IMPORTANT! PLEASE READ: Hi guys! Allow me to explain: It's been a while since I've been on this site, and I'd been previously re-reading my stories. Sinful Seduction is my pride and joy and as I re-read through it, I just noticed a lot of things that I wanted to change. I wrote this as a young teenager (believe it or not) and now I'm in college and I felt I owed it to myself (and to my readers) to re-vamp this story and try to make it better. There were a lot of grammar mistakes and I felt like I could add more depth to the plot by changing/cutting/editing some scenes or chapters in the story. Lots of my original readers noted inconsistencies, but that was because I was in the process of revising the story for a whole month. I am finished now but I am not perfect, so if there's anything else you have concerns about please PM me!

If you are one of my original readers and you're unsatisfied with some of my changes, I'm sorry. I only hoped to update my story and make it better and more enjoyable for you guys. Despite the changes, I still hope you can enjoy!

Chapter One: Barbaric

I sit with my back against the door, my heart pounding. The beating is so loud that I can hardly hear anything except the blood rushing through my ears. I had barricaded all my furniture against the door and pushed my cabinets over the window. The room is dark and hot. Outside, I could hear the screams and cries of innocent villagers being slaughtered and mercilessly killed.

The barbarians rarely ever raid the northwestern villages, but when they do, they leave the streets bloodied and the houses bare. They pillage and plunder, rape and murder…and there are even tales of them taking their female victims alive, and back to their kingdom to become sex slaves in their beastly king's harem.

Three loud knocks on my door came just then. Startled, I cried out in fear. "My lady!" she calls. It is only my handmaiden, Angelina. I breathe a sigh of relief. Quickly scrambling to my feet, I unlatch the door and push away the boudoir and chairs stacked against it. Angelina stumbles in, sweaty and out of breath. On her face is a look of pure horror and agony. "Your father's carriage was attacked on the road! Your parents have been killed!"

I cover my mouth with a sweaty hand, tears immediately welling in my eyes. "God please…say it isn't true."

"Please, I beg you believe me!" Angelina rushes to my side and kneels. She takes my hand as tears stream down her face. "I saw it happen. They killed the driver and shot flaming arrows in through the doors. The screams, my lady, oh, the screams…"

I snatch my hand away from Angelina as tears fall down my face. I stifle a sob as I run to the window. I open it and throw back the curtains, seeing smoke rising from the houses in the distance. I have no brothers nor sisters—those beasts have killed the only family I had left. I can hear the faint sounds of terrified screams and smell death in the hot summer air. "Edward?" I barely manage to get out.

"I know nothing of him," Angelina says forlornly. "King Aro has sent word for troops to secure the northwestern border. He may be with them."

My Edward, my love. He is a rich nobleman who commands a large rank of the King's army. My father had secured a match for me due to his friendship with Edward's own father, Lord Cullen. He courted me for a week before professing his love for me and deep desire for me to be his wife. Now, I am without a family and without wealth—now, I am not even sure if my betrothed is alive.

The sounds of battle cries and splintering wood breaks me from my stunned trance as a band of barbarians invades the house next door. Angelina is a sobbing mess on the ground. I yank her up by the arm, forced into action by a rush of adrenaline. "Get up!" I yell at her, violently wiping the tears from my face. "We have to move."

I throw open my bedroom door, only to hear the screams of servants below pierce my ears. The barbarians have busted down the door and were raiding the first floor of my family home. "Oh god," I whisper shakily as I try to muster all of the courage I still have left in my body. "The back door. The back door!"

Angelina sobs loudly as she hears the gruesome squishing sound of a spear piercing soft flesh. She struggles to keep up. I rush to the back door of the house and run into the streets, Angelina following close behind. It is pure chaos.

The smell of death and boiling blood lingers in the sticky air. The square is littered with dead bodies; men, women and children alike. Debris from wrecked bazaars and merchant stands floats aimlessly in the air. I cover my nose to block out the rotten scent of decomposition and try my hardest not to cry.

