My tight, challenging glare trailed up to find that he was the only one not wearing a tie, or a tuxedo. His collared shirt flared open at the neck, revealing an expanse of tanned skin and a bare tease of blonde chest hair, short enough to still reveal the curves of a muscular chest. He wasn’t large, but he looked deceptively strong… functional strength, not gym strength. The breadth of his shoulders confirmed this. His shirt flared out, the collars like daggers resting over his jacket.
A scruffy blonde beard only emphasized a brilliantly white-toothed smirk of amusement, and his eyes…
My breath caught, my anger stuttering like a candle in a breeze.
Those eyes — although not looking at me — were the greenest I had ever seen, seeming to almost glow, absorbing and reflecting the light around him like emeralds. Faint creases marred the corners of his eyes, belying that he was no stranger to laughter. But as I saw that face, I realized something for the first time, and I felt my breath catch again.
He wasn’t laughing at me. Or at Claire.
He was laughing…
At everyone else. But more than just them. Almost as if he was laughing at the world, the room, the city, their ideals, their fears, their joys, their existence. At the looks the people were giving me. As if approving of the reactions Claire and I had elicited… but over that approval was sheer, utter amusement at their thinly veiled looks of judgment.
Very few turned to look at him, but I could tell they all wanted to. It almost seemed as if those in the room knew who he was, despised him, hated him, even, and didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his outburst. Or risk the result of disrespecting him, or drawing any more attention to themselves than they already had. They acted as those surviving a storm — it was easier to ride the waves than scream at the sky.
Those around him gave him a discreet, but wide berth. Several paces around him remained free of bodies, and he sat leaning against the bar as if this was entirely usual — his element — the natural order of the world.
Time seemed to return to normal, knowing now that I wasn’t the source of his amusement, but that my entrance — and the reaction it had caused — was the source. He finally met my eyes and I almost took a step back. He slowly lifted his glass, dipped his head, and then turned back to the bar with another chuckle — judging by the light shake of his shoulders.
I didn’t know whether to thank him or hate him. His laughter had been tainted with such arrogance and disdain that it was hard not to feel some of it directed my way.
But I had also noticed a hard glint in the depths of his eyes — of one willing to break the world to get what he wanted. He was dangerous.
Perhaps he was my enemy. One of those Roland had warned me against. Maybe he had been laughing at me. At my impudence of coming here to take what he had declared as his.
Sounds of conversation quickly resumed — as if the crowd was eager to replace the memory of his laughter — and I felt Claire let out a breath. After a deep breath of my own, I began to descend the stairs, keeping my chin high as Roland had taught me. I just wanted this to be over with. Make my bid, win the artifact, and get the fuck out of here. This wasn’t my world. I felt like a dolphin that had just slipped into the tank with killer whales.
We entered the crowd, wading around the dozens of small circles of those familiar with each other — speaking softly, laughing lightly, touching an arm here, fussing with a shoulder there, admiring jewelry. All fake motions of friendship, because a polite form of murder shone in those eyes. Friends today, enemies tomorrow. None of these people cared for each other. They were here for one reason, to annihilate their ‘friends’ by outbidding them for some overpriced piece of art. And to smile lightly at each other as they did it. Until the next auction, where the tables could turn and they could come out on bottom. It was a game to these people.
Their one source of entertainment.
Claire had snatched up a flute of champagne from a server silently slipping through the crowd, and noticing the discreet stares following us, I did the same. We met eyes, and I nodded. I motioned her closer to the bar where, thanks to the arrogant man who had laughed, there was a little more open space. As we neared, crowds shifted subtly, not wanting to appear to be associating with us. I caught a few disdainful sniffs here and there from other women, especially those attached to a well-dressed man who seemed to pay a bit too much attention to our passing.
Lechers.
I growled to myself, but kept my face carefully composed, a smiling mask for Claire. She was breathing quickly, but doing a good job of hiding it. I smiled warmly at her.
“You look beautiful. We’ll be out of here soon. Don’t worry. You’re doing fine.”
She nodded weakly, taking comfort in my words, and not believing a one of them. To the others, her face displayed no unease, looking more like disdain, which fit in well here. But I knew she wanted to have fun. The feeling in the air was shattering her dream of a fun night.
I couldn’t blame her. I felt like I had just walked into a room of frat boys and sorority girls naked as the day I was born. Hungry and jealous gazes pinning us like darts on a board. But I was used to that. I wasn’t conceited, but I knew I was a pretty woman. Not overly so, but I was aware of the effect I had on men. Claire, on the other hand, was beautiful, but refused to hear a word of it.
But anyone interested in nabbing us up as a pretty piece of arm candy was in for a rude surprise. I cared about what was underneath their green eyes, their broad shoulders, and their well-tailored—
I realized I was reciting the arrogant bachelor’s looks, and felt my face flush with embarrassment. I let out a breath, masking my face with a sip of cool champagne. I didn’t give one shit about how handsome he was — although, like any girl, I did appreciate pretty packages. Still, none of that mattered if the man on the inside was a cave troll, intent on only the pursuit of a casual, hormone-infused night.
