Holy shit. He would have used something with this high an amount of voltage on me. I barely have time to marvel at the damage done, before the other two guards step in, shouting at me. I whirl it to thump them, wielding it like a fencing sabre.
The first falls, pole-axed, joining mister piggy upon the wooden platform with a hollow thump. The other freezes, staring at me warily. The audience is hollering wildly, like they're loving the spectacle, and the auctioneer is spluttering, trying to restore order. Other guards are now advancing on me.
The crowd goes silent as I back away from the last guard, waving the weapon now at the auctioneer. His glasses practically fall off his face in shock.
Well, I obviously can't hold them back for long.
“Look,” I say, my voice loud and clear. “I know I can't escape this. I'm not going to run away. I just wanted to give this asshole a lesson.” My foot nudges the stunned prod holder. “Because fuck him. Did you see how high he put this fucking thing?” I wave the cattle prod for good measure.
The auctioneer blinks slightly, a lump bobbing in his throat. Probably because I'm waving the prod just a little too close to him for comfort.
Now I point it at the audience, taking care to keep the guards on the edge of my peripheral vision. “While we're at this, I'd like to say, fuck you all.” I'm belligerent now, drunk on my temporary position of power. It heightens my senses, makes me more secure in my footing, even if I'm as far from secure as I can be. “I'm no slave. I can't believe how fucking sick and twisted you all are for doing this. You should be ashamed.”
With that in mind, I wave the last guard back, and the others who were clambering onto the stage have hesitated.
“So,” I add. “Who wanted to buy me again?”
There's a moment of electric silence.
It's laughable when the reaction I get is the opposite of what I expected. Hands fly into the air, and the auctioneer is watching me. When I point the prod away from him, he turns back to the crowd, nervously starting to sort out the bids.
I seriously can't believe what's happening. Not only did they ignore pretty much everything I said, but they're now clamoring to buy me.
One of the shifters even calls, “A strong woman! Who doesn't want a strong woman for their clan?” And this prompts a big flurry of hands and note waving.
The remaining guard has now dragged off the two companions I've injured. The others have tentatively tried to encircle me, and I stand there as confidently as I can, even though my legs are shaking like jello, and I'm flabbergasted at the sudden enthusiasm.
I let them take the prod off me. I expect to be electrocuted by it for my efforts, but to my relief, no one tries to punish me. Which is somewhat of a surprise.
They seem to have gauged the crowd's mood correctly, and leave me alone. The two replacement guards keep a careful distance.
Well. Fuck me, right?
That didn't turn out the way I expected at all.
Chapter Three
It becomes very clear, very fast, that the people bidding for me are very rich – and using a currency I'm not familiar with. They call the money drots. Many of the women from what I was able to overhear tended to sell within the five figure range, which is a terrible value on a life, honestly. A few lucky women, if I can even use the phrase “lucky” have gone for six figures. I don't know what they value in someone that makes them sell for more, but I seem to be heading for the millions. Part of me is flattered by this. I'm high value goods to these people. Something to be desired, to be taken. Not bad, right?
On the other hand, I'm still being fucking sold, and no amount of pretty numbers being tacked to my name will diminish that fact less.
Quite a few of the shifters show interest in purchasing me, sticking up their hands, yelling, but the higher the price goes, the less people who are willing to stake so much on a simple human. Again, I have that curious conflict of being actually interested in how much people want to buy me for, and the anger that people are trying to buy me at all. In an ideal world, there would be no slaves, but unfortunately, that bitch of a female shifter is right. We have it in every country, though the form isn't always the same. Whether it's by underpaying them so that they need to keep working, withholding payment, threatening them with family honor or subjecting them to sex and drugs – we have it all over the world. And I've seen enough of Doctor Phil and Oprah and even that British one, Jeremy Kyle to know just how shitty people are.
I doubt I'll be appearing on any one of those shows with this story soon.
Eventually, as the money hits ten million, the bidders are reduced to just two. The dragon shifters from earlier. The ones who for some fucking reason had fixated on me, and then tried to leave false trails for one another so that they could have me to themselves. Clearly that didn't work. Blondie's getting flustered, and mister dark-haired has this determined glint to his eyes in that I don't think he's planning to back down. Even if it bankrupts him. Men and their dammed pride.
I notice a lot of sullen glances as the shifters aggressively raise the price higher and higher. Those who had been hoping to buy me are now left in the dirt by these insane dragon shifters. And they just keep going. Occasionally giving one another these sly side glances.
I take the time to discreetly check them out again. Dragon shifter one, our resident blonde male, has tanned skin which gives him a surfer look. He probably wouldn't be out of place on a surfboard, with spray around him as he bobs up and down the waves, posing for some invisible camera. Maybe there'll even be the tooth sparkle as he smiles in an exceptionally distorted way. The other one definitely has that brooding melancholy about him, and a likely fierce temper to match his permanently tugged down features. Those hooded eyes give him a half-asleep appearance. He probably wouldn't be able to tell what a joke was even if it came and slapped him in the face.
