They though they were so clever, locked like vaults, but the truth was that Titus always knew.

It took everything in him to remain stoic. This was a celebration for fuck’s sake, why was no one acting like it? Why were they all cowardly and—

“Oh ma petit fille!” His father’s voice broke through Titus’s daydream. He’d gotten as far as ripping Mr. Kipling’s throat out with his pick axe, the mere thought of his warm blood bathing him the first comfort he’d felt all day.

That was until his gaze focused on the person who had elated his father with her presence this much.

His heart nearly stopped on its own, his brain desperately urging it to keep pumping, to not let him show even an ounce of distress, but it was near impossible. His sister caught onto him almost instantly and smirked lightly under her breath, stepping back so that her father could push himself forward to meet you.

“C’est moi, papa,” you replied in your perfect French as you crouched down to plant two kisses on either cheek, causing the old man to blush lightly. 

Disgusting. Titus had his gripes with his father, that much was obvious, but this, this display of affection towards you always made him remember just why he wanted the old man dead and buried.

He wasn’t your biological father, Titus had made sure of it. For a long time neither him or Ursula were fully convinced. The way the old man had doted on you was…concerning to say the least. Ursula loved you, but the mere possibility of having to fight with you for their inheritance made her spiral to the point that he had ordered a DNA test.

He would be lying if he didn’t have ulterior motives at play. You simply could not be his sister too. You were already half his age, the kid he saw grow up, cared for, nurtured and — maybe it would’ve been easier if you were related. At least all those urges would finally have to be put down to rest and he would be able to move on with his fucking life.

But an even more fucked up part of him couldn’t help but celebrate when the test came back negative. No relation whatsoever. Fair game for him to do whatever he wanted. That was if his father didn’t have anything to do with it, and unfortunately for Titus, the old man did.

“Ça va?” His father held your hands in his tightly as you answered. Last Titus knew you were in…Florence? God knows, his father was cryptically vague every time Ursula brought you up. Oh she’s in France, she’s in Tokyo, she’s…anywhere but here.

For the first few years it felt like punishment, as though the old man was doing everything in his power to keep you as far away from Titus as humanly possible. He’d even been foolish enough to try to find you one summer, had flown himself halfway across the world but by the time he’d made it to the small chalet in Switzerland, his father had informed them that you had decided to surprise him for the holidays instead.

He’d almost laid waste to the entire village that night, the bloodshed something that he’d been slightly ashamed to admit to as his family’s attorneys worked overtime to make sure no one ever knew what had truly gone down. A “freak accident” was all that got reported, not that Titus concerned himself with things like that.

“Ursula, my darling, I will take her inside to get settled, please tell our guests that I will be with them after for lunch.”

He didn’t even get to say hello to you, only managed to catch your eye and soft smile as you walked past him. You still smelled the same. Like pears and soft linens and summer. He caught himself closing his eyes, inhaling your scent before he could stop himself and it took him a long second to regain his composure.

Ursula cleared her throat. Behave. 

But whatever promises he had made to his sister were no longer valid. Not when you were now involved.

He was practically buzzing with excitement. So much so that he could not be bothered engaging in meaningless conversation with the remaining families, almost brazenly rejecting every single advance from their daughters and some of their sons. He didn’t realize that he too was playing a role this weekend, one that he’d been able to dodge thus far.

But not again.

By the time lunch was served in the outdoor courtyard, you were nowhere to be found.

Titus lingered in wings, always away from the group as he nursed his first glass of scotch. He waited, impatiently, until Ursula brought their father out onto the patio. The second he saw the old man, without you finally, he slyly stepped back into the house to go find you.

Their family estate was enormous. So much so that they had to move around in golf carts if they wanted to get anywhere at a decent enough time. The main house was no different. It was regal in a way that would easily spook anyone who didn’t have intimate knowledge of the family and their ways of life.

Titus never remembered you being intimidated by it. If anything, you had always felt like you belonged. You’d moved in after his mother passed away, the daughter of their newest housekeeper. He’d met you only once as a child, a simple introduction that he didn’t care about as he was much more interested in getting his dick wet and terrorizing every single girl that looked his way. 

No, it was only after you’d graduated from the posh boarding school his father had shipped you off to and had been allowed to come back to the estate for the summer that he really paid attention.

He had been an asshole then. You were freshly eighteen, had your entire life ahead of you, and if it hadn’t been for Ursula’s warnings and his own father’s protection, he would’ve used his power over you to claim you as his own.

Now he was thankful that had never happened.

Instead the two of you had become friends. Well, as friendly as Titus let anyone get.

You’d gotten comfortable as part of their lives. Riding with Ursula, learning how to fence with her private instructor, and even helping out with the chores of the house when their father wasn’t looking. He would not have you lift a finger, not after…well, not after their proclivities had cost your mother her life.

They’d given you everything. And in return — Titus didn’t even want to let the thoughts he was having get confirmed into reality. He knew his family, knew what they were capable of, and he simply could not allow himself to even think what disgusting and depraved things his father could possibly be asking from you.

He practically skipped up the stairs towards your room, two at a time, as he ventured into the sealed off wing of the house, one that he had frequented enough over the past few years.

Everyone on staff knew about it, they’d caught him in your room plenty of times not to know. But they were all loyal, all rooting for him to finally get the girl, get you, so they had never told his father about what they had found him doing.

Their staff were not paid to have opinions, but they certainly had eyes. To say that he’d had to replace your entire underwear drawer countless times would be a understatement. They had no idea how Titus did it, but the mess, the stickiness would get so severe at times that the only thing he could do to fix it was to simply buy everything brand new and pretend like it had always been that pristine.

The door was closed, like it usually was. His heart hammered against his chest, causing his ears to clog up. He shifted his weight from the balls of his feet to the front, desperate to not make a single noise as he pressed his ear to your door, eager for even a morsel of sound to indicate you were in your room.

