*He shoves me, hard, over his shoulder. My world tilts violently, the polished wooden floor of the auction hall a dizzying blur beneath me. I can still see her, my Glizz, being led away by the raven lady and the two gorilla-like men. Her eyes are locked on mine, wide with a terror that mirrors my own. The word she managed to say, my name, is a ghost on my lips, a silent scream. I kick and writhe against the brute's unyielding grip, but he is a mountain of muscle and bone, and my struggles are as meaningless as a fly's against a wall.*
*As they drag her through the grand doors and out of sight, a single, solitary tear escapes the raven lady's eye. She gives me a look that is a silent, desperate apology and a fragile promise, all at once. Then she is gone, the doors swinging shut with a heavy, final thud.*
*The brute adjusts his grip on me, his hand pressing painfully into the small of my back.*
*He shifts my weight on his shoulder, his grip iron-clad and unyielding. The movement sends a fresh wave of dizziness through me. The grand hall, now empty except for the lingering scent of blood and fear, falls away behind us as he carries me out. We descend a set of stone stairs, the air growing colder and damper. The sounds of the auction are replaced by the distant drip of water and the echo of our own footsteps.*
*He doesn't speak. He doesn't need to. His silence is more terrifying than any threat. He carries me down a long, torch-lit corridor, the walls rough-hewn and ancient, until he pushes open a heavy, oak door and steps into a private, opulent chamber. The air here is thick with the smell of expensive wood polish and old paper. He crosses the room in a few long strides and unceremoniously dumps me onto a plush, velvet sofa. I land in a heap, the air knocked from my lungs.*
*The moment my feet touch the cold stone floor of the corridor, I'm off like a shot. My only thought is Glizz, the door, freedom. I sprint, the plush velvet of my dress a hindrance, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I can feel the brute's tired sigh on my heels, a sound of such utter dismissal that it's more chilling than a roar. He doesn't even move to chase me, confident in the absolute control he holds over this place.*
*I'm almost there, my fingers brushing against the heavy oak door, when a shadow falls over me. A figure, larger and more imposing than the other guards, steps into my path. He's not just a guard; he moves with a lethal grace, his presence radiating quiet authority. Before I can even think to dodge, his hand flashes out and clamps around my upper arm. He lifts me as if I weigh nothing and tosses me back ,I land hard on the sofa, the impact knocking the wind from me again.*
*The antelope-horned guard doesn't even glance at me. His attention is entirely on the brute, his posture one of casual deference. He runs a hand over one of his magnificent, spiraling horns, the gesture smooth and unhurried.* "Shouldn't she be chained?" *he asks, his voice a low, melodic baritone that contrasts sharply with the violence of the evening.* "It looks like she'll keep trying to escape."
*He turns his head then, his dark, intelligent eyes fixing on me. I'm on the floor now, crawling towards the door, my movements desperate and clumsy. He takes a single, silent step towards me. With an almost lazy grace, he scoops me up off the floor, his grip firm but not cruel. He holds me at eye level, and as he does, a single sunbeam, finding a gap in the heavy curtains, illuminates his face.*
*The antelope-horned guard's lips twitch into a faint, amused smile as he effortlessly holds me aloft, my struggles like those of a trapped moth. He looks past me, his gaze settling on the brute, who has finally moved to stand by the roaring fireplace, his back to us.*
"What is she?" *the guard asks, his voice a low, curious hum. He shifts his grip, turning me slightly in the air as if examining a particularly interesting artifact. The sunlight catches the polished curve of his horn, casting a warm, ethereal glow on his face that does nothing to soften his sharp, intelligent eyes.* "She's certainly not one of the usual trinkets you collect, my lord."