Regaining my composure, I lowered my flute, and found the green-eyed man staring at me curiously, still knuckling the coin idly. He saw that I had noticed him, and flashed me a polite smile. Nothing more. But it seemed naturally tinted with mischief. Not directed at me, but like the sound of his voice had been — directed at everything around him. As if the world was one big joke to him. I opened my mouth to tell him in no uncertain terms that I didn’t appreciate him eyeing me when someone lightly rested their hand on my shoulder. I had time to notice the green-eyed man’s eyes crinkle at the edges, all sense of humor evaporating. I whirled, ready to instantly go on defense.
Chapter 12
A handsome older gentleman stared at me with incredulity in his hazel eyes, but his face slowly morphed to confusion. “Constance?” the man frowned, staring from my hair to my face. I didn’t recognize him, and he seemed to be suddenly realizing that he didn’t recognize me either. He dropped his hand and took a polite half-step back, well before it would have seemed inappropriate. His hand fell to his side with a slight bend to his arm, as if used to resting there.
A distant part of me familiar to training with weapons realized it was where a sword would rest in the old days, a man placing his hand on the hilt of a blade.
But, of course, those days were long gone. People didn’t walk around with swords anymore.
I shook my head in answer to the mistaken name. He let out a breath, and gave me a disarming smile, his weathered face now resembling a loving grandfather doting on his grandchild. “My apologies. You looked like someone that I once knew—”
A light, but deep gong cut him off, and the violins faded in a rehearsed closure, as did all conversation. I turned to see a man standing at the top of another set of stairs, opposite from where we had entered. He was a short man, and although dressed better than the servers, he still presented himself subserviently to the guests before him. “The auction will commence in a few moments. If you could please take your seats.” A low murmur responded as the crowd slowly drifted towards the open doors behind the spea
ker. The stairs were half that of the ones we had entered, and led into an old theater, complete with velvet seats that I could see from my spot near the bar.
I made no move as I turned back to the man who had mistaken me. But he was gone. Claire was frowning as her eyes stared deeper into the crowd that had all mingled together now, no longer in small pockets as everyone hastened to take their seats.
Claire turned to me, frowning, and then shrugged. She accepted another flute of champagne and handed me a paddle, the one they had handed me upon entering. Claire had taken it from me in silence, so that my hands would be free to act if necessary. I had two daggers sheathed to my inner thigh. Of course, I would have to reveal a flash of pale leg to reach them, but I could do it quickly, and with minimal motion. I had practiced before finally deciding on the garment. And anyone staring at my sudden reveal of flesh would be too distracted to notice the daggers suddenly hurtling towards his or her face.
I accepted the paddle, and another flute of champagne, even though mine was only half gone, and we followed the crowd. Everyone seemed eager to be seated, but no one touched shoulders. Respectfully compact. You never knew who you might be bumping with this many modern-day nobles surrounding you.
No one bothered us as Claire led us to our seats, but I did feel several sets of eyes following us. I hadn’t seen the green-eyed man or the older gentleman who had mistaken me for Constance. The name had meant nothing to me, but I had heard similar lines like that too many times to count when men were trying to pick up a woman. Perhaps he was one of those who liked much younger women to dote on him. Not uncommon. A light touch, a sense of familiarity with a tossed-out name, a flash of wealth, and then an apology and smirk — which often resulted in many weaker women feeling suddenly self-conscious enough to flirt back, not realizing that they were subconsciously competing with this other named woman for the stranger’s interest.
As much trickery and work as men put into picking up women with lame psychological ploys, it was a wonder that none of them realized that if they applied that much honest effort into genuinely attracting a woman, they would likely be swimming with options. I shook my head softly, hair tickling my lower back as I sat down. Claire was already seated, leaving me the aisle.
I leaned back in my chair, watching as events unfolded. A broad array of paintings, jewelry, knickknacks, manuscripts, and sculpted pieces of art decorated the stage with meticulous placement. My eyes studied the display, aware to make sure my eyes never rested on one piece too long, because I could feel eyes on my back, watching me watch the stage, as if curious what a young woman would be interested in buying — and even more, what that young woman had done to come into enough money to play here, and who that woman might be, and how deep her pockets were.
I took a deep breath, pressing those concerns down. Then I saw it. An odd piece of wood in a glass case, looking like a broken shaft of a weapon, jagged on either end. The center section of the spear Roland had told me to acquire.
Part of the spear that had pierced Jesus’ side during his crucifixion. I felt my breath catch, but hid it well with a sip of champagne. It looked so… ordinary. A length of old wood like a broken broom handle.
But I shifted my eyes almost immediately, settling my attention on an old book, which was apparently the first item up for auction, because the tuxedoed man from the stairs began to speak, welcoming us, thanking us for attending, and without further ado, launching into a brief description of the book. A projector screen hung behind the man, over twenty feet tall, and the screen showed video footage revolving around the book three dimensionally, a pair of white gloves slowly opening the thick aged leather cover, and briefly turning a few pages with practiced care for all of us to see. Clever, letting everyone feel like they were inspecting it.