I grasp Angelina's hand and give a strong squeeze to let the girl know that I am there. I am horrified, utterly heartbroken; but I have no time to sit and ponder my woes. Survival is the only thing on my mind. I tug Angelina into the forest and we run farther and farther away from my destroyed little village of Forks. She trips and stumbles over shrubbery. "Get up!" I harshly whisper. Tears are streaming down her face. "What is wrong with you?"

I care not that my tone is mean and insensitive. Angelina is the only thing close to family that I have left. I cannot bear to lose her as well. We run, and we run, and we don't look back.

Life as I knew it, is gone. My mother and father lay dead in a burning carriage ruin. The place I call home has been destroyed. My friends, the villagers I grew up with…slaughtered mercilessly in the streets. My jewels, my riches, stolen. My betrothed gone, and I know not if I should ever see him again. I choke on my tears.

Dogs howling in the background snap me out of my trance. The sound of shouts echoes from somewhere near us. Gasping, I pull Angelina to a tall patch of ferns growing by a tree. "Get down," I tell her. "Make no sound."

We settle in the dirt and I clamp a hand over Angelina's mouth to stifle her whimpering. I peer through the leaves at my surroundings. Much to my horror, the barking and the voices seem to be coming closer and closer.

"We will die," Angelina whispers. Her whole body shakes beneath my embrace.

"No," I tell her. "They shan't find us."

"I'm afraid to die, my lady," she tells me. "I'm scared of the dark."

Her words prick tears at my eyes. I squeeze them shut and bury my face in the crook of her shoulder. "I'm going to protect us, Angelina. I promise." I pull the pin from my hair and inspect the sharp tip of it. It's the only weapon I have, and I intend to use it if need be.

The dogs howl louder. My heart rate quickens and I begin to breathe heavily. The barbarians use their wolf-like dogs for hunting prey. I'd heard stories of barbarians letting them loose on innocent people. They would laugh and spectate as their "pets" ripped the flesh off civilian bones. Footsteps near us and I can now hear what the voices say.

"Three Horses!" A voice calls out. They speak in their language, a thick and guttural dialect. The dogs on the barbarian's leash are going wild. They bark madly, tugging at their restraints. They point in our very direction. The barbarians are dressed in nothing but a loin cloth. Blood is painted in symbols over their muscled bodies. They wear human scalps around their waist, and necklaces of human teeth. They carry swords with curved blades, which they use to gut their victims and enemies with ease.

I can hear Angelina begin to whisper prayers. The second barbarian comes into view. "Drinks of Waterfall," the one called Three Horses acknowledges the other. "Palefaces."

The dogs bark and howl. Drinks of Waterfall ties them to a tree. The other, Three Horses, approaches our hiding spot slowly. I begin to join Angelina in prayer. I stay as still as possible to try and avoid contact with the rough hand and cease my noise, hopelessly thinking that perhaps they'd leave.

I am so very wrong.

Angelina shrieks as a rough hand grabs a fistful of her soft, black hair and yanks her from the spot. I can barely think as my arm is roughly grabbed and yanks me from my hiding spot as well. I lash out fiercely, swinging my sharp pin in any direction. I catch the skin of the one called Three Horses, dragging a deep cut across the barbarian's chest. He cries out in pain. Wrestling me to the ground, he forces the pin from my hand and places his hand around my throat. I thrash violently in the dirt, clawing at his face, prying at his hands. My efforts are meek as he easily overpowers me.

I feel the life draining from my body. My world begins to fade as my lungs struggle for air. And soon, I am enveloped in blackness.

0o0o0o0o

I am moving.

My body falls into a steady rhythm of shifting up and down. As I slowly come to, I realize I'm being carried. I've been thrown over the shoulder of a strong and tall man. My wrists around bound and so are my feet. My head feels dizzy and my vision is unclear.

The smell of cooking meat wafts through the air. Music is playing; it sounds triumphant. Like a war had just been won.