He couldn’t wait any longer. Could barely contain himself. He knew this would most likely be his one chance to strike. If his father would not let him fight for you, he would take you by force, not that you would object anyway, he knew the second his hands grabbed a hold of you, any reservation left behind by the poisonous words of his father would disappear and you would be his.

His to claim, finally.

The door swung open then and he practically jumped out of his skin.

It wasn’t you. It was Alina, one of the cleaning staff.

She tried her best to maintain a plain expression but he could tell she wanted to smirk brightly at his childish display of emotions.

Fuck. 

Titus stepped away to let her through, cleared his throat and straightened himself back up, smoothing down his jacket and pocketing his sunglasses before he…he should’ve turned to leave, should’ve known where you’d be hiding if it wasn’t your room. But curiosity would always win over with him.

Your suitcase was wide open on the bed, as if you’d started unpacking and something pulled you away to a much more interesting task. 

It had always been like this for you. You drifted from one thing to the next without a care in the world, always following curiosity like an itch you needed to scratch instantly and would leave behind the second it no longer satisfied you.

How you’d managed to get through undergrad and a masters program had been beyond him. But there they were, your two degrees hanging on the wall beside countless pictures and tokens of your years living in the estate.

He loved the polaroid pictures you had taken of him and Ursula the summer before you left. His sister had been dating some venture capitalist from Italy and you had spent the majority of your time practicing your Italian with him while they lounged by the pool.

He’d almost killed him right then and there for taking up so much of your time. He wanted your attention on him instead, craved it desperately, but he didn’t speak any other languages, didn’t have a way with words like you both seemed to, didn’t know how he could communicate so much longing in a way that would not scare you away from him.

So he stayed quiet, like he usually did, and instead tried to show you through his actions.

He’d been unbelievably gentle, fleeting touches to the back of your neck to guide you in and out of rooms, a subtle hand under your knee to help you on and off the saddle, a gentle graze of your cheek with his thumb as you cried when the house erupted in violent screams and bloodthirstiness.

The Italian had been unfortunate in his wedding night game choice. It was sad, Titus had actually grown to tolerate him. But the second he understood what was really happening and the type of family he had married into, the idiot had ran straight to you, to “save you”.

Titus had disregarded the head start the second he heard you scream. He would pay the price later, rules be damned. He bolted up the stairs to this very room and found you on the floor, the man practically berating you as he called you every name in the book. He tried to explain that he was just trying to help you escape his fate, but Titus didn’t even register his words as he only saw your nightgown torn, your cheeks stained with tears and scratches tainting your soft skin.

He didn’t even think about it, only registering what he’d done when your sobs filled the room for a different reason this time.

The sad sack of an excuse was lying on you, lifeless, blood gushing from the impaled pick axe on his cranium, covering you completely in crimson.

If it had been any other circumstance, Titus would not have hesitated in devouring you whole, his tongue masterfully licking up any and every drop off your skin in penance for getting you dirty.

But his eyes finally found your own and he saw the worst sight he’d ever been privy to.

Fear.

He inched forward, hands out in surrender but you flinched back.

His heart broke.

He stood there for a long second, unsure on what to do, on how to fix this.

It wasn’t until Ursula rushed into the room and yelled at him to leave that he finally allowed himself to move.

Had his father not told you? Was this how you were finding out what kind of family they truly were? What kind of man he was?

He didn’t even have the time to explain himself as, by the following morning, you were gone.

God, you looked exactly the same. You’d obviously grown up significantly since the last time he truly saw you. Your hair was longer, wild and free, a stark contrast to the pristine Danforth image his father had tried to keep. He’d finally allowed you to stop lightening it too as it was now back to its natural dark brown. And your body? It finally made him understand why men would go off and fight in war — all so they could come back home to see how much the women they loved had changed in their time away.

Your body was curvy and plump in all the right places. No longer shy about the weight of your breasts or the way your waist accentuated your ass. You carried yourself with confidence and divinity. You were a vision, would’ve been written about by the ancient Greeks, would’ve easily had wars started for your honor if given the chance.

He glanced down at your suitcase, eager for something to steal to let you know he’d been there. But mostly in search for something he could use to deal with the tightness in his pants.

“There you are—”

He almost celebrated, almost thanked the universe for all its divine intervention until his lustful brain finally took a back seat and his faculties processed that the voice wasn’t yours.

He swallowed an annoyed groan as he turned to face the fresh, pink clad woman. He didn’t recognize her, didn’t care to honestly. She was just one of many, all equally as uninteresting, all desperate for his attention. All destined to never get it.

She took a step forward, into your room, into your private space. Titus’s jaw clenched instantly and she could tell something had shifted in the air. Her once glossy stare turned sharp, fight or flight causing her stomach to drop. She didn’t know why but she was suddenly feeling overwhelmingly exposed.

She swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Danforth, I—”

He didn’t let her finish, didn’t have the patience for it. It wasn’t the release he was searching for, but it would have to do, for now.

His hand wrapped itself around her neck and he squeezed, tightly. She struggled against him but he was stronger. Would always be stronger than these weak, whiny, desperate women that deemed themselves so worthy of breathing the same air as him — as you — that they would dare disrespect him, his family, his home, his future w—

Crack.

He barely got the chance to enjoy the way her body went limp, the familiar and comforting weight of lifelessness nothing more than an annoyance as he let his grip falter. Not even the thud of the body slamming against the carpeted floor brought him any satisfaction.

“Jesus fuck, Titus,” his sister’s shrill blended in with his boredom. “You promised—”

“I rescind my promise.”

And with that he finally allowed himself to leave your room, practically running away from his sister and what would most definitely be a chide later when everyone else had gone to sleep.

