Page 39 of Hell Fae Captive

“Already?” I scanned the swarm of women and caught the alluring figure of Ajax lining them up. Seeing him made me stand a little straighter. “Sure you don’t want to throw on a dress and take my place?”

Sir Bachen just stared at me like I’d grown another pair of arms—which, knowing Hell, shouldn’t be surprising at all.

“I was joking. Forget it. See you around.” Squaring my shoulders, I marched forward.

The air hummed with the chatter of thousands of Hell Fae and their captives. The male audience filled every seat in the amphitheater, seemingly eager for tonight’s display.

I scrunched my nose in disgust. I knew better than to believe this was a “ceremony.”

It was a parade.

A warm hand curled over my bare shoulder, and I twisted around to see Ajax steering me toward the line of women. “Don’t touch me,” I said, my voice low as I flinched away.

His hand moved to the low curve of my back, fitting perfectly against me, making my skin tingle.

I shouldn’t respond to his touch this way. He’d brought me here. Tested me. Given me special treatment, only to screw me over with that cupcake punishment.

He didn’t respond to my demand. Instead, he manhandled me to my place in line.

I scowled at him. “Are you hard of hearing?”

His jaw clenched. “Wait here until you’re announced.” He turned his back on me and started walking away.

I stepped out of line. Because clearly I possessed a death wish of some kind.

However, his antics had cost me thirty-six hours of precious time.

The least he could do was acknowledge that he’d fucked me over.

“Thanks for the cupcake, by the way. I really enjoyed my nap,” I called after him.

Ajax paused midstep, then glanced back at me. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Your gift.”

“I didn’t leave you any gifts,” he retorted. “Now get back in line before I put a collar on you like I did Item Twenty-Two up there.” He gestured to a familiar female with a silver ponytail and blazing obsidian irises. She appeared ready to kill the Warden, but the sparks around her throat were preventing her from whatever she intended to do.

“So I’m anitemnow?” I guessed, arching a brow.

“You were always an item,” he replied, spinning away from me. “Sixty-Six, in case you were wondering.”

I frowned and noticed the number appearing over my head in smoke. It was there and gone in a flash, his spell seeming to have marked my spirit more than my corporeal form.

A deep male voice rang across the amphitheater, welcoming the spectators to the ceremony. He went on for a couple of minutes about how we were all selected candidates for the bride trials and that only the most suitable among us would survive. Then he called for Item Number One, and the line shifted a bit as the first candidate stumbled into the limelight.

Cheers and hollers erupted, making my stomach twist.

The line moved up as more numbers were called.

In front of me, girls fidgeted or stood proud. If these trials really were to the death, I should start sizing up my competition.

But I just couldn’t entertain the idea of ending any of their lives. The more I thought about it, the more acid built in the back of my throat.

I’d been taught to kill, to survive, but not at the expense of other victims.

Plus, I didn’t feel very capable of doling out badassery when I wobbled on a pair of heels.

I caught sight of Ajax standing by and watching, arms crossed over his broad chest.