I blink my eyes a few times and lift my head weakly. Women dressed in animal skins weave baskets by the river, while little naked babies splash in the water. Skinned rabbits are cooking over a fire to the left. A fat man with his face painted in blood bangs on a drum and hollers things I can't understand.

I groan. It's hard to keep my eyes open. I'm weak and I have no knowledge of where I am, or what has happened to me. A thought passes to Angelina. A deep sorrow fills the pit of my stomach as it occurs to me that she could be dead.

Why aren't I dead?

I look around again, my head clearing the fog slowly. Stone buildings, tents and strange wooden huts form a village. They go back for miles—maybe this is a kingdom.

Could it be?

I heard the stories a million times. Women, captured and taken as slaves to be put in the king's harem. Beaten and raped, sometimes killed. The barbarian king was a beast, an animal. He had no respect for life, no mercy, no honor.

A long braid of hair falls into my face. Disgusted, I struggle away from it. The hair is muddy and smells of shit. I realize who is carrying me—it is very barbarian I slashed, Three Horses. My mind instantly begins thinking of escape but I quickly realize that it is hopeless. I know not where I am, or how far I am from home. I would be caught and beaten and perhaps tortured.

Three Horses carries me over a drawbridge that lays over a freshwater river. I can hear many sounds echoing from the hall ahead. Music plays loudly, and I assume it is a victory feast. Oh, could truly be? The barbarian kingdom was one of stories. Never did I dream I'd see it for myself.

He carries me into the hall. I lift my head as he walks through. As soon as they see us, they begin to cheer loudly. I can't understand their words, but their vulgar gestures are enough. They trust their hips, wink at me, and expose themselves in public. They are godless!

The hall is littered with the beasts. They are dressed in fine cloth—cloth that they stole from my village. They adorn themselves with our jewels instead of bones. Crates of treasure lie open on their tables as they chuck gold coins at us. They raise their cups of mead and wine and Three Horses cheers as well.

Suddenly, he lifts my skirts and bares my most vulnerable area to the cheering crowd. The roars only get louder as I kick and scream. Humiliated tears run down my face as I thrash against him. He slaps my ass and the impact makes a loud crack. Gods, it echoes so loudly. I cry out in pain but Three Horses just laughs.

The humiliation luckily doesn't last long. He's carrying me up a flight of stairs into a dark and dank stone hallway. It is dimly lit by burning torches. The very first room on the right is where he dumps me roughly onto the smooth, hardwood floor. I scramble to maintain an upright position with both my hands and feet bound. "Bastard!" I hiss at him. He only smiles, standing and staring from the doorway.

The only thing that consoles me is seeing the large gash on his chest, still pitifully leaking with blood. I hear a soft, female voice from the area behind me. I turn my head and finally take in my surroundings—and I'm immensely surprised by the splendor of it room is dimly lit and beautifully decorated with beds in canopied silks, brightly colored cushions, bejeweled furniture, and a brilliant crystal chandelier in the center of it all. On each bed was a beautiful woman, scantily clad, staring at me.

The one that spoke before gets up from her place on the bed. Her hair is long and black, and she wears scandalously revealing silks—they all are. This must be the harem, I think to myself. Her hips sway seductively as she saunters over to Three Horses. She says something to him as she drags a hand over the bulge in his loin cloth. He smiles and bites his lip before grabbing her behind harshly. He whispers something in her ear. She gives a mock gasp before playfully shoving him out the door. He stumbles down the hallway and the woman slams and locks the door behind him.

Her façade seems to drop immediately upon his exit. She slowly turns around to stare at me. The discomfort and fear eats at me almost immediately. "Who are you?" the woman inquires. The rest of the women slowly slide from their beds to come and carefully inspect me. It somewhat soothes me to know that she speaks my language.

"My name is Isabella Swan." I reply.

The tall, beautiful woman walks over to me and slowly kneels beside me. She begins to untie my hands and feet. "From where do you come?" There is a hint of an accent.

"Forks," I tell her. She releases my hands from their bonds and I nurse my sore wrists tenderly.