*The brute's fist slams down onto the stone mantelpiece, a sharpcrackechoing through the room. A fine dust of soot and ancient stone flakes into the air around him. He doesn't turn around, his gaze fixed on the flames, but his voice is a low growl of pure frustration.*
"Yes, she isn't," *he agrees, his tone flat. He pauses, the silence stretching taut.* "And she definitely isn't a beast man or half demon." *He finally turns, his eyes finding mine over the guard's shoulder. They are dark, assessing, and filled with a restless energy.* "My idiotic men captured her without knowing what she was because they were desperate for coins." *The admission is a curse, spat out like a curse. He runs a hand over his short-cropped hair, a rare display of agitation.* "A mistake. A costly one."*The antelope-horned guard's brow furrows in genuine confusion as he tilts his head, studying me from his vantage point. He holds me steady, his grip unshakable.*
"She looks like a teenage boy with a pretty face," *he muses, his voice laced with curiosity.* "...with big boobs?" *He arches a single, elegant eyebrow, the gesture so strange on his otherwise severe face that it's almost comical. He's trying to make sense of the conflicting signals my appearance presents, his mind struggling to categorize me into a box he understands.* "That's... a new one."*The brute's hand, clenched into a fist on the mantelpiece, slowly relaxes. He turns from the fire, his expression unreadable, though the storm in his eyes has settled into something colder, more calculating. He walks towards us, his heavy boots making no sound on the thick rug.*
"You know what," *he says, his voice now a low, controlled rumble, the calmness more unsettling than his earlier rage.* "I try not to think too much of that." *He stops a few feet away, his gaze fixed on the guard.*
*The antelope-horned man nods slowly, his horns catching the light as he shifts his grip on me. He's not challenging his master, merely seeking to understand the logic of a decision that seems to defy their entire world's commerce.* "But why didn't you sell her off?" *he presses, his tone thoughtful.* "Even though she caused a scene, I'm sure some of the patrons have a fetish for violent, strong girls."*The brute stops a few feet away, his shadow falling over us both. He ignores the guard's question for a long moment, his gaze sweeping over my tear-streaked face and dishevelled dress. There's a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes—amusement, perhaps, or a grudging respect.*
"She would have fetched good pay still," *the guard adds, pressing his point.*
*A low, humorless chuckle rumbles in the brute's chest. He finally answers, his voice dropping to a near whisper that carries more weight than any shout.*
"The price wasn't right," *he says, his eyes locking onto mine.* "Not for what she is. Or... what she could be.""Hmph." *The antelope-horned guard lets out a thoughtful hum, his fingers tracing the curve of his horn as he processes the brute's words. His gaze shifts from his master to me, a predator considering its new, unusual acquisition.* "Well, what did you plan on doing with her now?"
*The brute's answer is immediate, sharp, and final. His eyes never leave my face, and a predatory glint enters them.* "Didn't you hear me say she is mine now?"
*Hearing those words—* "she is mine now" *—sends a fresh wave of ice through my veins. It's not just ownership; it's possession. The antelope guard gives a slight, almost imperceptible nod, as if filing the information away. Without a word, his grip loosens, and he drops me unceremoniously onto the plush sofa. I bounce once, the impact knocking the remaining air from my lungs.*
*The two men's voices fade into a low, monotonous drone, the language of their business a foreign tongue to my exhausted mind. The events of the evening—the auction, Glizz's capture, my own helplessness—they all crash down on me at once. My eyes grow heavy, the plush sofa and the duvet the antelope guard must have thrown over me becoming a soft, welcoming oblivion. I don't fight it. I slip into a dreamless sleep, the image of Glizz's terrified face the last thing in my mind.*
Later:
*The silence is what wakes me first. It's a deep, heavy silence, broken only by the soft crackle of a dying fire in a hearth I hadn't noticed before. I'm no longer on the sofa. I'm in a bed, the softest, warmest bed I've ever known, covered in a thick duvet that smells of clean linen and woodsmoke. I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, my heart hammering against my ribs.*
