Page 54 of The Delta’s Rogue (Crescent Lake #4)

Vacant, lackluster, and hopeless. That’s how I’d describe the eyes staring back at me—empty versions of them, nestled into a thinner version of my face, set atop a weakened, barely surviving version of my body.

That version of me stands in front of a mirror in the middle of an ornate bathroom, naked and waiting for someone to instruct her on what to do next.

Her tresses are longer and fuller than they’ve ever been.

Her skin gleams. Every inch of it is smooth and flawless, softened by cosmetics, and every bit of unwanted—unacceptable—body hair is permanently removed by magic.

But that girl in the mirror? She’s not me. There’s nothing of the old me left in her. Any bit of remaining hope, of lingering fire, was doused by their manipulations and their sick, twisted games. Games I willingly played. Games I participated in to protect myself.

Games that broke me.

Now I’m here, staring at a girl who looks like me but isn’t me, trapped in a web of my own making, waiting for them to seal my fate.

“The bath is ready, Anaís.”

I close my eyes at the sound of Brenna’s voice, shutting out my broken reflection. Wordlessly, my feet carry me to the tub, and I climb inside the waiting bath she’s drawn for me.

Warm, perfumed water swirls around me as I lean against the edge, my head resting on a cushion attached to the side. Brenna’s magic keeps the temperature from dropping and the water moving softly over and around my body—a gentle, massaging ripple to soothe my muscles and soften my skin.

It’s been four days since they told me about my auction, four days since the night Brenna failed to connect me to my Sebastián . Each one is endless. Each one brings me closer to the day they plan to sell me to the highest bidder.

The day my life ends.

I’m not sure if those days have been real or magically altered. I haven’t had the heart to ask Brenna. Since the failed dream, we’ve spoken no words to each other beyond what’s necessary.

As Brenna wets my hair with the detachable faucet head, I shut my eyes, both to block any water from irritating them and to hide the flash of deeper pain at the thought of that failed dream.

I fell asleep that night on a fluffy cloud of hope-filled happiness, my heart galloping in anticipation of seeing Sebastian after so long without him, after he’d been only a memory for four long years.

But the night came and went, and I awoke the next morning with tears in my eyes and a dagger in my heart at the realization that it didn’t work.

The last wisp of hope I felt withered away, deteriorating into bitter nothingness, as I sat on the edge of my bed and Brenna explained what happened—that she couldn’t bring me with her because of the magic keeping me hidden, but that she was able to reach him alone and give him our message.

There’s no way for me to know for sure if she’s telling me the truth. All I can do is trust that she is, that she spoke to Sebastian and gave him the information he needs, and that Sebastian can formulate a plan to save me.

Before it’s too late.

That’s part of why I haven’t spoken much to her. I have to protect myself, protect my heart. I don’t know if she’s lying. For all I know, she could have been lying to me this whole time, tricking me into trusting her so she can betray me to Amara and secure safety for herself.

The more I think about it, the more sense it makes.

There is no reason for Brenna to risk everything to help me.

She knows things about me that only a few do, things Amara would reward her handsomely for if Brenna revealed them to her.

She could help these assholes spin all my secrets to their advantage, use them as leverage to gain a foothold in the lower ranks of their hierarchy.

All I have to offer in exchange for her help is a promise that I will try to rescue her once I am free. A promise I might not be able to fulfill.

So, I’ve retreated into myself, cutting off any deepening of the tenuous bond we’ve formed during my time here. If I’m prepared for it, if I’m expecting it, her betrayal will sting less. Maybe.

“How are you feeling?” Brenna asks. “About the upcoming auction?”

Her tone is light and conversational—surface level, like two friends chatting about the weather or an upcoming dinner party. Beneath her guise of small talk, I sense the true purpose behind her words. She’s checking in on my emotional state.

“It’s all I can think about.”

It’s not a lie. The upcoming auction consumes my thoughts, both waking and sleeping.

How can it not when every day is one day closer to it?

How can it not when every day is like a visit to the spa, with skin treatments and hair removal and deep tissue massages to have me relaxed, glowing, and perfect for the auction?

The girls working on me— pampering me , as Amara says—speak about me as if I’m not there or can’t hear them.

They discuss which parts of me are the most eye-catching, which parts should be highlighted by my outfit and my makeup.

They predict how high the price will go when I’m on the stage and whisper about how exciting it will be to watch the bidders lose their minds over me when I’m presented to the audience.

When I’m alone in my room at night, curled into a ball in my massive bed, their words warp my dreams.

These “spa days” are meant to relax us, to help us be well-rested for our auction day. For me, they do the opposite. I still sleep—they dose us with a sedative every night to ensure we’re getting enough rest—but my slumber is far from dreamless.

Nightmares plague me, dark visions where Sebastian doesn’t save me and I end up in the hands of a cruel master.

A nameless, faceless, sadistic male who forces himself on me over and over, tying me down to ensure I never escape him.

A male who offers me to his equally heartless friends on a silver platter—friends who use and abuse me, who take turns violating me as he watches with a drink in his hand and a smile on his face.

He reclines on a couch while another sex slave bounces on his lap and a third kneels at his feet, poised and ready for his instructions.

All three of us are helpless to stop it.

The dreams are relentless, ending only when the crackling electric pain of the blood magic wakes me in the morning as Brenna enters my room.

The nightmares fade and the terror ebbs, replaced by a vast, gaping despondency—a despondency so ingrained within me that it no longer fazes me or brings tears to my eyes.

I’m empty. Vacant. A body. A vessel.

It’s all I can be.

La única manera fuera es através. The only way out is through.

Unless I end it now.

I’m in a tub. I could slip beneath the surface.

