Read Her Highland Master (The Dungeon Fantasy Club Book 1) Online
Authors: Anya Summers
Her Highland Master (The Dungeon Fantasy Club Book 1)
Her Highland Master
The Dungeon Fantasy Club, Book One
By
Anya Summers
©2016 by Blushing Books® and Anya Summers
All rights reserved.
No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Summers, Anya
Her Highland Master: The Dungeon Fantasy Club, Book One
eBook ISBN: 978-1-68259-548-0
Cover Design by ABCD Graphics & Design
This book is intended for
adults only
. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the Author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
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Table of Contents:
Chapter One
Nothing like taking a wrong turn to ruin a perfectly good vacation.
It seemed to sum up the story of her life. Everything was moving along, full steam ahead, and then—whammy—plowed straight into an iceberg, only to sink faster than the Titanic. Who was she kidding? Zoey didn't even know who she was anymore. She had believed at one point that she had her life all figured out and, if she stuck with her grand master plan, then it would all work out.
Apparently, the rest of her life hadn't received the memo.
Go on a solo trip to Scotland, they had said. It will clear your mind and help you figure out your next step, they had said. Forget all about the backstabbing little braggart and take a much needed vacation from your life. Have fun in the one place you have always wanted to visit, they had said.
Her best friend, Lucy, and sister, Ophelia, had convinced Zoey that what she needed more than submitting her resume to every agency in LA was to get out of Dodge until the dust from her imploded life had settled. Travel to the Highlands of Scotland in October and stay a week. Use her life savings to have that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to experience another culture. That bright, sparking idea, which had appeared after three bottles of wine and enough chocolate to feed a small country, had careened her off the edge of civilization; of that she was certain. One little wrong turn and now she was so twisted around, she could be driving into the sea and not know it. Her hands were fixed on the wheel and they had started to spasm from holding it in a death grip as she attempted to keep the tiny, compact car on the narrow Highland road.
Snow billowed in great plumes of white as the wind rattled the rental car. The heater sputtered, barely keeping the windows ice-free. The sky was angry as it pounded snow, sleet, and wind down upon her. She could barely see ten feet beyond the hood in the near white-out conditions. Not only was Zoey driving on the left side of the road, which her mind screamed was incorrect, but she was in a foreign country, alone, and in one of the worst blizzards she had ever encountered. A Los Angeles native, Zoey was more familiar with smog, traffic, and triple digit heat waves than snow and ice. The road, if one could call the small, rutted pavement slick with half a foot of white stuff a road, was treacherous. Granted, in LA they did have rain, and mudslides, and earthquakes upon occasion—the thought of which instantly made her homesick.
What the hell had she been thinking?
When Ophelia and Lucy had helped her purchase her she-didn't-know-who-she-was-anymore, my-life-just-imploded, all-expenses-paid trip to Scotland, it had never once occurred to Zoey, who navigated the shark-infested waters of business with a skill few ever achieved—at least until the smarmy Mark had gotten her fired—that she would have any difficulty finding her way around the small country.
The correct turn would have taken her to the Thistle Bed & Breakfast, a five star bed and breakfast nestled near the banks of Loch Mullardoch, in the hills adjacent to Glen Affric. Her plan had been to spend a week walking the glens and meadows, taking small day trips to some of the nearby historical sites. Simple. Easy. A time to allow her brain and body to relax and recover from all the toxic stress. Except the blasted road had split in three different directions, all with the same name, of course, because we wouldn't want to make life easier for the tourists. So with a whispered prayer, Zoey had taken the street on the left, determined to make her life different. That had been two hours ago. The storm had struck thirty minutes after she'd made that fateful turn. It had moved in so fast and furiously that she had no idea whether she was headed in the right direction or not as she plowed ahead.
The path climbed. The little blue car fishtailed up the side of the mountain. Zoey prayed she would make it out of this one. How had her life come to this? No job, or potential of any type of employment in her chosen field, no relationship to speak of—she hadn't even had sex with anything that wasn't battery-powered in at least two years—and now she found herself driving in Scotland during a freak blizzard over slick roads, with nowhere to go but up. She couldn't see enough to even attempt to turn the car around. The lane narrowed even further as she drove over a crest as it seemed to be carved into the mountain. Giant, dark gray monoliths crowded the terrain.
The wind blew snow in gusting winds, clearing just enough so she could discern the faint outline of a manor house, golden light from a window which was quickly blotted out. She drove toward the tiny beacon, a lifeline in the insanity that her life had become. The closer she got to the house, the more emerged from the snowy outlines. A stone wall encircled the premises, with a black gate made of what she assumed was iron. Since most of these places had been built well before there was a mega-hardware store in every town, a place like the manor up ahead had been built to last.
Fifty feet from the iron gate, the tiny blue rental car's tires hit a patch of ice. Zoey lost control of the vehicle as it slid sideways. It slammed into a cluster of boulders on the hillside, and slid into a ditch. The car landed lopsided, nose-down. Her head thwacked against the door as it jolted to a halt.
Owww
.
She gingerly touched her left temple, felt a robin's egg beginning to bloom. She tested the rest of her limbs and, other than a few sore muscles, everything moved like it should.
It was as if Zoey had some type of celestial bullseye strapped to her chest. She would have liked to know what deity she had pissed off so she could apologize. Rubbing her head, she was thankful that the seatbelt hadn't broken or she would be in an even worse state. She unclasped the buckle.
Shit.
Grabbing her phone, she attempted to dial for help. What the hell was the emergency code in Scotland, anyway? The useless piece of equipment beeped. No signal.
Figures.
Okay, she needed a new plan. If she couldn't call for aid, she'd have to leave the security the car provided and hope that the light she'd spied at the manor would be her salvation.
First task, leave the car. Second, find help. Third, fix her life. Fourth, get laid.
Zoey always did better with action plans and lists. It was what had made her excel in her now-defunct career.
She gripped the handle and pushed. The car door didn't budge. Fighting the rising panic, she shoved against the car door with all her might. Stuck in a car in the Scottish Highlands, while a blizzard raged about, and with no way to call for help, she'd die of hypothermia. Anxiety speared her system, she fought the rising tide as it ebbed and flowed, her breath coming in short, sharp pants, like daggers in her chest. She hadn't had a full blown attack in years.
Think; what was the next step?
The only way around her panic attacks was action. She had worked out a system with a therapist a few years back. She needed to find a way out of the car. If her driver side door wouldn't open, she had to try the passenger side door. Her heart practically beat its own tune outside her chest. Zoey squeezed herself over the center console and tested the passenger side door, breathing a sigh of relief as it opened. The door's momentum stopped after she'd cracked it open about an inch. One of those giant rocks was nudged against the exterior passenger side, keeping her prisoner.
Her blood pressure spiked, her heart hammered against her ribcage.