By the time he returned downstairs, the meal was over. He glanced over to the table, your seat still empty and his father not in the slightest bit concerned. He must’ve known where you were to be this calm. Who wasn’t calm at all were the Kiplings, both husband and wife whispering harshly as Titus noticed the empty seat that most likely belonged to their darling daughter beside them.

That almost made him content. He couldn’t help but smirk, putting his sunglasses back on and exiting onto the patio to pretend at the very least that he was his father’s prized son.

He’d tried to get information from his father all afternoon, but the old man was tight lipped and almost annoyingly cryptic about everything that left his mouth. It wasn’t until staff began ushering wives and children towards their respective lodgings for the week like prized cattle, and all the heads of the families retreated to the study that he caught a glimpse of you.

You’d changed out of your pale yellow dress, the one he was certain his father had made you wear as it resembled an eggshell white, a not subtle nod to your status within the family, and now wore a silky maroon gown, his favorite color on you.

His gaze followed your movements as you snuck into the kitchen, expertly avoiding every single person left in the house. But not him. You would never be able to dodge him.

He waited a second before he stood up from the leather loveseat he’d practically been bullied into by one of the heads. The man had been talking about his business, how well it had been doing the past two quarters and how his daughter was the sole heir to it all. A well endowed fortune for the Danforth’s to acquire.

He almost rolled his eyes as he stood up, making up some whatever excuse so he could leave this conversation. And he did, without so much as a care in the world. He didn’t need some dumb girl as his consolation prize, didn’t need a new “successful business” to add to his portfolio. He already had the world in the palm of his hand.

The only thing missing was you.

He didn’t enter the kitchen right away. No, he lingered again.

“¿Con qué te ayudo?”

“Mi amor, no te preocupes. Déjate consentir, es lo mínimo que podemos hacer por ti, por favor.”

“Marta—”

“Te vas a tener que acostumbrar, cariño,” he heard their head of staff chuckle lovingly yet, there was an air of sadness. “¿Ya se comenzaron a pelear?”

Titus’s Spanish was…good. Enough. But even that had him reeling. 

Have they started fighting yet?

Oh his father was definitely a horrible man.

You were here for exactly the reason he suspected and his father hadn’t even given him the chance to fight him on it, to fight for it. 

“¿Lo has visto?”

That’s what did him in. He couldn’t hold back any longer.

He pushed the door open, stoic. “¿Visto a quién?”

Both your gazes snapped to him. Marta’s cheeks blushed crimson as she excused herself from the kitchen and escaped as quickly as she possibly could while you offered him a smile, unrestrained yet tired and heavy.

“Your Spanish got better.”

“You’ve been away a long time.” He shrugged, hands clasped behind his back as if to physically restrain himself as he paced forward, closer and closer to you.

He caught your breathing picking up, how you instinctively began to play with your fingers, how you practically heaved with expectation and desire. It was subtle, but to him even the slightest twitch registered in his mind, filled his lungs with pride.

He almost smirked, almost, but then—

“Sir, not another step forward.”

He turned to the other side of the kitchen. A man, dressed in a polished suit, earpiece and most definitely a high caliber handgun strapped to the back of his pants, stood in the shadows.

“Oh yeah, did I forget to mention Duke? A gift from your father for the week.”

Titus fully chuckled then. He had been foolish to think the old man had no idea how he would react the second he realized you were their prized possession for his birthday.

He also knew right then and there that you could not speak freely, could not breathe without this neanderthal running to tell his father. This would definitely be reported the second you went to sleep and he tried to sneak through the secret passages into your room.

He finally accepted what the secret meeting being conducted upstairs had been about and his stomach burned.

“How many?” How many do I have to kill?

“God knows, well, no, your father’s handling it. They’ll ‘get a good look at me’ tomorrow for brunch and then they’ll decide. But they’ve begun conversations already.”

You were too calm. It honestly made his blood boil even more. Part of him couldn’t help but think that you wanted him to do something about it. He knew you couldn’t outwardly say it, couldn’t defy his father’s word in any way other than what you had already done a couple of summers ago, but the person that you had been beaten into was definitely not the person he remembered from back then.

You were like this now because of him and it broke his heart all over again.

“Do you want anything?” You asked him as you moved around the kitchen like you owned the place, because you did, you always had.

“What are you offering?”

“Sandwich?”

“Fine.”

He watched you, still like a statue, hands still locked behind his back. He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare test his luck, his status, his power. Not in front of you, not now when you were so broken he wanted nothing more than to take the last few years back and having had the balls to run away with you.

Duke almost leapt across the room as you stepped up to Titus, plate in each hand. He was so close he couldn’t help but lean in, slightly. You ushered him back to the kitchen island with nothing more than a twitch of your brow and he obeyed, walking in tandem with you until you were caged in by the ivory marble.

The ceramic plates echoed in the quiet kitchen but neither of you cared. It was a silent taunt, a test of boundaries and orders, and when Duke didn’t pounce, you sneakily handed Titus a note.

The man before you practically beamed, pocketing the piece of paper instantly as if nothing had really happened. The two of you ate in silence, uncomfortable and charged, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered because his mind was made up. And he would be damned if he didn’t start a war in your honor.

Titus didn’t want to leave you, but when his sister walked into the kitchen and told you that their father was expecting you, he had no choice but to let you go.

Unfortunately for him, it meant his sister was finally alone in a room with him. All anger and unbridled rage.

“Leave her alone while you still can,” she commanded but he knew she didn’t mean it.

“You knew.”

“Of course I knew, don’t be so naive little brother. What did you expect would happen?”

Titus didn’t answer.

“I was able to keep her away long enough but we both know she’s his final chance at an heir, at the continuation of our line.”

“She’s not his to sell—”

“She is! She’s not yours, not mine. She belongs to him and he will do with her whatever he pleases.” She took a step forward, pleading. “You had your chance and you blew it. Now you know how much it cost her.”