I could drift away, immersed in the warmth of the water, and leave everything behind.

The dread of the unknown, the clawing, cloying fear of ending up somewhere worse than here…

All of it would vanish, along with me, if I closed my eyes, let myself slide down the side of the tub, and never came up for air again.

It would be so easy. The pain of dying would be brief compared to the pain of my time here.

The only things stopping me are Brenna’s hands in my hair, massaging the suds of the shampoo into my scalp, and the cameras positioned throughout the room.

She’d never let me stay under the water long enough for my life to end, and even if she wasn’t here, whoever monitors the security feeds would alert Amara.

They’d fish me out of the water and do whatever it took to revive me so they didn’t lose their investment. Their prized show horse.

Brenna finishes bathing me, helps me to my feet, and wraps a fluffy white towel around my body. My eyes flick towards the corners of the room. I still don’t know exactly where the cameras are, but I know they’re there, filming my every move and recording my every word.

Those cameras are the other reason our conversations have been limited in the days since I was supposed to see Sebastian in my dream.

They’re the reason Brenna is bathing me today instead of giving me privacy and allowing me to bathe myself.

She’s held back on her use of illusions now that we’re closer to the auction and there are others letting themselves in and out of my room as they prepare me for my “big day”.

We never know when someone may enter, so to protect ourselves—to protect her —we’re following Amara’s protocols down to the letter.

I follow her to the vanity, steps sluggish as I place one foot in front of the other. Over the back of the chair, a sheer robe waits for me, the exact shade of red as the dress Sebastian made my collar from.

I wonder if he still has his piece of that dress.

Did he keep it, hiding it away in a place only he knew of, like I did?

Does he pull it out and think of me, the way I would think of him as I ran my fingers over the frayed piece of it around my ankle?

Or did he dispose of it, choosing to rid himself of any reminders of me and our time together?

Is he really looking for me? Does he care about what’s happening to me?

“I will find you,” he said. “Te lo prometo . ”

For all I know, I dreamt that promise. For all I know, that entire night was completely in my head, crafted by my wild imagination and my dread of leaving him behind.

Like the echoes of him declaring his love, maybe I conjured up his voice and all those wonderful, tender words to soothe my broken heart and ease the difficulty of our separation.

Only time will tell.

We reach the vanity, and I drop my towel to the floor, leaving myself naked again. It doesn’t disturb me. Not anymore. I notice none of it. The temperature, the eyes on my body, the feeling of being exposed… The shame of it all no longer exists for me.

Brenna helps me into the robe—first one arm and then the other—and guides me onto the cushioned seat, her fingers already combing through my hair to dry and style it with her magic.

“One week left,” she says as a coiled curl falls in front of my shoulders.

I raise my brows at her reflection. “One real week?”

She pauses as she combs through another section of my hair. The strands hang suspended in midair, stretching from my scalp to her fingertips. “Yes.” She drags the word out, lowering her voice to just above a whisper. “I told you they lift the time magic after they schedule all the auctions.”

My shoulder lifts in a half-shrug. “Sure. You said that. But…”

The next curled section of hair drops down my back, warming my skin through the translucent fabric of my garment .

Brenna meets my eyes for the first time in days. “What reason do I have to lie to you about that?”

I shrug again. I can think of several, but I voice none of them, and we fall into silence again.

One week. Seven days. One week until my fate is decided, until I find out for sure if I made the right choice to trust Brenna. Seven more days of enduring this prison disguised as an opulent palace.

Goddess, I hope I can last that long.

On the surface, it’s a girly girl’s dream: playing dress-up, luxury spa treatments, a soft-as-a-cloud bed with more pillows than necessary, being waited on hand and foot.

It’s how they get their prisoners to cave so easily.

They tell the girls it’s all a gift, that they’re lucky.

They’re so convincing, even I sometimes forget that I’m in danger.

That they’re all sharks, circling around a school of unsuspecting minnows and waiting to attack at exactly the right moment.

The last section of hair falls into place, framing my face. Brenna shakes out my tresses, loosening the pattern into soft, glamorous waves. The ends of the strands tickle my back through the thin robe, and Brenna steps away to examine her handiwork right as the door opens and Amara enters.

She saunters towards us, a self-satisfied grin on her face and a sheen of excitement in her cold eyes.

She wears a dress, as always—a deep plum color today, but this dress is more elegant, more glamorous, and more extravagant than any I’ve seen her in before.

It’s dotted with gold, matching the eagle pendant she always wears no matter what other jewelry she adorns herself with.

The neckline is cut low, and the dress hugs her hips and thighs before flaring out into a skirt with a slithering train.

The flecks of gold that glimmer in the light and grow in number and intensity the further down the dress they go add to the snake-like effect of the skirt hissing across the floor.

Out of habit, I rise to my feet and spin to face her, hands behind my back, ensuring I emphasize my assets as she’s trained me to do. The posture leaves my nudity displayed for her through my robe’s sheer fabric.

Amara gives me a once-over as she circles me, her ever-critical eyes examining my body, my hair, and my pose .

“Oh, my sweet girl!” She cups my cheeks in her hands, pride bubbling from her. “You are stunning!”

I force what I hope is a grateful smile onto my lips and dip my chin to her in thanks.

“And just in time, too!” She spins on her heel and waltzes towards the door, leaving as quickly as she arrived. “We need to take you to the staging area for the auction.”

“The auction?” Brenna’s voice wavers with confusion as she takes a hesitant step after Amara.

“Yes.” Amara glances at us over her shoulder, her hand hovering above the fingerprint scanner, the same gloating smile painted across her face as when she first entered my room. “Circumstances have changed, and our dear Anaís is being auctioned tonight.”