Auction

But it's not okay. I just killed a man in front of a pack of professional killers. Now they will kill me. That is natural justice. I deserve it, probably.

I pull the knife back, away from his outstretched hand.

I managed to kill the sheriff because I had the advantage of surprise. I do not have that advantage with these other men. They are trained in the arts of war, every one of them has a bearing that speaks to discipline and pain. My father taught me to protect myself, but not against odds like these. I am lost. I know that now. There is some temptation to give into it, to let them take me, but I resist that call to death.

"Easy," he murmurs. His voice is so deep I feel as though it is vibrating the very floor beneath my feet. His shoulders are broad beneath the green snake tongue armor he wears, a thousand little y tongue plates folded neatly together to create a shirt that would be impenetrable to my makeshift knife.

That sort of equipment costs a lot of money. He must be very rich. They all must be. They bought me, after all.

It is that thought that makes it impossible for me to imagine any kindness. It would be better if he killed me. Then this would be over. I am wretched with fear as he comes on toward me, taking another step, closing the distance between us as I weigh whether I have the courage to try to take another life.

And then two strong hands come down on my shoulders.

I scream and whip around, the knife poised to strike.

It is Mattias.

Mattias. I had forgotten about him and Elias entirely, but they have been behind me the whole time.

A large hand wraps around my wrist from behind. I start to scream as the knife is plucked from my hand.

"Easy, girl. Easy. Easy. Easssssyyy..." the warrior behind me soothes me. It doesn't work. I am staring into Mattias' face. I can't read his expression. But he is holding me there, letting the man who owns me take hold of me too. He is keeping me caught.

"Let me go!"

I scream the words, but nobody obeys them. More hands come. More men join in to restrain me. I start to flail, to kick, to fight for all I am worth, but there are too many of them, and they are all too strong for me. Any one of them alone could overcome me. Together, they are an overwhelming force. They carry me away from the body, out of the room. They take me god knows where to do god knows what.

"Mattias! Don't let them take me!"

Crying out for Mattias does nothing. I can't tell if he's with them or not, or if they pushed him away. I can't tell what's happening because I'm panicking to the point I don't understand anything besides my own fear.

"Put her down."

The one who came toward me first, the one with the tattoos, gives the order.

The others follow it. I am lowered onto what feels like a couch. I can't see below me. I can't see anything other than male flesh wrapped around me, holding me down, keeping me in place.

I can't even fight for my freedom. That doesn't stop me from panicking. Though I can barely move, I struggle with my fingertips, my toes. My heart is pounding and my breath is coming so fast I am flooded with oxygen, dizzy with fear.

Silver eyes appear in front of my face. One of the men has come forward among the others. He has braided blond hair that reaches down to his shoulders. His neck is marked with tattooed script, a verse written in black and red ink.

"Breathe," he says, in low resonant tones. "Just breathe. Deep breaths. In and out."

"Let me go!"

"Settle," he insists. "We're not going to hurt you."

"Then let me go!"

"You just killed a man. There is no way we're letting you go."

"Kill me now! I won't be prisoner!"

"Feisty," someone intones in a curious accent.

"Very," Silver Eyes agrees. He has a calm way about him. They all do. Not one of them seems surprised or upset by what I just did. A man is dead by my hand, and they don't care.