His entire body itched with distress. He needed to kill something. Needed to scratch until all he saw was red and all he could feel was your soft skin under his fingers again. He knew, fuck he knew how much he had cost you, but he hadn’t seen it until today.

“So get your shit together and snap out of it.”

Two years ago…two years ago he could’ve had it all. But he had been foolish, had gotten comfortable and believed that he had time. 

Alone in the kitchen, he finally allowed himself to look at the note you left him.

Your father’s study, twenty-three.

He didn’t have time to process the words as he glanced down at his watch. That was five minutes ago. He rushed to the pantry, expertly pulling the hidden door open and running in the literal dark up the stairs.

You’d spent enough time hiding in the walls of the house to know them inside and out. You wanted him to bare witness to something, so much so that you had stated it as your first and only real communication with him in over two years.

He made sure to skillfully sprint up the stairs, sucking in his stomach to slide in between the panels and finally squeeze himself behind his father’s bookshelf. He slid the piece of cardboard you had left behind to eavesdrop to the side and pressed his eye through the hole.

You sat across from him, his father’s back to him as you both sat in your respective armchairs. 

“I don’t know why you’re shocked, you knew how he’d react,” you spoke, composed and calm.

His father coughed in response. “I had hoped he’d be less foolish.”

“Hmmm.” You took a sip of your drink. “This is good.”

“Glad you like it,” the older man leaned forward. “I’ve chosen already.”

You nodded, so out of it you could barely contain your disdain.

His father slapped you then, too hard for a dying man to be able to do. You barely flinched, only tightened your grip on the glass, not daring to spill a single drop.

“Need I remind you of your place?”

You shook your head, pliable and submissive. Oh what Titus would give to have you in that state only comfortable and taken care of, loved. 

“No sir.”

“Good,” he coughed again. “I don’t have time for your disobedience, not right now.”

“It’s not disobedience, sir,” you whispered. “I just thought they would…” you lost your courage for a second but then your gaze lifted and met Titus’s. You took a deep breath, tears falling from your eyes finally. “I thought they’d honor tradition and fight for it.”

Titus only grew angrier as he heard you call your hand in marriage nothing more than a thing, an object, something that could be bought and sold with no greater weight to it.

The old man laughed, cruelly. “Oh sweetheart, we both know why that’s never going to happen.”

“You should at least let them try—”

“He won’t try, he’ll win, and I can’t have that.”

“I’ll give you grandchildren,” you blurted out and it was as though all the air was sucked out of the room, Titus’s front tightening against his pants. “You’ll have your heir before you die.”

“I could have my heir whenever I wanted, with or without your consent,” the old man struggled to stand up but he still made the effort, towering over you with an infernal passion that even made Titus shiver. “I could have you carrying my offspring tonight if I really wanted to—”

“You couldn’t,” you replied, defiant, finally. Titus couldn’t help but feel his heart swell. “My mother was many things but she wasn’t stupid. The deal she made is still in effect. I would truly hate to see you explode before you have the chance to die a slow and painful death.”

That seemed to shut the old man up.

He sat back down, coughing more than normal. The door swung open and Duke rushed inside, his father’s nurse right behind him. They placed an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth which he removed for a second to tell you—

“Fine, my daughter, you’ll have your hunt.”

And with that you left the room.

Titus let you disappear back into your room to calm down. He needed to prepare, had to get ready for what would be the most important hunt of his entire life.

He practically salivated at the thought of what was to come, of the carnage and bloodshed he was about to be allowed to enact. All in the name of love, in the name of you.

“Sir,” his thoughts were cut short as the head of his security stepped into his room. “We’ve got a situation developing up in the northern boundary that needs your attention.”

He should’ve thought about it for two more seconds. Should’ve been more distrusting of anything and everything that was being said to him. But instead, he simply grunted in annoyance and followed the man onto their truck, setting off into the night.

Unbeknownst to him, dinner had been served back in the main house, all the families had been gathered as his father finally paraded you around for the other families to see.

From what Ursula told him later, every eligible male (and the old sad sacks that accompanied them) were practically drooling at you as you took your seat at the head of the table with them.

“My friends,” his father started. “It has been such a delight to have you all here with us this evening. I am thankful for your continued support and loyalty, it is only together that we can truly maintain our grip on this industry, on the world,” he tipped his glass towards you. “On our legacy.”

You finally smiled, a true smile, eyes searching for Titus around the table. But as you found nothing, your stomach dropped. Ursula noticed, concern laced on her features uncharacteristically.

The old man chuckled as your eyes met, only then did he continue his macabre speech.

“My beautiful daughter,” he pointed towards you. “Was supposed to be wed this year, but I believe I have an even better prize for you all tonight— whoever can bring me her head by dawn will get to choose one of my blood children to wed.”

Murmurs of excitement brought the night are ablaze, further feeding into the spectacle, into the grandioseness of the event. If the Danforth patriarch could give up the child he’d raised to be a part of his family, part of his blood and sacrifice her to their demonic leader all for a show of good grace and betterment of their clan, they too could let themselves be seduced by the call to make you bleed.

“We begin…” the clock struck midnight. “Now.”

You

You should’ve fucking known. Should’ve anticipated it. Should’ve at least considered it as a possibility.

You knew the old man wasn’t stupid. You knew he knew you weren’t stupid. This submissive act had fooled no one, if anything it had only made him angrier and he’d kept you alive out of spite, to play with his meal before he brutally murdered you and broke his son’s heart forever.

He could’ve let you wed three years ago. Should’ve allowed you to by honor and law. But he refused. He’d been so adamant in his punishment, so infuriated when he’d found out that he’d confined you to a prison of his own making. Isolated and alone. Destined to go through all the pain and sorrow alone. Forgotten.

