Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
“Hysterics aren’t going to change anything.”
“Hmmm.” He sits forward and flicks his fingers at one of his horns. “I only wear my human form when I’m in your realm. Now, we’re in mine, and there’s no need to do so.”
I’d listened to the offer, had allowed him to read the contract to me. Somehow, in all that, I hadn’t really processed that other realms existed, let alone that I’d be traveling to one. It feels too big to comprehend, so I focus on something else. “Where are my clothes?”
“They’ll be returned to you when your contract is fulfilled, along with your other personal effects.”
I look around the room, mostly to give myself time to process that. I don’t have much worth fighting over, but the photos in my suitcase are the only ones I have of my gran. “They’ll be kept safe?”
“Yes.”
I have no reason to believe him, but this isn’t a fight I’m going to win. I don’t know if I’ve ever been in a fight I had a chance at winning. Without thinking, I press my hand to my face. It’s only then that I realize the throbbing pain is nowhere in evidence. I prod my skin gently, but the swelling seems to be gone as well. “How long have I been out?”
“A few hours. Transitioning from realm to realm isn’t easy, even when you’re traveling with me.” He pauses until I look at him. “A healer took care of your injuries.”
“Oh.” I drop my hand. “Thank you.”
“You’re one of my bargaining chips for a better future. It’s not in my best interest for you to be bloodied and broken on the auction block.” He pushes slowly to his feet, which is right around the time I realize how massive he is. He’s got to be seven feet. He’s got to be. “There are dresses in the wardrobe. One of them should suit. You have an hour.” He turns and walks out of the room.
I stare at the door for a long moment, processing what he said. Auction block. I’d honestly thought he meant to keep me for himself, but apparently that isn’t the case.
Does it really matter? There’s not much you can do about it now.
A gibbering terror threatens to break through my artificial calm, but I muscle it back. If I start crying now, I’m going to end up curling in a ball and sobbing until I can’t breathe. And nothing will change. If I’m supposed to be auctioned off, I won’t know anything about the person who purchases me until it’s over. Azazel has promised I won’t be forced or come to harm, but how far does that promise extend when I’m outside his control?
Movement has always helped. It keeps my fears from freezing me. Hopefully that will continue to hold true.
I fight my way out of the ridiculously plush bed and, after a short argument with myself, wrap the sheet around my body and pad to the wardrobe. It’s built on the scale of Azazel, so I have to reach up to grab the handle and wrestle the heavy door open. Inside, I find a rainbow of garments. Some of the textures I recognize, some I don’t, but they all seem horrifyingly expensive. I drag my fingers over the soft fabrics and worry my bottom lip.
Of course they’re expensive. Azazel is auctioning me off. I should probably be grateful he’s not going to put me on the auction block naked and weeping. The thought makes me shudder, and I grab a dress at random.
It’s not the most complicated design, but it’s got a corset kind of bodice beneath my breasts, and it takes a lot of cursing and twisting to get it in place. I gather up the long skirt and walk to the massive ornate mirror angled near the door.
I look…
I stare blankly at my reflection. Gone are my favored oversized sweatshirts and loose jeans. The white dress clings to my waist and ribs, the structure of the bodice making my breasts look much larger than they are, pressing them up until the ruffles of the top seem to cling precariously to their slopes. The skirts aren’t as billowy as they feel, draping down to brush the tops of my bare feet.
Reluctantly, I lift my gaze to my face. The swelling is gone, of course. But more than that, this healer has done something to me. My skin has never looked so dewy and unblemished—not even when I was in my early twenties. And my hair…
I should have cut it. It’s too red, too wavy, too noticeable. The years and lack of care had dulled it, which in turn helped to keep other men from looking at me; something that infuriated Ethan even though it’s not as if I solicited attention ever. My hair isn’t dull and frizzy now. It looks like I’ve just come from some spa and salon treatment.