Page 37 of Ash Storm

No.

God, no.

“Not her, my friend,” Afsan interrupted. “The blond is … reserved … I will be bidding on her myself.”

“Not the two with the white bracelets, either,” Alistair said. Once again, she hadn’t even noticed him getting close. He was like a ghost.

The virgins.

Of course.

The Roman Stallion cocked his head sideways, as if faced with a difficult choice.

Reka held her breath.

“I’ll take her,” he finally said, his thick, long finger pointing straight at Reka.

“No!” Chloe cried out. Reka turned to her friend and shushed her quickly. The last thing they needed was Chloe, who’d been the fighter’s first choice, calling attention to herself.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, praying she was telling the truth—knowing that, even if she wasn’t, she was better placed to withstand whatever was coming than her friend was.

Anara looked at her sadly, but didn’t say anything.

Reka winced as Alistair grabbed her by her elbow and pulled her away from the line.

Something flashed in the fighter’s dark eyes, and was gone an instant later.

“They will both be brought to your rooms,” Alistair said. “Remember, no visible marks, and no permanent damage.”

“Relax, my friend. These men know better than to damage my property. Don’t you?” Afsan asked amicably, but his hard eyes spoke of what would happen to anybody who dared to cross him.