*The room is dark, lit only by the embers of the fire in the hearth, casting long, dancing shadows. I'm alone. The initial panic of being confined in a strange place is momentarily eclipsed by the sheer, shocking comfort of the bed. An opportunity. The thought sparks in my tired mind. If they've moved me to a room, perhaps they've let their guard down. I scramble out of the bed, my bare feet silent on the thick rug, and rush to the door. To my astonishment, it opens without a sound, revealing a dark, empty hallway.*
*The hallway stretches before me, a silent, dark artery. I move with a quiet urgency, my bare feet making no sound on the stone floor. I'm halfway down the corridor, the distant promise of freedom a palpable thrum in my veins, when a sound stops me cold. It's a muffled, guttural cry from a room slightly ajar. It's the brute. He's having a nightmare, his voice thick with terror.*
*My body betrays me. My mind screams to run, to put as much distance as possible between myself and the source of that terrifying sound, but my feet are rooted to the spot. Instead of fleeing, they carry me forward, towards the open door. I peer inside. The brute is thrashing on a massive four-poster bed, tangled in expensive sheets, his face a mask of pure anguish in the dim firelight. He's not the powerful, commanding figure from before. In sleep, he's vulnerable, just a man tormented by his own demons.*
*Every instinct tells me to turn and run, but my hand, acting of its own accord, reaches out and pushes the door open wider. I take a silent step into the room. My gaze locked on his contorted face, I move closer to the bed. My hand, which should be pulling away, instead lifts and gently begins to stroke his forehead, my thumb smoothing the deep lines of worry between his brows. It's a reflex, a strange, automatic urge to soothe the pain I see.*
*The moment my skin touches his, the reaction is instantaneous and violent. His eyes, wide and clouded with sleep-terror, snap open. In a blur of motion, his hand shoots out, his fingers clamping around my wrist like a steel manacle. The pressure is immense, a crushing grip that cuts off the blood flow, sending a sharp, white-hot pain shooting up my arm. I wince, a small, involuntary gasp escaping my lips, bracing for the inevitable blow.*
*But it doesn't come. Instead of throwing me across the room or snarling a threat, his grip shifts. He pulls, not with aggression, but with a desperate, needy force. I stumble forward, losing my balance, and tumble onto the edge of the bed. Before I can even process what's happening, his other arm wraps around my waist, pulling me flush against his sweat-slicked, trembling body. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, his breathing ragged and hot against my skin.*
*Pinned beneath the weight of his trembling form, I am utterly paralyzed. The sharp scent of his fear and exertion fills my nostrils, a stark contrast to the clean linen of the bed. His heart hammers against my ribs like a frantic bird trapped in a cage. He is not the brute who claimed me; he is a man undone, clinging to the only solid thing in his nightmare.*
*My own heart hammers a frantic counter-rhythm against his. A thousand scenarios of violence flash through my mind—his snapping back to wakefulness, his grip tightening into a killing hold, a blade appearing from the shadows. But his body doesn't tense for an attack. It trembles with a profound, childlike helplessness. His grip on my waist is tight, but not cruel. It's a grip of a man drowning, and I am the only piece of driftwood in sight.*
*And then, my treacherous hand moves again.*
*The weight of him becomes a solid, anchoring presence. The frantic tremors that had wracked his body have completely stilled, replaced by the slow, deep rhythm of sleep. His breathing, once ragged and hot against my neck, is now even and warm. I can feel the soft, steady beat of his heart, a powerful, comforting thud against my own side. The air in the room, thick with tension and fear, begins to thin, replaced by a heavy, exhausted silence.*
*He doesn't let go. His arm remains a firm band around my waist, a silent, possessive claim. I am trapped, a prisoner in the heart of his nightmare, yet I feel no immediate threat. The fear that had been a cold, sharp stone in my gut has softened, replaced by a weary, bone-deep exhaustion. My own eyes, which had been wide with terror, grow heavy. The warmth of the bed, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the utter stillness of the moment—it's all a sedative.*