Page 3 of The Wild Hunt (Sold to the Fae Duet #1)

My head aches. I groan, my hands rising of their own accord to soothe the pain. Instead, the contact causes a stinging sensation, and I open my eyes to find blood on my fingers.

I gasp.

Where am I?

I sit up. Too fast. My head spins, and I fall straight back down onto the bed I lie on. Wait. I’m on a bed. I’m not in the van anymore.

As my head stops spinning and my vision clears, I take in my surroundings with small movements.

I’m in… a hotel? The room is small and white: the walls, the bedding.

I swivel my eyes. There is a window above my head, but the curtain is closed.

Sunlight reaches its glowing tendrils through the gap beneath.

How many hours had passed? It had been early evening when Dad had…

My stomach sours and burns, as if I have taken a shot of acid.

He had sold me. His only daughter. To give himself a laughable and non-existent chance at a better life.

Whatever amount of money he may have gotten from selling me may cover the fees to get him some place new, but his habits weren’t so easily tamed.

He’d be broke again before the year was out.

And he’d be completely out of options then. I’d be gone.

Because he had sold me .

Ever so slowly, I take a deep breath and sit up. This time, with patience, I managed it. I swing my feet off the side of the bed and study my room further.

Beside the bed and window, there is a 2-drawer cupboard, a small desk with a lamp, and a stack of papers on it.

I’d have a look at those soon. A door and a solid white wall divided the room beyond that point.

I assumed the bathroom lay beyond there.

Down the narrow hallway was another door. The exit.

I stand, my head no longer spinning. I go first to the door that takes me out of this room. Locked.

Frustrated but unsurprised, I spin and head back to the window. I take a deep breath, already knowing what I will probably find beyond the curtains, but I have to know for sure.

I pull the curtain open.

The sunlight stings as my eyes try to adjust to the sudden brightness. But, even blinking through the tears, I see what I am looking for. What I really didn’t want to see.

The portal.

It’s huge, seemingly so much larger, and daunting in real life. And so purple, which had once been my favorite color. As I stare at the portal, bubbles of sludge oozing through my intestines, I know it never will be again.

I turn away from the towering mass and look down.

I’m fairly high up, at least ten stories, but not high enough to be at the very top.

A sprawling camp, like a tiny town, sits amidst the portal’s shadows.

I spy hundreds of soldiers crawling like ants through their nest. They seem to be performing drills and exercising.

They move in formation, a stiff and robotic dance.

Others mill around almost lazily.

I spy army trucks and helicopters, even a few tanks. I scoff. The army wasn’t brave enough to use them, so why bother displaying them? Right, intimidation . To magic-bearing humanoid monsters, of all things.

I fling the curtain closed.

Bathroom.

My bladder gives a sudden, desperate, and heavy pull, as if in agreement.

I quickly do my business while surveying the small bathroom. As plain as the bedroom, with a small shower stall, toilet, and sink.

I wipe, rise, and flush before turning to the sink and finally, facing the mirror.

Dried blood lines half my face. A nasty-looking cut sits above my brow where I had hit the side of the van. I wash my hands, then decide, “fuck it,” and have a shower. I needed to clean my wound, but I also felt gross. Violated. The hands of the men who took me still firmly indented in my skin.

I wash my body thoroughly, scrubbing my skin until it is pink and raw, before moving on to my face.

The cut stings as I let warm water rain down over my face.

I wash firmly where I remember the bloodstains had been and watch as the water pooling around my toes turns a rusty red before disappearing down the drain.

When the water clears, I turn and rinse my hair .

After I have dried and wrapped myself in a towel, I inspect the wound. It’s not too deep. Head wounds always bleed profusely. I open the single drawer beneath the sink.

Mini soaps, shampoo and conditioner bottles, body lotion, a hairbrush, a razor, sanitary products, and- uh-huh! A first aid kit. A generic small and red, with a white cross on top, first aid kit.

I unzip the kit and find the antiseptic lotion. After applying it sparingly, I leave the wound to breathe. It was too close to my hairline to cover properly, anyway.

I step back and appraise myself.

I am an attractive woman. I’m not being vain. I’m just saying it how it is.

I look a lot like my mother, and people always commented on her beauty.

