The Succubus and the Young Man - Chapter 1

Vinton Manor, Dey.

I was a bearer of ill fortune.

Everyone in the manor said so.

Simply because I had been born with black hair and black eyes, they saw me as a monster, a heretic…

Those were the words they used for me.

My mother had been an ordinary maid in the manor. One drunken night, Count Roder took a fancy to her. That brief indulgence brought me into the world.

She died giving birth to me. Somehow, I survived.

My existence was a thorn in the heart of the count’s wife, Betty.

She hated me as fiercely as she hated the stain my mother had left on her marriage.

Although I was the count’s first son, he refused to acknowledge me. He merely told Lady Betty to find somewhere to put me.

No one outside the manor knew I existed.

Lady Betty pretended to accept me. In truth, she treated me as a slave, lower even than a servant.

She made me live in a dark, damp little attic in the most remote part of the estate.

A year after I was born, she gave birth to her own son, Balk.

Balk grew up adored by both his parents. Spoiled and tyrannical, he took pleasure in tormenting me.

The lash marks covering my body beneath my coarse clothes were his work.

Every day, I had to do a great deal of servants’ work just to earn a mouthful of cold food.

Today was Count Roder’s birthday banquet. The steward ordered me to help.

The little garden behind the manor was the one place on the estate I loved. Usually, I wasn’t allowed to go there.

There were very few people in it just then.

Once I had finished the chores, I slipped behind a great clump of roses and greedily breathed in their scent. Only at moments like this did I feel truly alive.

Unfortunately, someone found me anyway.

“Well, young Master Balk, isn’t that your family’s monster?” A young man in an exquisite tailcoat appeared with his arm draped over Balk’s shoulder. He looked at me with contempt.

Several young noblemen, led by Balk, surrounded me. Their jeers and abuse came from every side.

“Monster!”

“What’s he doing somewhere like this? What rotten luck…”

I was used to it. I barely raised my eyes, braced my hands against the ground, and tried to stand so I could get away.

Before I was fully upright, someone shoved me hard from behind. I stumbled forward.

Another man stuck out a foot from my right and tripped me. I had no hope of keeping my balance.

Sharp gravel covered the garden path. I fell face-first, my knees slamming into the stones.

Pain tore through me. Blood gushed out.

I must have split my forehead too.

The hair over it was sticking together with blood. As it ran down my face, I couldn’t tell whether the blur in my eyes came from the blood or the tears of pain.

I heard Balk above me. A moment later, he raised his foot and ground it viciously into my back. I felt the sharp stones drive into my knees.

Guests began arriving in the garden. The young men exchanged glances and left. After all, they were gentlemen. They couldn’t let the other guests see them behaving like this.

I struggled to my feet. Clutching my face and head, I staggered back toward the attic deep inside the estate.