Titus didn’t know. There was no way he did or else his father would not be alive still.

You wanted to tell him, were going to tell him so many times but each one got you a week in solitary confinement and after a year of living like that, you decided to stop trying.

By the second year, the trauma and pain had subsided. You had become soft and pliable, exactly what Mr. Danforth wanted. You were close to giving in, close to accepting the terms of your contract and agreeing to marry whatever dumb finance bro the old man had his sights set on for the good of the business, but then the letter arrived.

You had been holed up in their Spain estate, close to the factory and closer to where the old man kept his doctors. You didn’t know how or who slipped the first one through the crack in your door, but suddenly there it was.

You tried to rip the envelope with poise, not daring to cause a sound that wasn’t within your normal ones. You still didn’t know who you could trust, who was guarding your door, who could hear you through the microphones and cameras that they had certainly hidden throughout the room.

You waddled over to the balcony, where you knew you had a blind spot and pretended to look through the mail that had been delivered. This was normal for you, the smallest of privacies that Mr. Danforth allowed you to have since he knew everything that was being delivered to you.

Almost everything. 

It was his handwriting, messy and imperfect, but his nonetheless.

He’s getting ready to move to back stateside. Things have gone down that he’s not happy with. His health is deteriorating. Play the part. Convince him to bring you home after you graduate. Have him marry you off here. Don’t forget.

Don’t forget. How could you? How could you ever forget the promises that were made? The confessions spilled through ragged breaths, tangled sheets and petit morts?

It was two summers ago.

You had somehow found yourself back at the estate after a private plane malfunction. You were stuck for 48 hours with nothing but your carryon luggage. No security, no fuss, no nothing. Just you, the eighteen people on staff and the entire grounds.

You’d spent the first day lounging, walking through the entirety of the grounds on foot and remembering just where everything was. You’d helped clean stables, feed the chickens, work on the laundry and even cooked up a feast with Marta for lunch.

You’d opened a few bottles of wine, who cared really, you would buy new ones. Could still use credit cards at that point, a simple joy.

You were hiding away in the staff’s quarters, still drinking with the younger maids as they recounted the last few years of drama that had gone down at the estate. Oh you had missed so much.

It was bittersweet. On one hand you were glad they could still find pockets of joy and lightness while working for the Danforth’s, but on the other, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of the atrocities they had to witness, a personal failing on your part to them.

But the even darker truth — you were all prisoners here. You were closer to them than you were to the Danforth’s, no matter how much they considered you family. You would never be family.

“Marta!”

The yelling brought you back to reality. Was that…?

With a scrunched brow you got up, body wobbly as you managed to make your way to the window.

It was indeed.

“I’ve never seen Titus Danforth yelling before.”

He seemed to become frozen as he looked up to see you, blinking a few times to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

For a second he didn’t know how to act, causing you to giggle.

“Marta’s busy right now, can I help you?”

He gulped. “Yes.”

With rosy cheeks and the confidence from good quality wine, you left the group behind and made your way down to meet him.

You had changed into comfortable jeans and a long sleeve to help with the sun. You were a mess, sweaty and dirty, not the vision that Titus claimed to have seen.

“Hi,” you greeted, suddenly very shy. He simply nodded his response, fighting every single urge he had to reach out and grab you. “Ugh this is ridiculous, Titus.”

And then you hugged him.

You were so warm, the smell of grapes a comfort that drew him in instantly, his arms wrapping themselves around you tightly as he practically squished you against his body. You hummed contently, head buried in the crook of his neck, soaking him all in. Meanwhile, his hands kneaded at your skin, unafraid and unashamed of just how much he was pushing that invisible boundary he’d set up five years prior.

“I missed you.” You murmured against his chest.

His grip tightened in response. He was never letting you go again that was certain.

After much convincing, he allowed you to detach yourself from him enough to open the main house back up. None of you had any idea he’d be in town but apparently Mr. Danforth had grounded everyone for some unknown reason and he was close enough to the estate that he decided to sleep in his own bed for a night.

You sat on his bed while he unpacked. You managed to pull a few anecdotes from his travels but he mostly let you talk. And that you did.

You filled his cold room with so much warmth, stories from your studies, your friends, the life you had built for yourself in Europe melting the ice that had began to build around his heart.

You were older now, had lived enough that it had changed you. You didn’t resent him for what had happened five years ago, didn’t blame him for any of it, weren’t scared of him. You held his gaze, made him smile and laugh, did your best to show him that whatever your feelings had been then, they were not the same now.

“I thought…” he started, losing momentum quickly. 

You shifted on the bed, coming up to your knees as you shuffled to the edge, towards him. Your hands landed on his, encouraging, and he finally allowed himself to look into your eyes.

He was met with the most beautiful sight. Pupils blown, brows scrunched, pleading.

He couldn’t remember what he thought. It didn’t matter. None of it did.

He succumbed. He failed. He finally put down his weapon and accepted defeat.

He leaned in, his lips brushing yours too softly.

You wouldn’t have it.

You practically threw yourself on him, lips opening, hands landing on his shoulders to give you better leverage.

He groaned, possessive hands flying out to grab at you. The second he made contact, every reservation left behind disappeared.

Eager fingers dug into your plushness, grabbing handfuls of your ass and thigh as he pulled you into him. You moaned into the kiss and he somehow deepened it, his tongue devouring you, showing you just who you belonged to.

“Ti—” 

A gasp flew out of your lips as he picked you up and slammed you down on the bed in one swift movement.

No talking, there would be plenty of time for that later. Now he needed to act.

He wasted no more time getting you naked, a flurry of pants and shorts being discarded until you were left in only the lacy pair of underwear you had picked out.

They weren’t…he’d never seen these before. He studied them for a second too long, the wear around the cups, the discoloration from years of use. You smirked, bringing his gaze right back up to your face. You looked…devious, in a way he’d never seen you before. Like you knew. 