Since I'm apparently going to be sold off as some kind of sex slave or whatever, if I had to choose between these two, I'd probably pick blondie. He'll be easier to talk to, I think. Darkie over there with his noble chin and scrunched up eyebrows likely wouldn't listen to me. Not that I want to even be sold, but there's no real point pretending it's not going to happen.
My brain keeps chasing scenarios, anyway, like clubbing them unconscious and running away as soon as I can. However, I know some clans still live far isolated from humans, in hard to access areas, or regions where we'd struggle to survive, like the tundras of Canada. I'm still not sure about Melantha's proposal, that some of them live in a different place entirely. I mean, that's more fantasy than anything else. Like, sure that shifters are pushing the boundaries on what's real and what isn't, but that's about the most magical thing with them. They can shift into an animal, and they're somehow able to take their clothes with them. I've seen shows before where they always end up naked after shifting, but for the shifters of our world, they're able to keep the clothes.
Somehow, it melts into their skins. That has to be magical, right?
I wonder if I'll scream when I see the dragons shift and become huge, fire breathing monsters the size of houses. Or if they're more the size of horses, or komodo dragons. They've held documentaries on T.V about the types of shifters that exist, but David Attenborough or Bruce Parry never got around to the mythical ones, due to their “Elusive and secretive natures.” Parry wanted to try living amongst the dragon shifters in some secret country they have in Europe, but they wouldn't even let him in.
Honestly, even as I stand here in front of the sea of faces, seeing those two shifters bark at one another, I can't help but feel the whole situation is surreal. Just a day or so ago – though I can't be certain just how long I was unconscious for – I had finished work. All I expected was to go back home, watch shit on television, eat noodles and then retire, ready to work again the next day. Everything about that day was set in stone. The way I went about my life, the things I did almost every morning and afternoon – the same routine I'd kept for months.
In
a way, I suppose, I became trapped in my routine. We all do. No matter how much we may complain about how people treat us or how terrible our jobs are, we still go to them, because familiarity is more comfortable than the unknown, where you might not have a job, and you know that as long as you work hard, you'll get somewhere.
That is, unless you live in America, where working hard doesn't always mean you'll one day be a millionaire. Oh no. Working hard in my job means that if I do such a fantastic job, I get to do someone else's work as a reward. All for the same hourly pay. So why bother working hard if you're getting paid the same either way, you know?
But yeah. Getting rich is more a combination of the people you know and the luck you have. Having two parents is a plus. Having additional relatives helps. Maybe not being born in America would help a lot as well, because I see the price of living is getting disproportionate. Anyone who doesn't have the ideal background chemistry in the soup of their lives tends to end up struggling. And God forbid that you have some kind of accident. Especially if you couldn't afford insurance – though even with insurance, not every medical bill gets covered or contributed to. God forbid you have a chronic illness as well, and have to pay like one thousand dollar a pop for an EpiPen.
But I digress. Thinking about chronic illnesses right now isn't going to transport me any further from this place.
The dragon shifters explode into argument when it's clear that neither plan to give ground on me. I'm almost amused. They're really going for it.
“Twenty million!” Blondie declares this with his eyes narrowed, daring darkie to counter him. Darkie does so without batting an eyelash.
“Twenty-two.”
“Are you serious? You'd pay that much for a human woman? You're gonna waste all your money on this to spite me?”
“Like I said. If you want her, then that makes her valuable. So I'll get her.”
“Twenty-three! No way. If you want her, then that just means I'll need to up the stakes, right? Unless you're that eager to bankrupt yourself for the sake of a simple human woman.”
“Well, we're clearly seen she's an interesting one. I don't know if they planned the cattle prod takeover, but it was impressive.”
“Don't you dare.”
“Twenty-five.”
“You bastard. And why do you always do it by two million? What's wrong with you? Twenty-six.”
“Twenty-eight.” Darkie's clearly not missing a beat. He doesn't look as if he's enjoying himself, either. He does everything with that same deadpan expression.
“Gah!” Blondie throws up his hands in the air. “You're impossible. From now on I'm just gonna match it.”
The auctioneer appears bemused by all this. So does the rest of the audience, who have had to sit there tightly as the dragon shifters bump the price up to ludicrous proportions. They're likely just going to keep going in this dick waving contest as well.
“Well, you could share me,” I say, acting nonchalant, like I don't care about what's happening. Obviously I do, since I don't particularly want to be here. “It's not like I'm going anywhere fast.”
The auctioneer shoots me a warning glance. I'm overstepping my bounds just by talking. The guards eye me as well, but make no moves towards subduing me. My suggestion floats over everyone's heads, and most of the audience look bewildered that I'd even suggest something. After all, you don't share your winnings. Especially if the winnings is a single female.