I feel a hand running through my hair. "Are you a lady?" The voice behind me asks. I gasp, whirling around to face a lovely, blonde woman. Behind her, each girl sat Indian-style, staring at me with wide, inquisitive eyes.

"I was," I murmur. A sadness falls over my heart.

"It's been so long since I've seen home," another one pipes up sadly. "I can hardly remember what it looks like now."

I turn to the tall, darker woman. Her hair falls in thick waves over her shoulders. "What is this place?" I ask her. Part of me dreads her answer.

"The Harem," the woman's smooth voice tells me. "Three Horses tells me you are one of us now." Her dark, almond eyes pierce me.

"I…no. I can't do this." I begin to panic.

"You have no choice," the blonde woman behind me says. She gets up and walks around to the front of me. "None of us did. But trust me, there are far worse places in this castle to be than the harem." There is a bite to her tone.

I blink. It has hardly registered to me that I am currently being held captive by barbarians in Castle Rock. The shock hasn't yet worn off.

"I'm Rosalie," the blonde tells me. "I can be your best friend or your worst nightmare. You choose."

"Oh, don't listen to her, Isabella!" a voice chirps from behind me. A girl hops up energetically from where she sat and bounds over to the woman called Rosalie. "Rosalie is all bark and no bite." The girl's hair was cropped close to her head and her bright green eyes shined with mischief. "I'm Alice."

"It's…it's a pleasure." I manage to mumble out.

Alice then points to the other harem girls sitting in a semi-circle behind her. "That's Emilia, Clair, Athenodora, Jezebel and Freja." They all look at me and give me a small wave. Their smiles all seem to be laced with pity. "And then this is Didyme." Alice gestures to the alluring, dark-haired woman standing in front of me. "She's the king's favorite."

The king.

A wave of nausea hits me like a ton of bricks. "My god," is all I can manage.

Alice rushes to my side upon noticing my reaction. "Please, please don't fret." Her tiny fingers stroke the side of my face lovingly. "We will help you survive in here. It can be hard to adjust at first…but if you follow the rules, you will not be hurt. You will not face the wrath of the king, I promise."

I want to thank Alice for being so comforting and kind, but the door suddenly flies open. The force is so powerful that it slams against the wall, the sound echoing throughout the entire room. The harem girls gasp loudly and scramble back to their beds in fear. The only one that stays is Didyme, who stands by my side. Three Horses and Drinks of Waterfall step into the room, their menacingly large figures taking up the doorway and blocking out all of the light.

Didyme puts out a hand and beckons me to stand. I mindlessly obey, terrified out of my mind at what might happen if I disobey. She takes my hand as I get to my feet, and pushes me forward towards the two men. I look back in shock and the sting of betrayal burns me. Didyme's eyes are apologetic and she nods reassuringly.

The men grab my arms roughly and force me into the hallway roughly. "Don't touch me!" I hiss and struggle weakly as they drag me up another flight of stairs and down another dark corridor. My mind races as I think of all of the places they could be taking me. Am I going to be raped? Tortured? Fed to the king?

Two large doors at the end of the hallway are illuminated from a light inside of them. Drinks of Waterfall raps at the door and calls to the person inside of the room. A smooth bass rumbles in response and Three Horses pushes open the door. They throw me on the ground roughly and I groan in pain as the breath is nearly knocked from my lungs. My hair falls into my eyes and I stay crouched, nose to the fur rug covering the floor.

The two men talk to a man that I assume to be the master, and I can only make out a few words. Tiger Claw, being one of them. I cannot see the master's face. I can only hear his voice. A deep dread festers inside of me as the men turn and shut the doors behind them. I suddenly am alone, with a man whom I don't know. It scares me to think that he might be more ruthless than the others.

I can hear him stand from the seat and the creaking in the floorboards as he makes his way over to me. A rush of adrenaline pumps through my system as I scramble to my knees and scurry away from him towards the wall. I back myself into a corner and assume a defensive position. I can't seem to get a good look at him; it's dark in the room and his face is shrouded in shadows. All I know is that he's tall, nearly seven feet, and terrifying to me.