“Got them five years ago in Prague the second we landed,” you blushed, shame beautifully coming into the mix of your arousal. “To remember…”

His eyes sparkled at the realization. To remember how he’d killed—

Titus groaned, loudly, pressing his clothed chest back against your scantily clad one. The friction of his coat against your skin was divine, causing you to moan louder as his lips met yours once again.

He liked you before, his vision clouded by the desire to corrupt you, to take the good, gentle, angelic kid that he knew so well and transform her into a deranged psychopath like he was. But this version of you? Oh he loved it.

You were just as sick and twisted. He didn’t even have to try to persuade you into his darkness, it was as though you had been there all along, just waiting for him to realize it.

His teeth nipped at your lips, tugging enough to draw blood, to give him something to consume, something he could use to prove that you were alive, that he was alive. You returned the sentiment, biting down on his bottom lip and bringing him back down on you to mix in the iron flavor of the two of you.

His hips began to rut into you, deep and determined, his bulge already a tent against his thick pants.

“Ti please.”

He did not need to be told twice.

His hand snaked down between your bodies to hastily set his erection free from the confines of something as stupid and trivial as clothing, something he would never let you wear again.

You felt him smack against your clothed mound, thick and warm, and couldn’t help the ungodly moan that escaped your lips. He chuckled over you, one hand pulling your thong to the side, his fingers barely grazing your slick folds but enough to have him shivering.

You beamed at the reactions you could pull from him, how quickly and easily he came undone because of you.

His tip was inside of you in an instant, not gentle, not kind, nothing more than demanding and claiming. You’d been with other people before, that was no secret, at least you hoped it wasn’t because now, now you needed him to go rough.

Luckily for you, he felt the same way as his hips thrust into you instantly.

He was so hot. You were scalding. You could feel everything, ever vein, every ridge, every breath he took to steady himself so he didn’t blow his load immediately. 

Oh this motherfucker was going to knock you up.

You clenched around him without meaning to.

“Oh?” He chuckled, his eyes searching for something within your own. You covered your face with your hands instinctively, the blush that had creeped up your cheeks telling. “Oh.”

With that he sheathed himself inside of you to the hilt, his hips digging into your own painfully so, determined to flush you out of your shame. After a second too long you yelped loudly, hands coming off your face to push against his chest.

He relented, pulling back enough to where it wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. He took your hands off his chest and up towards his mouth, softly kissing each one before he pulled out of you and slammed back in.

“Yes, I am, I will,” he murmured into your ear. “And you’re going to love it. So full of me, of us, you’ll beg me to keep you like that forever.”

You whined as he lifted your legs towards your chest, knees practically touching your shoulders. His thrusts were unhinged, the lewdness from wet, slapping sounds filled the room as the chorus of your moans urged him forward.

You were so close, so overwhelmed by him everywhere, his pinewood and leather scent, his silky sheets against your back. This felt right, finally, as though the entire puzzle had been unlocked with just one piece.

“Let go, angel,” he commanded. “Cum with me.”

And so you did. My god you did.

Heat erupted from your core like an avalanche, the pleasure having never felt this perfect before. What made it even better was feeling him, hips pressed against your entrance as he locked himself deep inside of you and came, hot and long, filling you up like his life depended on it. Because it did. This was everything that mattered now.

Your entire body jerked occasionally as you came down from your high. After what felt like too long, Titus finally let himself fall down on your chest and you ran your fingers through his scalp, nails gently scratching and he hummed in satisfaction.

You stayed like that for a long time. Nothing outside of this room mattered. There was nothing that could make you give a fuck about anything that wasn’t him.

“Marry me.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a fact.

“Titus—”

“No,” he raised himself back up to tower over you, causing you to shiver slightly. The toothy grin on the motherfucker was ridiculous and you loved it. “You will marry me and we will have a big, obnoxious family, and we’ll be happy, together, finally.”

You wanted to say yes. You should’ve said yes. But you didn’t. You hesitated.

“Why?” He sighed. “I can give you everything, anything, angel.”

“I already have everything.”

He shook his head. “You don’t. You could be free.”

“Free? With you?”

The way his face contorted into confusion and pain physically hurt you. But you knew, and he knew, that you were right.

You didn't have time to think about the past, not right now.

The second the old man began his countdown, you got up, poised and delicate, unafraid and calm. You smiled at Ursula, a silent plea she knew exactly what to do with, and excused yourself from the table.

One hundred seconds.

You walked into the house, aware of just how many eyes were on you.

Ten families had come to the celebration. Each one being around three people. There was no clarity on who could participate, only that they had to deliver you, preferably dead by dawn. Thirty people, well, twenty-nine after the early departure of Miss Kipling earlier in the day.

Watching Titus kill her had been a thrill then, a comfort now. If he had been at that dinner table too he would’ve wasted no time starting the clock early. He would not have held back, would’ve covered the entire lawn in crimson and you most certainly would be dead already.

The second you were out of view you ran.

That stupid silk dress had been a mistake. A mistake to think that you were safe. A mistake to think that you were home, especially when you knew what home meant for this family.

You kicked off your heels and practically rushed through your routine. You were supposed to go pheasant hunting with the other ladies in the morning so your outfit was thankfully already laid out for you.

You had to be quick, had to make it into the passages before you heard the gun go off, before you—

“They took him north,” Ursula’s voice cut through your panic, instantly putting you at ease. “You remember where he's stashed guns?”

You nodded, lacing up your boots at last. She stepped forward, looking down at you with an expression you could only describe as worry. It wasn’t just for you but for herself as well. You knew she’d tried desperately to find a match that would work but after three failed hunts, her resolve had been getting thin.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let them win.”

She nodded, her thumb ghosting over your lips for a second too long. “I know.”