However, the dragon shifters fall silent at this. Eventually, the blonde one says, “You know what, that's not the worst idea I've heard. And it would solve the current issue of neither of us wanting to lose her to the other.”
“I'm outbidding you on every turn,” the black haired one snaps. “I won't share.”
“And I'll keep outbidding you.” Blondie taps his foot. “Look, I know we have our differences, and I know you're still a little mad at me for, well.”
“You're not going to mention that here. Fuck you.”
“See? Mad. How long are you gonna hold the grudge for? I already explained to you why I did it.”
Now everyone in the audience turns to gape at these two as they launch into their tirade. The auctioneer as well appears riveted.
“Alaric, no. Stop trying to change the subject. The woman is mine. I will not share.”
“It's been three years, Cael. Three years. And I told you why I did it and everything.”
“Did you really have to bring it up here? Now? In this place?” Cael looks ready to spit fire. He even raises up his hands, as if to strangle the blonde haired Alaric out of every breath he owns.
“Well, no. But I wanted to.”
“What are you guys even talking about?” I chime in now, trying to follow the conversation, and the audience nods along to my question. We are, after all, watching this little drama unfold.
“None of your business,” Cael snaps.
“Uh, it is kind of her business if we're buying her. And we did just declare it in front of everyone.”
“You declared it in front of everyone, you incompetent moron!” Cael now takes steps towards Alaric, puffing like a steam engine.
“Three years ago,” Alaric informs me, backing away from the vehement Cael, “I may have cheated on Cael with someone else.”
Cael lets out an incoherent shriek of rage. Several of the shifters flinch back. The woman responsible for buying Melantha merely folds her arms and sighs.
“Why do you always make it about yourself?” Cael clenches his hands into fists. “I told you that has nothing to do with this!”
“Are you sure about that, Cael? Given that you want to take what's mine? I should tell everyone here all that happened.”
“Do we have a new bid?” The auctioneer ventures to say. Both shifters tell him to shut up at the same time, and he shrinks behind his podium.
“Look, Cael. I'll just pay you or you pay me after the bid's done. We'll sort it out between our families. And we'll share.”
“Unnecessary effort,” Cael retorts. “It would be far easier to just have a new woman. Just buy yourself a new one. I'll be taking the redhead.”
“But I want to be able to see you again. To be friends again. I don't see you anymore. This has been the first time since...”
Cael falls silent. A vein twitches in his neck. “Ever thought about the fact I don't want to see you again? Ever since you did that?”
“Since I did what? Break your heart? Please, Cael. You have no heart. You demonstrated that time and time again when we were together.” Alaric now wears a mask of anger. His anger is hot like hissing water. Cael's anger is cold like steel. Neither back down from the other.
Cael says nothing in response. His jaw is clenched tight, and those hands have curled into white-knuckle fists.
“Holy shit,” I say.
Suddenly, these two shifters look far less like alien entities hell bent on enslaving me and having their wicked way, but more like jilted lovers using me as an opportunity to do maximum damage to one another.
I'm really not sure how to react to that. I don't think anyone here does. They both seem to be verbally whipping one another, completely detracting from the experience of the auction. The auctioneer again queries them, because obviously he's got a few more women to sell. And probably has no idea why a couple of gay dragon shifters are trying to buy a woman with absurd amounts of money. Although he certainly wants to secure the sale, because that kind of money will be feeding him and his family for a long time to come. I suppose. Unless a million drots is only worth like ten dollars or something.
I fold my arms, inspecting the shifters. I doubt their purpose in coming here was solely to upstage one another. But since they found themselves here, targeting the same woman, that's how it ended out as.
Now the female shifter who brought Melantha enters the proceedings. “Why do I have such idiot relatives? You know father and mother will hear about this.” In doing this, she reveals herself as another dragon shifter. Jesus fuck, what is wr
ong with these dragons? They're all psychotic. “Just buy her from me. I bid thirty.”
Cael and Alaric turn to gape at the female shifter.
“Don't even think about upping the stakes, Cael. Nor you, cousin.” She jabs her finger at Alaric. She growls when Cael opens his mouth. Alaric makes a sucking noise with his teeth.
“Yuna, do you really have to do this?”
“I'm hardly going to let my idiot brother sell out the kingdom.” Yuna folds her arms, one eyebrow stretched in an imperious way. If that's even possible. I see the resemblance between her and Cael now. Both have that raven-dark hair, those luminous amber eyes. I didn't make the connection before, because they didn't hang out together, and she hid her pendant from view, so I didn't know what kind of shifter she was.
Under a great deal of confusion, and a rather stony silence from the two males, who are now apparently cousins, I'm sold to Yuna for thirty million, with a promise of fifteen million each being returned to her. And just like that, she's overrode the situation, and paved the way for the next sell to take place.
Sold To The Dragon Princes: The Novel Page 3