I begin to sweat and shake. He says nothing at first and does nothing. For a long while the master seems to just…stare.

The silence is broken when he finally speaks. "They are calling you Tiger Claw," his low bass rumbles in my ears. "Do you know why?"

My eyes widen. I had not expected this master to know my language, let alone speak it so well. His voice was accented heavily but I had no issue with understanding him.

"No." I respond.

"They tell me you hurt Three Horses," the voice says. "You cut him, and the cut continues to bleed."

Good, I think to myself.

His dark figure begins to move closer toward response I bristle, pressing my back harder against the cold, stone wall. My eyes stay fixed on his body and my breath hitches in my throat. He notices my actions and halts his motion. "Are you afraid of me?" he asks me quietly.

My hands clutch desperately at the sides of my dress. "Should I be?"

The master steps into the light then. I am immediately stunned at his physical beauty. Part of me had expected a beast, but this man was anything but. His body is riddled with thick muscle and intricate black tattoos swirl over his tanned, copper skin. His hair is so black and shiny it almost reflects blue, and the tresses are nearly waist-length. Oh, and his eyes are a different story. So dark that they can see into the pit of your soul, yet so tempting and inviting.

I gasp raggedly as he kneels beside me to inspect me further. He wears nothing but a loincloth and various northern jewels in the form of rings, necklaces and earrings. He reaches toward me but I panic, roughly slapping his hand away.

I gasp in shock at my own reaction. He stares at his rejected hand for a few moments before looking back up to me. His dark eyes seem to turn darker, displeased with my obvious subordinance. I know that he can sense my fear.

He reaches for me again and I dare not refuse his touch a second time. My whole body immediately tenses up as his fingers gently caress the side of my chin. "Who did this?" he asks me. My heart is drumming against my ribcage. "Three Horses?" he offers.

I nod.

He backs away from me and rests on his haunches, looking me over like a piece of meat. "They say you are a fighter," he remarks. "I like that."

I stare back at him. My hands are shaking. He stands up and looks down at me with an intense emotion that I can't register. "Come to bed," he tells me.

I stare at him dumbfoundedly. "What?"

"Come to bed," he comes again, walking away toward the fireplace. He starts to remove the numerous jewels hanging around his neck. When his fingers begin to untie his loincloth, I realize exactly what he means.

My heart starts to pound and I immediately hop to my feet. I take in my surroundings quickly before he can notice. The room is quite vast, but only has one exit. The door to my left was blocked by two large chests of loot, which I'd have to hop over to fully exit the room.

My eyes glance over to him. He seems to have caught on quickly to my plan of action, his eyes flickering mirthfully as though I've just challenged him to a game. In a split second I'm running full speed for the door. He lunges at me and I shriek in horror, stumbling over the chests clumsily. I get my hand on the doorknob and start to turn it when I feel two powerful arms wrap tightly around my midsection. He yanks me away from the door and carries me, flailing mess, to the bed.

I'm panicking, hitting at his chest and kicking my legs incessantly. He pins all four of my limbs down with ease and weighs me down on the bed. "No, please," I'm begging him. He struggles his way through my skirts and complicated undergarments before he eventually gets fed up with it and just tears them all off of me. I cry out in humiliation and shock at the sudden exposure.

An inquisitive finger strokes along my inner thigh, dangerously close to my womanhood. I struggle against him but his hold on me only tightens. He looks over me, his dark eyes peering into mine. His finger then slides sensually along my folds, and gently probes at my entrance.

I shriek again, leaning forward to bite him. I manage to get part of his shoulder between my teeth and bite down hard. He growls and clamps a hand tightly over my mouth, pinning me down and rendering me helpless. "Minx," he breathes. "Just relax."

My eyes are wide and panicked. My heart is racing and I'm saying silent prayers inside of my head. He looks back into my eyes again and slowly pushes his finger inside of me. I've never been touched like this before. He crooks his finger before I can protest, pressing against a strange spot that sends a rush of pleasure into me. I gasp in shock.