And with that she was gone and you were alone again.

With one last breath, you opened the false wall behind your dresser and stepped into the house’s secret passageways.

The gun had gone off a second after, causing your heart to practically implode against your chest.

God, you hated hunting.

Every time Ursula invited you to her home you refused to play. It’s not that it appalled you, in all honesty it filled your body with a burning desire that made no logical sense. Instead, the pleasure you derived from them was found afterwards, when adrenaline was high and everyone seemed to be desperate for another form of release.

You would forever be thankful to Ursula for her guardianship, for the safe space to explore yourself, your sexuality, your desires. And since your father trusted her more than Titus to be the voice of reason, the “lead by example” child, he would let you free whenever she called on you. He didn’t need to know about the lewd nights of debauchery and how you always seemed to find yourself in her bed with whatever human toy she was messing around with at the time (if they survived the day that was).

Ursula empowered you where Titus tended to mold you, and that was the only reason why you managed to keep on a clear head as you slid into his room in search for his many weapons.

The light turned on suddenly.

“You’re exhaustingly predictable, you know that?”

Fucking Duke.

You turn to face him, leaning against Titus’s armoire, fingers softly searching for the gun you knew was taped to the side.

“And you’re pathetic if you think he’s gonna let you stake your claim on Ursula.”

“So you do remember me!” He chuckled darkly, slowly stalking his way across the room towards you. “I wasn’t sure since you seemed to be so out of it last time I saw you.”

You smirked, hand finally reaching the cold handle. “What can I say? I always remember someone who can’t make a lady cum.”

You definitely should not have said that, poking the tiger as it were, but you couldn’t help it. When he didn’t immediately pounce, you just kept going.

“Had to eat her out after you came too quickly,” a flash of shame in his eyes, emasculated. “So pathetic, actually.”

He pounced. You pulled out the gun, took off the safety and shot. 

The bullet pierced his shoulder, but he did not stop. 

Fuck.

His large hands wrapped around your own, pushing the gun into the air as you fired again. You were drawing too much attention, they were going to be on you soon enough. So you played dirty.

Your foot smacked him right between his legs, merciless. He instantly contracted in pain, hands letting go of yours and it took no time for you to aim the barrel between his eyes, pulling the trigger as if it were just another Friday night.

His body fell to the floor as the door burst open.

Back to running it was.

Before whoever had entered could see where you had gone, you were already on your way back downstairs. Maybe it was enough time to stall, to get down to the kitchen and slip out through the server’s entrance. You knew they always had a golf cart waiting, maybe you could figure it out.

You open the kitchen hatch slowly, peeking inside before actually rushing into the room because unlike everyone in this fucking family, you actually learned from your mistakes. With the coast clear, you slid into the eerily quiet room.

“Marta?” You whispered into the air.

Nothing.

Oh if something had happened to her—

“Mija—”

You still instantly, hiding behind the kitchen island. Your heart was racing already, adrenaline making you jumpy and jittery, and not in a good way. How Titus and Ursula got off on this feeling you’d never understand.

A set of keys slid across the marble floors towards you and you understood. You grabbed them, slowly rising to your feet as you started down the hall down to the cellar. While the property was connected through the gigantic gold course that ran between the resort and the lodge, underneath there was a collection of tunnels that did the same thing, a detail you had hoped no one knew about since most high ranking members did not concern themselves with the comings and goings of staff.

Unfortunately for you, that did not seem to be the case tonight as you felt a body slam into yours from behind before you even made it down the stairs.

You groaned in pain, gun falling from your grip towards a dark corner in the room.

You couldn’t tell who it was, who kept holding you down against the scratchy stone floor, who pressed their knee into your sternum, who cradled your head in their hands and squeezed.

All you knew was that you were not going to go down without a fight.

You scratched, you squirmed, you thrashed — your body wasn’t yours, it was wild and unrestrained. Your nail managed to stab right into their neck, right next to their carotid, enough for them to stumble backwards but not enough to incapacitate. But it didn’t matter. You just kept going.

Feral hands kept scratching, kept digging, kept stabbing.

It was only when you felt a gush of warmth dripping on your skin from above that you stopped, swiftly standing up and making a run for the cart. You got on and sped off into the night, not caring to stick around to see if they would make it or not.

You wiped as much blood off you as you could, following the directions you knew in your bones to the north side of the compound. You needed to let him know, needed to get in touch with him.

Desperate hands searched the glove compartment. There had to be something you could use. And luckily, there was, a fucking walkie.

You hastily turned it on, not caring if the sound might attract unwanted attention.

Channel 7 was alive as the guards kept each other appraised of what was happening throughout. Most families were still at the lodge, good. They had locked down every exit, also good. And then—

“Anyone got eyes on Mr. Danforth?”

“Still negative, sir. He heard the gunshots and bolted. My two guys are still crit.”

A broad smile adorned your lips. Good, he was definitely not going to stop now, especially if Ursula got to tell him what was happening.

“Be glad they’re still alive, Parker,” it was him. “Your men get in my way again and they won’t be so lucky.”

Fuck you almost cried tears of joy.

So you changed course. 

You pressed the talk button twice then waited for nine seconds before you pressed it again, quickly switching to channel two.

Your heartbeat was all you could hear for what felt like a small eternity before the decide on your lap came alive.

“Angel?”

You let out a disheveled sob at the sound of his voice and you could hear him inhale sharply on the other end.

“Ti—”

“Are you safe?”

“Almost.”

“Good,” he cooed. “You know where to go?”

“I do now.”

“Good girl,” he sighed in relief. “I’ll come find you once it’s done.”

“Leave it on,” the words slipped past your lips before you can stop them. “I wanna listen.”

The groan that erupted from his chest was feral.

“Anything for my bride.”

For the next hour, the only comfort was hearing the strained groans and screams from every single person Titus came across.