No one stood near the book now, belying that they had recorded the video prior to auction. As the man opened the item up for bidding, the video repeated on a loop. Faint, almost unnoticeable piano music drifted on the air from the atrium we had just left. This had the odd effect of dispersing the heavy silence in the room while also not coming close to overpowering the bidding within. Just loud enough to let one miss the heavy, anxious silence in the room.
I could practically taste the greed filling the air. No one showed it on their faces, but it was obvious to me. Claire breathed a whisper that could not have been heard even by the older woman on her opposite side. “This place…” she breathed, rubbing her arms slowly so as not to attract attention of the auctioneer.
Sure that the auctioneer wasn’t looking our way, I nodded, and squeezed her leg lightly.
My gaze tracked the guests, eyeing, assessing, wondering what I was supposed to be on alert for. One of those mutated werewolves? A vampire? Something else?
I caught the strange older gentleman who had mistaken me for this Constance studying me, but he slowly turned away as he noticed me looking back. My eyes moved on, earrings tinkling slightly as I moved. I hoped the dangling reflection of light didn’t catch the auctioneer’s attention, and made sure to move my head more slowly.
I saw no threats at all. No one seemed to be paying attention to me anymore. Maybe they just didn’t know of me, which suited me just fine.
A throat cleared loudly, when no one but the auctioneer had been making a noise, using only their paddles to catch his attention for a particular bid. I saw a paddle in the front rise up, holding the numeral 1 for all to see. He must have been the first one here, or something. Glancing down, I saw that mine was number 504. Frowning, I considered that there definitely weren’t five hundred people here, so how was my number so much higher than his?
“Quarter of a million,” an almost familiar voice said, but I couldn’t see him. It reminded me of the laughing man I had seen outside, even though I hadn’t heard that man speak.
I saw several patrons grimace with distaste at the words, and a flash of disapproval crossed the auctioneer’s face as he turned to look for the voice.
His face momentarily froze, and then instantly transformed into a sickly smile as he nodded politely. Then he turned back to the crowd.
“Quarter of a million dollars. Going once… twice…” no one even looked interested in competing with the ridiculous bid. “Thrice. Sold, to Master Temple.” I couldn’t see the man, but the auctioneer nodded at this Master Temple, and then maneuvered to the next item on the list.
Claire had tensed up in her chair at hearing the name, and I frowned over at her. The name had sounded familiar for some reason. As if I had heard it on the news or something. Perhaps he was a politician running for office. I didn’t care. That didn’t matter tonight. But Claire looked as if she had suddenly realized something very obvious. She met my eyes, trying to impart something to me that I didn’t comprehend. I shrugged discreetly, mouthing later and turned back to the auctioneer. Roland’s item was waiting next after the current item, and I was more concerned with the butterflies in my stomach, preparing to bid on an item that would likely cost more than I had ever imagined.
Chapter 13
A small bidding war had ensued over the second item, but to be honest, I was paying more attention to how they bid, and the looks of calm confidence on their faces as they did so, hoping I could duplicate it, and that I wouldn’t be drawing a target on my back as I did.
But I was pretty sure that part was going to happen no matter how confident I acted.
I had received too many calculating looks from the same people, even though they appeared to be entirely normal, not monsters. And I caught that same friendly old man who had thought he recognized me, glancing at me, muttering under his breath. Three different times now.
They finally called my item, and I did my best to keep my face neutral, disinterested. They didn’t have the story right, at all, thank god. The auctioneer described it as the broken haft of an axe taken from the Romans thousands of years ago, but that was about as close as he got. The video footage on the projector screen zoomed in to reveal some faded script
carved into the wood, but it wasn’t legible.
I was merely glad the auctioneer had maintained his neutral tone while describing it. Roland had told me the true story wouldn’t be revealed, but I had feared for it anyway. The bidding began, and I took a slow breath, squeezing Claire’s thigh as she began to fidget slightly. She almost squeaked, both in surprise and embarrassment, but she did visibly relax.
I waited, allowing those interested to bid as they would, not wanting to attract attention to it. Bids were exchanged casually back and forth, but many dropped interest, more focused on other items, some paintings, it seemed, coming down the queue once this piece of wood was finished. Mostly, the men seemed to want my item. Likely, thinking it would be cool to own part of a two-thousand-year-old weapon haft.
When it was apparent that most were ready to move on, and the auctioneer repeated his request for a second bid, I raised my paddle with a bored sigh for those around me. The auctioneer nodded, and those around me blinked in surprise. I leaned closer to Claire, murmuring lightly, appearing more interested in the conversation with her than the bidding. Just a bored trust-fund heir, spending daddy’s money. Nothing more to see.
Someone bumped it up by five-thousand, also looking bored. I sighed, forcing a lethargic sigh on my face, as if debasing myself by raising my paddle. The auctioneer noticed, and his eyes scanned the crowd, asking for the next higher bid. I did the same, lazily scanning the crowd, until my eyes locked onto the green-eyed man from the bar. He was staring right at me.
Unchained: Feathers and Fire Book 1 Page 6