"That's quite enough, Silas darling," Lilith demands. The evil bitch hasn't changed at all.
Yet this scumbag appears to have developed a death wish. Rather than heeding his hierarchy command, Silas tightens his grip, drawing more deeply from Dani's veins. I watch her strength falter, knees beginning to give way.
"For fuck's sake, can we move this along?" I project my irritation across the room. "Some of us have other engagements this evening."
The assembled parasites murmur their assent, their own impatience feeding into my fabricated persona. Yet this worthless bastard continues to defy her, each passing second fueling my growing rage. My fingers flex instinctively. One clean stroke would—
"You absolute imbecile!" Lilith's hand shoots out, yanking Silas away with such force that Dani collapses into the chair. Her green eyes flash with rage. "When I give an order, I expect it to be followedimmediately."
Silas cowers, Dani's blood staining his unworthy mouth. "Forgive me, Mistress. Her taste... it's beyond anything—"
The words die in his throat—literally. Lilith moves with lethal grace, her fingers tearing through muscle and bone like tissue paper. Silas's head separates with awet crack, his final expression frozen in eternal surprise as his body crumples. Dark blood paints the marble floors while his head rolls to a stop at Dani's feet.
Dani's sharp intake of breath draws my attention. Her eyes wide with terror, skin pale beneath her tan complexion as she presses herself further into the chair. The scent of her fear permeates the air, mixing with copper and death.
Lilith delicately wipes her hands, not a hair out of place. Her casual display of brutality serves as a stark reminder of why it took both Rhyland and myself, plus ancient Hawthorne magic, to merely imprison her. Her power radiates through the room like a physical force, millennia of accumulated strength making the air heavy with malevolent energy.
"Now then," her voice maintains its cultured refinement. "Let's be perfectly clear about the rules of engagement. This exquisite creature is merely on loan. Damage my property, defy my wishes, and well..." She nudges Silas's head with her Louboutin heel. "I trust I've made myself clear?"
The assembled crowd shifts nervously, their earlier bloodlust tempered by healthy fear. Even these shit stains recognize an apex predator when they see one.
"Consider yourselves privileged," Lilith continues. "Her blood is simplydivine—something none of you pathetic peasants will ever experience again. Now, shall we proceed with our little auction?"
The assembled elite stir with renewed interest, their earlier fear of Lilith's display quickly overshadowed by base desire. Their muttered speculations and thinly veiled hunger fill the air like decay. My jaw clenches hard enough to crack marble as I catalog every exit and potential threat.
"Morgan, dear," Lilith beckons the witch forward. "Do be a love and attend to our merchandise. We can't have damaged goods at auction, now can we?"
The witch's familiar features nag at my memory as she weaves her healing incantation over Dani's wounds.
Where do I know her?
The bleeding from Silas's feeding begins to slow, though the damage—both physical and psychological—has already been done.
Rhyland's fury pulses stronger now—he's getting closer. Time becomes a critical factor.
"Let's begin." She gestures to Dani, displayed like a macabre artwork in that blood-stained white gown—an intended visual designed to entice these assholes' basest instincts.
"Five million dollars seems a reasonable starting point for such a... unique specimen."
The room erupts in a flurry of raised bidding cards. These vultures, so eager to part with their fortunes for a taste of power they don't deserve. Pathetic.
"Oh my," Lilith's laugh rings with false delight, though I detect the underlying cruelty. "Such enthusiasm. Perhaps we're being too modest. Let's start at twenty million, shall we?"
Several cards lower—apparently, some of these worthless assholes have limits to their depravity. I maintain my position, raising my card with indifference, playing the role of wealthy collector.
The numbers climb higher: thirty million, forty, fifty—each bid accompanied by Lilith's performative excitement, like some demented auction house hostess. I counter each offer, watching these fools deplete their fortunes in pursuit of power they'll never possess—assuming they live long enough to regret their choices.
The bidding has devolved into a two-person war—myself and some arrogant bastard across the room. We assess each other through our respective masks, this theatrical facade of anonymity serving both our purposes. Based on his posture and tailoring, his bearing suggests old money, probably European. Irrelevant details, but years of observation, become a habit.
Dani's labored breathing draws my attention momentarily. Her chest rises and falls, her golden eyes wide with panic as they treat her like a prized thoroughbred.
This arrogant bastard across the room won't claim her—not while I draw breath. Though I maintain my dispassionate expression, my fingers tighten imperceptibly on the bidding card. Rhyland would tear through these walls like an enraged berserker, but this situation requires patience, not brute force.
Hold on, Little Huntress.I think, watching her struggle to maintain composure.
Your mate's more controlled brother has this situation well in hand.
My enhanced senses register the threat a fraction of a second too late—an inexcusable tactical error. Powerful arms, cold with death, lock around my head and neck.