He unfortunately couldn’t kill them given the stupid rules, but he could make them hurt.

His father had been vague with his own rules for this challenge, and with that came a lot of room to get creative. No one would miss a few fingers, no one would question a few broken bones or ripped out hair. The human body would heal. But his pride, his rightful status as the head of this family required bloodshed, penance from his flock.

You were uncomfortably wet, your underwear soaked through as you made it into the little chapel on the property. In no normal world should Titus’s actions turned you on so much, but in the one you’d been groomed to take part of, every plea for mercy, every grunt, every scream, every breath that came out of him only aided in getting you ready for him.

You wasted no time slipping out of your pants, of your shirt, of every ounce of clothes that made you feel like you were being held prisoner. They had all been chosen by his father, by the system that he had wanted to keep you under. But what laid underneath, that worn lace that hugged your curves — that was all yours, all his.

You laid down on the table behind the altar, your fingers quickly found your soaked folds, eagerly smearing your wetness all over your slit as you began touching yourself. You pressed down on the call button and let out a strangled moan at the contact and Titus instantly stilled on the other side of the call.

“Are you touching yourself, angel?”

You held the button pressed again, moaned louder, encouraging, demanding.

“You’re playing with fire, little girl.”

“I’m just playing with you, over.”

The walkie came to life.

“If you don’t stop touching what’s mine there will be consequences.”

“I still belong to me, Ti,” you teased. “At least until sunrise.”

The door slammed open and you didn’t even flinch, only tossing the walkie to the side as he stalked forward.

You sat up from your hiding place, darkened eyes devouring him whole.

He was dripping, entire body covered in blood. The thick wool of his coat was soaked through, the substance seeping through and onto his button down as he made swift work of the buttons holding him captive.

“Well, good for you, I don’t give a fuck what you think.”

You smiled up at him, opening your legs as he wasted no time squishing your body under his. His mouth found yours instantly, one hand holding your jaw hostage as his tongue rammed inside of yours.

You were all his, finally, completely at his mercy, perfect, angelic, faintly smelling of iron and dirt and—

His eyes gave you a quick once over, noticing the bruising on your neck, the scratches on your cheek, the dirt in your hair.

“Angel—”

His voice was too soft and you hated it.

“Shut up and make me yours,” you demanded. “Again.”

That was all he needed to let himself go.

Possessive hands dug into your hips, his own pressing forward, his crotch rutting against your own. The stiffness of his clothes against the lace over your mound made you moan loudly. He rolled his hips again and again and again until your clit was swollen and raw. Your own hands tried to get his zipper undone but he was having none of it.

He bit down on your chest, right above your heart, and you stilled your movements instantly, body spasming as your orgasm took you by surprise. He chuckled darkly, the vibrations only prolonging the sensations.

When you were finally able to see straight again, he removed himself from your chest, his teeth perfectly imprinted on your skin, now purpling and bleeding slightly. Only then did he undo his pants, letting them pool at his feet as he set his erection free.

Satan, you’d missed him.

He swiftly flipped you on your stomach, pulling your ass up to where he needed you before he buried himself inside to the hilt.

You screamed, already so full of him that you didn’t know what to do with yourself

And then he started moving and you lost all sense of self.

There was no you anymore. It was only him and the two of you, your role as his bride, his wife, the mother of his children, his. 

He was ruthless and insatiable, didn’t care about your discomfort as he pistoned in and out of you in a feverish haze of desire and the need to claim. Titus had always been entitled to everything he had in his life, but you were not just something that he was owed, that he owned, no, you were everything to him.

He slowed down when he felt you getting close, his hand snaking in between your legs to rub your clit slowly, coaxing another orgasm from you. Only this time it wasn’t rough, it wasn’t demanding, it was loving and kind and soft.

You let yourself go, walls tightening around his impressively stiff length as he continued his slow movements all the way through. The tears started spilling after that, hot and unstoppable.

It was only when a sob erupted from your throat that he slipped out of you, flipping you on your back once again so he could bury himself inside of you, holding you tightly against him, his lips quickly meeting yours once more.

He knew you were a very sentimental person. You’d always cried on your birthday, always felt the need to pick up every stray you encountered, made sure that everyone in your life knew how loved and cherished they were.

His tongue licked up your face, cleaning up the wetness that had gathered. They tasted salty, like victory and success, like sticking it to his father and finally feeling like he was wanted by someone who didn’t have to accept him just because they were tied by an invisible blood bond.

It was only when your grip on his arms tightened that he started moving again. Slow, steady, knowing fully well that you were ovulating, because he knew, he always knew.

“You told him you’d give him grandchildren before he died,” he groaned in your ear, causing a shiver to run through your body. He chuckled, satisfied with your response. “Which means you better pray I get you pregnant tonight or else he will definitely not live long enough to satisfy your promise.”

You moaned as you felt his tip reach your cervix.

“Guess you’ll have to fill me up until it takes—”

His hips snap, painfully so, and you can only chuckle in response.

“Oh I intend to,” his lips ghost over yours. “My wife.”

The coil snaps then and you’re both coming undone.

You can’t help but wrap your legs around him tightly, hands scratching across his clothed back as his own leave bruises on your hips, pulling you so tight against him the pain snaps up again, mixing so beautifully with the pleasure you’re certain he’d be successful.

By the time he’s done you’re leaking but he doesn’t move, doesn’t dare detach himself from you. He’s gonna keep you there, stuck beneath him until the night is through, until he can put a giant rock on your finger and show you off to all the pathetic people who dared to think they could harm you.

He leaned down again, soft lips meeting yours in a silent promise, a possessive remark.

“My husband.”

He hummed, then, finally at peace. “My wife.”

a/n: I've been writing this since January and I have finally been able to finish it. God I love Titus so much, send me requests for him please!!