Marcus Sheriby, more darkly known as The Mark of Death. A man of cruel composure with a cunningly creative outlook on the various states of life and death. Men were the true rulers of the world, but it was with bitter irony he recognized the inherent power of women. They could undermine the most carefully conceived plans, and ultimately destroy a mans soul.

His daughter, the pampered princess, the little darling of the glamorous parties, with soft skin and a softer mind …  Mary Catherine Sheriby, heiress to his fortune. Never had he intended to let his witless daughter into his business life, but he’d always intended her to be his beautiful sacrifice.

On her seventh birthday, after the grand party, he gave her a very special gift, indeed. Drugging her, he’d bathed her in a vat of warm blood.  There wasn’t a single inch of her body that he didn’t kiss and lick clean. Her salty tears mingled enticingly with the salty blood, and he nearly killed her that night from desire so intense it staggered his mind.
The power of his child must be harnessed!
She never remembered that night, nor the
succession of celebrations each and every year following, until the year she shed the womans blood, truly crossing from childhood. A gathering was formed that year, of all the members. Once more, his precious daughter was drugged, but not unconscious.  Her power was harnessed, removed from her body with reverent hands and shared amoung the elite.

Perhaps she had remembered something of that night, or perhaps it was a subconscious connection. Within a few days of that gathering, Mary, accompanied by the one true love of her life – Tag, found the truth about her mother. Marcus drugged them both, and followed it by hypnotism. There could be no chance of memory flashbacks. The risk was too great.  It worked beautifully.

The final culmination of years came to be. His patience had won out and rewarded him with the successful conversion of his daughters true love, and the final degradation and transfer of power from Mary herself.  Marcus had always envisioned he would be the one to take her, but his clever mind realized the devastation would be greater if Tag became the instrument of her soul-shattering destruction.

It was glorious to watch, and more glorious to see the pain and betrayal on Mary’s face. And that was only to be the beginning.  But something had gone wrong, and his fluff-headed daughter had somehow escaped.

Over a year later, this same girl had sent Tag, his greatest warrior, crawling back to him, wounded by his own blade at the hands of this slip of a child.

Marcus had expectations. High ones. He expected to see his wayward child again. He expected to see her helpless and begging for his mercy as he stripped her skin from her flesh. He expected to carve his mark on every exposed surface of her body. He expected weakness and delicious subservience. He expected her to realize his dominance and power.

He had no idea that when his daughter would one day face him again, he wouldn’t even recognize the strong, confident woman who stood with such grace and power. If he could have foreseen that day, he would have altered his expectations greatly.