Page 59 of The Delta’s Rogue (Crescent Lake #4)
I kneel at the edge of the stage. The two females assisting the auctioneer guided me there, but I’m kept in place by the blood magic hold the blonde witch has on me.
I sit with my hands clasped behind my back and knees parted.
My back arches, thrusting my breasts forward, and my pussy is visible to most everyone in the audience. I’m the picture-perfect sub.
Except for my eyes.
The magical hold on me from the blood magic is potent, but with the witch’s attention split on various parts of my body, I’m able to resist the manipulation of my head.
I lift my chin, holding it several inches higher than I should, higher than what Amara trained all of us to do, and stare straight out towards the audience.
I can’t see anyone out there. The lights are too bright, making it impossible to see anything beyond the edge of the stage. But I stare anyway, keeping my eyes focused and in one place.
It’s a small act of rebellion, but I cling to it, focusing on that instead of the terror and brokenness inside me. My urgent mental recitation of my safe word ends, replaced by this final piece of stubbornness they couldn’t tame out of me—a piece I dredge up from the infinite darkness within me.
“The bidding for Anaís will start at fifty thousand dollars,” the auctioneer says.
The crowd bursts into action. Bids flood in as soon as he finishes his sentence, and he rattles them off as they come, almost unable to keep pace with them as they overlap with each other. Each amount is one thousand dollars more than the previous bid .
Mechanical voices swirl around me, gnawing at me with their strange, distorted tones. Higher and higher the number goes. With each bid, the defiance I cling to fades until there’s none of it left.
I quiver, muscles aching from the pose I’m in.
But I keep my chin up and eyes forward even as the terrified brokenness within me rises like the ocean’s tide.
With each wave, it grows stronger. The frigid waters of it pool in the emptiness my defiance left behind, threatening to drown me, to drag me to the deepest trench of my fractured soul.
I might let it. Resigning myself to this fate may be my only option.
The only way out is through.
“Five hundred thousand dollars!”
My heart stops, as do all other sounds. The last syllable of the bid slithers through my ears as the room sits in stunned silence over the drastic raising of the stakes.
My insides twist, and I concentrate on breathing through my nose while I wait to see what happens next.
Will others follow suit? Will they drive the price to new heights? Did this number trigger a bidding war, or will this be it—my final selling price, my worth declared by an anonymous, faceless scumbag in the audience?
“Five hundred and fifty thousand!” Another voice rings through the house, upping the ante again, and the audience springs into action once more.
“Five hundred and seventy-five thousand!”
“Six hundred and fifteen thousand!”
“Six hundred and forty-four thousand!”
“Seven hundred and five thousand!”
On and on they go. Higher and higher the numbers reach, pushing closer to one million. They circle like sharks, spiraling tighter around their prey—close enough to strike but far enough away that the minnows think they can sneak through the holes in their formation.
Close enough to smell the blood. The fear.
I won’t give them that satisfaction. I won’t let them sense my fear and feed off it.
Shutting my eyes is impossible. The leash on my blood prevents that.
I block them out, though. Ignoring the rising bids, I dive into my memories .
I remember the first time I saw Sebastian and how everything about him called to me in a way I couldn’t comprehend or explain.
Those stormy gray eyes of his never paid me more than a moment’s notice, but mine tracked him.
They memorized him. He was all I could think about and all I could speak about.
In time, I learned to keep my mentions of him to a minimum. But my thoughts of him never ebbed.
I remember our night at the club. Not Forrest’s club—The Black Door—but the club where Haven celebrated her birthday.
I remember how he hovered near me, guarding me.
He held me close, guiding the movements of my hips as we danced, subtle wisps of his lycan’s aura leaking from him in warning whenever someone wandered too close to me.
So subtle, I don’t think he realized he was doing it.
But I did. Just like before, like the first time I met him, I noticed everything about him.
The memories shift again, and I remember waking up in his arms, curled into a ball in his lap and wrapped in his sweater that carried his scent, as he sat at his desk in his office.
I remember the ease with which we conversed, how natural it was to be with him.
I remember almost saying too much, and forcing myself out of there and back to the clearing before I spilled everything to him, taking his sweater with me.
That sweater came to bed with me every night until the night I left him behind—the night he begged me to stay with him, but I was too afraid to ask him to come with me.
I should have asked him to come with me. Even if that night was just a dream, dream me should have made it clear that he was wanted. Needed . That separating from him was like tearing my heart out and never closing the hole in my chest.
My breath catches in my throat, but I keep my emotions off my face. I tuck them away, attaching them to these precious memories I keep just for me.
They can take my body, and my choice and my will, but they’ll never take these from me. These memories will be my solace. They will be where I hide. They will be the last line of defense around my weak and crumbling heart, the glue holding the broken pieces together.
“Nine hundred and seventy-five thousand!”
The bids break through my thoughts as they jump again and hover right beneath that million-dollar mark. Murmurs ripple through the crowd as there is another break in the bidding. Whispers of awe reach me as the crowd discusses how this is the highest bid of the night, of perhaps any auction ever .
“Nine hundred and ninety-five thousand!”
