I drive my elbow back, aiming for solar plexus—careful, controlled, nothing to draw attention from the auction. The bastard absorbs the blow like concrete. My fingers claw at his arms, trying to break his death grip, but his arms might as well be steel bands crushing my neck. This isn't some fledgling enforcer; this is an executioner, one old enough to match my strength.
The wealthy never play fair.
We struggle in near silence, a deadly dance disguised as a casual embrace to any observing eyes. My boots slide across marble as he forces me back, each movement precise to avoid disrupting Lilith's little show. I attempt to shift my weight to gain any fucking leverage, but his grip only tightens—professional, methodical.
The pressure increases with surgical precision. No rushed amateur move. I feel my vertebrae protest under the growing force—C1 and C2 screaming in warning. Even for a vampire of my considerable age, a cervical fracture of this magnitude would incapacitate long enough for them to win Dani and claim her as their prize.
One final, desperate attempt to break free—my fingers finding his face, digging for eyes—but it's too late. The sharp, wet crack of vertebrae shattering echoes through my skull like a gunshot, though I know only supernatural hearing could detect it over the auction's din. White-hot agony explodes from my neck, racing down my spine like molten steel. My body betrays me instantly, limbs becoming useless weights as neural pathways sever.
As my face meets marble, my last coherent thought is of the inevitable chaos. Rhyland will come crashing through these walls like an enraged Viking god, probably getting Dani—every fucking one of us—killed in his rage.
Then blessed darkness claims me, and I know nothing more.
Danica
11
My chestconstricts painfully, heart thundering against my ribs as two vampires wage a bidding war over me—my blood, my body, my existence. I'm being auctioned off like some rare vintage wine, the price climbing to obscene heights.
Silas's corpse lies at my feet, a grotesque reminder of his final act. His poison courses through my veins like liquid fire, forcing unwanted heat through my body until I want to claw my skin off. This invasion runs deeper than the bite—my flesh betrays me, responding to his toxic gift while my mind recoils in horror.
I battle against the sensation, but it's futile. His dark magic sends waves of unwanted pleasure crashing through me. I want to scream, to kill, to tear this whole fucking place apart with my bare hands. This is assault at its most primal level—my body forced to dance while my mind howls in rebellion.
Hot tears of rage and shame streak down my face as I struggle against Morgan's magical bonds and this chemical prison. It's a desecration beyond words, and I'm powerless to stop it. Even in death, this bastard torments me, his poison commanding responses I never consented to.
With Rhyland, each bite was sacred—pure love, trust, and passion merged into one perfect moment. His fangs pierced my skin because I craved it, needed it, welcomed it. Even Lucian's unexpected bite held a measure of understanding between us.
But this? Feels like the ultimate betrayal—my flesh singing while my spirit screams. I'm trapped in my own body, forced to perform in this hellish puppet show while my mind rages against every sensation.
The bidder stands before me, power draped in expensive clothes. His predatory gaze marks me as conquered prey. His eyes never waver as he casually tosses another bid—eighty million dollars. The auctioneer's voice scrapes against my nerves like broken glass, each call making me flinch.
"Eighty million going once..."
My gaze darts desperately to the back of the room, searching for the other bidder. Nothing. Just silence. He's abandoned the game. Apparently, that's my price tag—eighty million for one night of horror. One night where some ancient monster gets free rein over my body, all because my blood holds the key to daylight.
Nausea claws at my throat as Lilith's words echo in my head—how the winner claims me until sunrise, how "nothing is off limits." My stomach heaves as I imagine what awaits me. The thought of being used, not just for blood but for... everything else? Makes me want to scream until I shatter.
"Eighty million going twice…"
The vampire before me lets his victory smile spread, already savoring his prize. His gaze strips me bare, calculating exactly how he'll break his new toy. I've never felt so raw, so reduced to mere merchandise. To these monsters, I'm nothing but property to be traded.
The crowd drifts away, bored now that the entertainment's ending. They mingle through the ballroom like they're at a charity gala, not watching someone's life being sold. Their casual chatter floats up to my display platform, where I sit waiting to learn which sicko buys the right to destroy me.
They sip blood-laced champagne, gossiping about the evening's prices like they're discussing art pieces. The surreal disconnect makes my head spin—how can they stand there, socializing while participating in supernatural sex trafficking?
My insides twist as I await the final blow.
"SOLD! To Mr. Leighton!" The announcer's enthusiasm makes me sick. Lilith claps and smiles, gliding toward her customer. I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling hot tears escape despite my resolve.
Morgan's magic binds me like steel chains as she drags me from the ballroom. Behind us, Lilith and my "buyer" negotiate terms as if discussing a business merger. My struggles against her spell might as well be a kitten batting at iron bars.
She hurls me into my prison chamber—the same room where this nightmare began. Poetic, really.
"Wait here while the winner claims his prize," Morgan announces, clinical as a mortician reading a toe tag.
Thecasual cruelty of it all makes my blood boil. This woman—this witch—is supposed to represent balance and nature. Instead, she's playing enforcer for Lilith's sadistic games. What happened to all that bullshit about cosmic harmony?
"Why?" I demand, fury giving me courage. "Why are you helping that psychotic bitch? What's in it for you?" The words come out sharp enough to cut.