I have a rich tan, crocodile-like eyes that are hazel and green, and thick, chocolate-brown hair that I usually braid tightly, otherwise it just gets in the way.

Blowing in my face, my eyes, my mouth… blowing in other people’s faces, eyes, and mouths…

Inconvenient is what it was. I would have shaved it all off years ago, but I never found the courage.

Rihana and Waverly often commented that it would suit my slim, pixie-like face, and I often agreed.

But my mother loved my hair when I was younger, and she was here.

I hated to think of losing such a tender connection to her.

My body is small, slim, and defined, like a dancer’s.

I loved exercising, especially jogging through the city parks.

My breasts are on the smaller side, which suits my athletic lifestyle, and my ass is…

quite impressive if I had to say so myself.

All plump and jiggly but firm. Leg day sucked, but it so had its perks.

I turn away from my reflection and walk out into the room. I am hoping for some spare clothes so I don’t have to re-wear what I fell unconscious in. Those clothes felt dirty, and I felt like my shower would have been in vain.

Thankfully, the set of drawers contained a few items.

Everything was in cream, including the underwear, and I was secretly thankful it wasn ’t my time of the month. Light underwear and periods did not end well.

I pull on the cheaply made bra and underwear, pointedly not thinking about how they knew what size clothing I wore, then choose a tank top and some comfortable-looking three-quarter length leggings.

As I pull up my pants, I belatedly realize my shoes are missing. After a quick inspection, I only find a pair of slim slippers by the door. I decide to forgo them for now. While I’m at the door, I decide to try the handle again.

Still locked.

So I knock.

“Hello?” I call. “Is there anybody there?”

I press my ear against the door. Nothing. There’s not even a peephole to look through.

I kick the door in frustration.

“Hello? Let me out of here!” I scream, my nerves finally fraying.

I kick the door again, twist the handle, and scream like a fool.

Nothing .

Eventually, I give up and head to the desk where I had spied the stack of papers earlier.

I pick up the first page.

Congratulations on being Chosen-

I snort. An apology would have been nicer.

- and welcome to Hotel F!

Please continue reading for information about your stay with us.

You will find complimentary clothing and toiletries within your allocated room.

During your allocated daily breakfast period, we will wash and replace your dirty clothing, bedding, and towels.

You may not leave your room unsupervised or outside of meal periods unless specifically required.

Your meal times are:

? Breakfast—8:00 am

? Lunch—1:00 pm

? Dinner—6:00 pm

Each meal period allows 1 hour to eat and socialize. It is important to make time for friendships with the other Chosen, as these women will be your only allies once you have made the Crossing to the land of the fae .

You are not permitted a television, mobile phone, or any other electronics.

To pass your time during your brief stay with us, we encourage you to read through the pamphlets we have supplied for you to prepare for your stay in Faerie.

Last, your safety is paramount to us. You will find your room is under constant surveillance, 24 hours a day. We will respond to emergencies and provide any necessary help.

If you have any feedback or questions about your stay, please write this on the Consumer Feedback Form.

Thank you, and enjoy your stay at Hotel F.

I scrunch the paper into a ball and throw it against the wall. These fuckers were treating us as if we were criminals locked in our cells. Because that is what these rooms were. They may have luxuries a cell would not, but four walls and a locked door are a cage, no matter how you furnish it.

I glare up at the walls and find two cameras blinking back at me.

My cheeks burn as I note my carelessly dropped towel in the center of the room.

My stomach curdles as another thought pushes through to the forefront, and I storm into the bathroom.

Camera number three grins like the filthy pervert it is.

I stomp back to my bed and fall onto it. I am positively fuming at the complete lack of privacy and common decency. The sick assholes getting their fill of five thousand fucking women.

I startle as a loud bell sings a merry tune throughout my room .

“Lunch Period will start in… ten minutes,” a generic robotic female voice calls through a hidden speaker.

The bell chimes again— ding, ding, dong! — before the room falls back into silence.

My stomach growls loudly at the announcement, and I clutch it.

Lunchtime. I had slept through breakfast, and my stomach was so not happy about that.

The prospect of lunch period was daunting, to be honest. I didn’t know what I would walk into and who I would meet.

But it had to be better than sitting in this plain little room, and reading stupid pamphlets I had no interest in reading.