It’s silent again—a sound I’ve come to hate. Nothing good comes from a silence such as this.
“Come now,” the auctioneer beckons with a faux warmth in his voice. “We’re so close to one million! Anaís here—”
“Nine hundred and ninety-six thousand!”
“Anaís here is worth one million. More than one million!” The auctioneer gestures towards me. “Show them how much you are worth.”
Manipulated by the unseen witch beneath the stage, my body moves of its own accord. I rise to my feet and spin to face upstage.
“Nine hundred and ninety-seven thousand!”
My feet spread slightly, and my upper body leans forward, hands wrapping around the backs of my thighs.
“One million dollars!”
A silent sob works its way out of my chest. My breasts sway, visible through the gap in my legs.
The tears that have lingered on my lashes since before the platform began its ascent finally fall, streaking down my cheeks, and land on the wooden stage with two soft splashes.
Two more follow in their wake, landing in the exact spots the first did.
“Two and a half million dollars!”
The price jumps again, prompting gasps from the audience at the steep climb.
My heart almost stops its galloping race, frozen in place by the massive number.
The murmurs and chatter continue, louder this time, but no further bids come in. I stand bent at the waist with my legs spread for Goddess only knows how long as everyone waits with bated breath to see if anyone else will match this bidder’s number.
The wait becomes an anchor around my feet, dragging me deeper into the frigid tides of my despondency. The blood rushing in my ears is the vicious whirlpool aiding in the drowning of my soul.
Lo siento, Sebastián, I whisper in my mind.
The auctioneer ramps up his selling of me, stretching out the moment to convince any on the fence bidders to make the jump to the next level.
I use my silent message to Sebastian to ignore him as much as I can .
I’m sorry I couldn’t wait for you, and I’m sorry you couldn’t find me. My love for you will never fade. I just wish we’d had more time.
The auctioneer bangs his gavel against his table, tearing me from my inner thoughts and sorrow. “Sold!” he exclaims. “Sold for two and a half million dollars to bidder number 831!”
Before he finishes speaking, my body straightens.
I walk forward onto the platform, feet aching and knees trembling from the ridiculously high heels they forced me into.
Everything swims in my vision as the platform descends beneath the stage, a result of both the tears pooling in my eyes and the exhaustion creeping up on me.
But my night is far from over.
The witches who finished getting me ready flank me as we traverse the halls, heading away from the stark plainness of the backstage area and into an elegantly carpeted hallway lined with gold-framed mirrors and expensive, intricate paintings.
Which means the winner of my auction—my new owner—wants to enjoy me in private.
That thought rattles around in my brain.
Someone owns me—some male with an unfathomable amount of disposable income and likely the same amount of free time on his hands to think up ways to torture me.
I strain my neck, fighting against the blood magic, but it’s no use. The pain and the shock of its power on me have all but faded, but I’m still powerless to move.
My fate awaits me behind the door Amara stands in front of.
She smiles at me and takes my face in her hands as the two witches open the door to the room.
Beaming at me with suffocating pride, Amara leads me inside and spins us so I face the open door and the wall framing it.
I see none of the room, catching only the faintest glimpse of the extra-large bed in the center, my eyes locked on Amara’s face.
“I can’t believe it!” she gushes as the other two witches leave. “I knew you would catch us a high roller, but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine it would end like this!”
She pulls me in for a hug, her hands stroking my back as she rocks me side to side, once more emulating a doting mother like she’s done so many times before. Her touch sends a shiver down my spine, and I tense in her arms, breaths shaky as I refrain from pushing her away .
She leans away from me, hands on my shoulders. Her eyes shine with false tears as she brushes my hair from my face and arranges it around my shoulders and down my chest so it frames my breasts.
“I so wish I could stay to witness you meeting your Dom for the first time, but I have business to wrap up with some of our guests.” She cups my cheeks once more and presses a kiss to my forehead before backing away from me completely. “My sweet Anaís. Remember what I taught you. Make me proud.”
I stand in the middle of the room, frozen in place yet trembling as she leaves, teeth knocking together from the force of their chattering.
The door closes, and my eyes squeeze shut, hands curling into fists as I wait, naked body on display like a perfect little gift.
Inhaling sharply, I glance towards my clenched fists. I uncurl then close them again as I comprehend what is happening.
I can move . There is nothing keeping me in place, no one controlling my body aside from myself.
My gaze lifts and on a small table by the door is the vial of blood, left there by the blonde witch or Amara.
Everything in me warns me that it’s a trap, a test. They want me to fight against this male. They want him to punish me. There are likely strategically placed cameras all over this room, so every moment of my humiliation is recorded and displayed to them for their entertainment.
But I don’t care.
Hurried, dominant, and desperate footsteps thunder in the hallway, heading towards my room, and I grab the shoe from my foot, turning it so the sharp, seven-inch stiletto points towards the door.
It may result in my punishment. It may result in this male wielding his power over me in an even harsher manner and sooner than he may have originally planned, but I won’t go down without a fight. I won’t go down without one last stand.
The lock spins, the doorknob rattles, and I charge forward, shoe in hand, ready to stab my stiletto heel into the eyeball of the bastard who thinks he can buy my submission.