Page 1 of Taken By Aries

Prologue

Every two hundred years, the monsters of the zodiac become flesh for one night to claim a virgin tribute.

Chapter one

The Deal

Ichose to be here. I try to remember that as the wind howls outside and the wooden door knocks against its hinges. My heart pounds in my chest and I take a deep breath and step closer to the fire, drinking deeply from a crystal glass of scotch. It makes my eyes water and sets my throat on fire. I welcome the burn.

I arrived moments ago, dropped off from the back seat of a limousine. The fire was already lit when I arrived, and I’m glad for it. I’m naked under my long black jacket, and still chilled from the brief walk from the car to the door. I’m now alone in a cabin in the woods, in the middle of nowhere, warming up by the fire with a glass of scotch in hand.

Cabin is the wrong word for this place. Although it’s dimly lit by the fireplace and a single lamp, this is the nicest room I’ve ever been in. It’s like something out of a magazine. Dark polished wooden floors, a huge gray stone fireplace and two cozy black double couches by the fire. The space opens to a large, modern kitchen to my right. My black backpack sits behind one couch, trying not to interrupt the decor.

This is the getaway of a billionaire. Or maybe a Sheikh, like the girls from work suspect. Tonight I find out. And after tonight, maybe this kind of luxury won’t be so foreign.

A crystal decanter of scotch sits on a small side table between the couches, along with another glass and a black box. There’s a blindfold in the box, with instructions that caused a shiver up my spine - ‘Put this on when he knocks.’

Whoever he is, he’s paying me a lot of money to be here. Five million dollars, to be exact. To stay here for one night until dawn.

To lose my virginity.

My mind skitters away from the thought, and I drink again. But not too much - they paid for my sobriety.

I catch sight of my reflection in the crystal glass in my hand. My makeup is minimal, emphasizing my youth, and my long blonde hair hangs loose down my back, softly curled. I’m wearing sneakers, however, at the request of the client. Maybe there’s a cheerleader’s outfit involved. The hard thought comes from a hard-earned cynicism. Six months of stripping hasn’t improved my opinion of men.

The way I see it, tonight could be another night at the club, but with a bit extra. But I know tonight is more than that. I don’t fuck guys at my strip club. I roll my shoulders out and try to relax.

The room is almost romantic. Maybe I could pretend I’m here with Dave - the Dave I knew before he drained my bank account and took off. I could pretend I finally trusted him enough to sleep with him, and we were on a romantic getaway.

Or maybe thinking of Dave isn’t a great plan. Thinking of him stirs a rage in my belly as warming as the scotch. Thinking of Dave makes me remember he took off with all my money after I worked my ass off to save for college, or my own fashion business, or… anything but the poor, shitty life I’ve been dealt.

I also remember how it felt moving back into my mum’s tiny flat and crying myself to sleep after he left.

I promised I’d never turn out like her, broke and alone. My hands tighten on the glass held in them. Tonight will guarantee I won’t.

Tonight is all I need to finish school and buy her the biggest house she’s ever seen.

It’s just one night - right?

There’s a knocking on the door loud enough to make me gasp. The glass in my hand falls to the ground and shatters at my feet. Fuck. My heart pounds in my chest and I will my pulse to slow down. I can do this. I will do this. I think of my future.

I take a deep breath, walk to the coffee table, and put the blindfold on. I can’t see a thing through the black fabric. Then I wait. I assume he has his own key.

It isn’t long before a blast of wind lets me know the door is open. I’m glad I kept my jacket on.

The door closes. My ears track the movement, trying to glean anything I can about the man to whom I’ll lose my virginity to tonight. My breathing sounds far too loud in my own ears.

Is he large or small? Will he be arrogant or humble? I shouldn’t care, but I can’t help my thoughts from straying. I wonder if he’ll keep me blindfolded the entire time. That might not be a bad thing if he’s an ugly man - strange, but not bad.

Men who are ugly on the outside don’t bother me much. I’ve seen enough to know men can be much uglier on the inside.

I remind myself the agreement said I wouldn’t be harmed. That’s hard to keep in the frame right now, blind and defenceless, far from the civilizing sounds of the city.

I feel him stand before me, close enough to reach out and touch. He feels large and hot, despite coming in out of the cold. Despite the fact his body blocks the heat from the fire behind him.

He smells strange. I thought he would smell like men’s perfume or sweat. Instead, he smells earthy, like he’s been rolling around in fresh grass. It’s not unpleasant.

“Tamara Sanders?” he asks. His voice is low and growly, and strangely accented.