A smile flickers over his face as he repeats the action. Another wave of pleasure electrocutes my body and I find myself pressing my body into his hand. "I will not hurt you," he tells me quietly. "You are one of the only palefaces who can say that."

And with that, he slowly removes his hand from my mouth. I don't scream. For some reason, his words and demeanor have calmed me. Oh God, my body betrays me. That beautiful, evil man over me smiles with wicked delight as he pumps his fingers into me. He hoists his whole body on top of me and drags his lips across the crook of my neck. I stay still, shocked at how my body reacts to the pleasurable feeling. "Do you want me to keep going?" he asks me.

My brain is screaming to say no. My body is begging him to continue. My words escape me; all I can manage is a breathy moan.

He presses a kiss into my neck. "I think that's a yes."

He works his fingers into me with a fervor and passion I've never known. My body reacts in ways that I never knew it could. Wetness pools between my legs and I lift my hips to meet his hands, relishing in the feeling he brings me. He watches me moan. He watches me writhe. He feels me grow wetter and wetter. I can't help myself. I can't help the feeling. He's bringing me to a pleasure that I've never known before.

I'm shaking. I'm angry and I despise him, but I just can't help myself as my hips rise to meet the motion of his hand. I can't believe how wet he's made me, feeling his fingers slip in and out of me with ease. As I near the build up of ecstasy, he pulls his fingers from me abruptly. My eyes fly open and part of me almost feels…cheated. Cheated out of something that I don't even know about.

I look to him immediately, confused.

I've never seen a more amused look. "Beg," he commands.

"What?" I hiss.

"Beg me," he says. "Tell me that you want me, and I'll finish you."

Anger boils inside of me. My body feels so frustrated and so starved for touch. My skin is crawling, burning, and my sopping core is throbbing. My mind is screaming, my limbs are on fire.

I'm positively angry now—but I'm angry at myself.

"Get away from me," I hiss. "I'll never beg for you." I roll off of the bed and head for the door. Each movement is agony as all I can think about is how much I want him to touch me again.

He nearly won.

The master slides out of bed and goes to retrieve his wine glass. He sits in his chair and makes himself comfortable.

I refuse to look at the man who brought me such pleasure. How could I feel such a thing for a man who killed my whole family and destroyed my life forever?

"I will not bed you tonight," he announces. He sips his wine and makes himself comfortable in his chair. "I will not have you until you beg me for it."

"You'll never have me," I growl. "I will never beg!"

I reach for the door handle and go to let myself out. "Where do you think you are going?" he asks me. As I open the door, I see two burly men guarding the door frame and pointing their swords at me. Gasping, I'm forced back by the tips of their blades.

"You. Stay." The brute tells me, before slamming the door roughly in my face.

I glance back at the master, who is quietly staring at the fire. "You must be tired," he murmurs.

"Why would you care?" I bite back at him. My body is still burning with desire, and I hate myself for it.

"Undress and go to bed," he tells me.

"I'm not sleeping with you," I hiss.

"I will not touch you," he says quietly. Much to my surprise, there seems to be sincerity and reassurance in his tone. "Not unless you want me to."

"I'll sleep on the floor," I whisper.

"Are you really that afraid of me?" he asks me with a hint of amusement.

"I am not afraid," I bite back.

"Hmm," he chuckles. "You could have fooled me." He finishes off his wine before standing up and stretching. I stand with my back against the door, watching the muscles ripple down his body. His physical form looks like it could have been hand-made by the Gods.

I bristle in the corner of the room as he makes his way over to the bed, gracefully sliding beneath the covers. "I'm going to bed," he announces. "You're welcome to join me."

I stare at him for a long time. He turns on his side and buries into the pillows. I see the rise and fall of his chest and, after a while, hear his breath turn calm and steady. I walk to the bearskin rug by the fire. It is warm and soft and will do for the night. I take one of the colorful pillows from his chair and settle myself down onto the rug.

I lay for awhile, listening to the sound of the mysterious man's breathing. Before long, it lulls me to sleep.