Sold To The Master
Hollie Hutchins
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Let’s Be Friends!
Copyright
Chapter 1
“Wake up Lauren, we’re here.”
My master’s gruff voice calls from the front of the vehicle, and I open my eyes.
I wasn’t sleeping, and he probably knows that, but disobeying his orders, or even delaying to act on them, generally results in some pretty brutal punishment, and I do everything I can to avoid that.
I stretch my legs as he opens up the door. I long to stretch my arms, and to roll out my wrists and shoulders, and arch my back, too, but with my hands tied behind my back that won’t be happening for some hours yet. Not until my new master deems me safe enough to be given freedom of movement, and who knows how long that could be.
Master’s whole body fills the back seat area as he helps me from the seat. He’s a big man, and given I’m an average sized woman that’s saying something. His thick hands reach in and hook around my body, under my legs and behind my shoulders, so he can lift me out. He’s careful with me now, he wants the best price he can get at this auction, and if I have visible bruises or any sign of damage then that will lower his asking price. Once I’m standing he peers at me from under his bushy eyebrows, eyeing me up and down, and then nods, as though everything is to his satisfaction. He holds one end of the rope that binds my hands and heads towards the auction space, carefully stepping over the thick line of salt encircling the entire area.
I keep my eyes down as I follow him through the throng of people. I wish my hair was loose enough to cover my face, but my master has had it bound to the top of my head, in the latest fashion, so there isn’t even a loose strand to hide behind. I’m wearing the most uncomfortable of clothing, too tight around my waist and wrists and ankles, though it’s loose and flowing everywhere else. If I stand up straight the material moulds around my breasts, which are also supported by tight material wound under and around them to give them a large, voluptuous look.
I know Master hopes to get a good price for my skills, but being a witch doesn’t have the perks it used to, so he’s displaying my other asset, my body, in the hope someone will pay a good price for that, if not for my magic.
“Eyes up!”
The order is barked, and my body responds on instinct, back straight and eyes forward before I even have to think about it.
“Better.” His eyes narrow. “No one wants a broken witch, and that’s exactly how you look if you slouch like that. I know you know how to look fierce. I want to see it now.”
I set my jaw, force myself to meet the gaze of those who look at me, holding my chin a little higher.
“Good.” He turns his attention back to our path.
Once upon a time I was fierce, I didn’t have to pretend, but I’ve lost that somewhere along the way. Too many years as a slave, being passed from one master to the next, has stripped that fierce strength I once had, and exhausted me.
It doesn’t help that my power was virtually stripped from me, too. Taken, an placed under another’s control.
A man catches my eye and I try to think fierce. I narrow my eyes, and he visibly flinches, his gaze darting away. A woman, the only one I can see, averts her eyes, ushering her children out of our path. The energy swirling around her body tells me she’s terrified.
A thought flicks through my mind.
These people don’t know I’m pretending.
Master always liked me to pretend to be fierce when we were alone, he liked the idea he was overcoming that strength, beating it out of me.
My pretend fierceness was always faced with his domineering strength, and I was always left feeling weak. Every time, weaker and weaker. It was his goal, I’m sure, but that doesn’t really help me feel better.
Once I was powerful.
I always regret the day I signed over my powers.
If I still had them, the situation would have been very much reversed.
A man catches my eye, his gaze roaming down over my body, and back to my face again. I narrow my eyes, glaring at him, and his eyes widen and he looks away.
I feel a burst of the old me. I do still have some power, under it all.
As I follow my master, I deliberately seek out the gaze of others. Each time someone responds with fear, a touch of my confidence grows, and with it, I feel some sort of spark, that’s just me, not anything else.
People start to shy away, enough that Master notices, and glances back at me.
I flinch, half expecting a back hand across the face, but instead he grins.
“That’s my girl. That’s what I want to see. I’m selling a powerful witch today, not some beaten down slave.”
He faces forward again, and I grind my teeth.
If I was all powerful, he and his kind would be wiped off the face of the planet forever, and no one would ever be a slave again. But even when I had control of my magic I never had that sort of power.
I still remember the day my power was taken.
Demons had been invading all the human places, towns, villages, cities.
No one knew exactly where they’d spawned from in the first place, just that they’d appeared, and were spreading faster than we humans could fight them off.
It didn’t help that no one really knew how to fight them off in the first place.
Of course it didn’t take long for the witches to be accused. Never mind that our power comes naturally, randomly selecting humans for reasons know only to the universe. Someone had the idea that it was somehow linked with demon power, and soon everyone was claiming we gained our powers by working with the demons.
My skills had been evident for some time, and my parents did everything possible to hide that from everyone, despite some close friends already knowing.
We were surviving, just, sprinkling salt across windowsills and door frames, hanging crosses in our windows, all the things we were told would keep the demons away.
It worked. As long as we were indoors, at least.
The trouble is, salt and crosses only keep away demons, not any other things with malicious intent.
One thing it didn’t keep away were the shifters.
All the creatures that had been living on the fringes took the opportunity to strike while humanity was vulnerable, defenseless. All the wolf shifters, and the bear shifters, and the dragon shifters, and the panther shifters, and so so many more, all emerged from where ever they’d been surviving and struck while they had the chance.
They all wanted slaves, and they took as many of us as they could, the fittest, the prettiest, the strongest.
When I was first enslaved, my power was captured, somehow, and bound up in a magical contract I was forced to sign, that means it’s only possible for my master to make use of my magic.
Whoever holds the contract, holds my power, and determines how and when and why it is used.
If I could get my hands on that contract, if I could destroy it, then I’d be powerful. Then I’d be able to teach my current master and all his kind a lesson.
Until then I’m powerless.
Another man shies away from me, and I watch him go, my brow burrowed.
He was scared of me.
Maybe I’m not completely powerless. Maybe I don’t need magic to set myself free. Maybe it’s just a matter of how I present myself to the
world.
We reach the auction house, where Master binds me to a wooden stake jutting out of the ground. Almost instantly that confidence I was building vanishes.
It’s normal to be tied to a pole at auctions. It forces all of us slaves to stand upright, so we can be seen properly, and for women, it thrusts our breasts forward, all the better to show off our figures. It also gives any potential bidders the chance to move around us, so they can check us out from all angles.
The trouble is, it’s also normal for witches to be tied to stakes, and then burnt, while they’re still alive, usually.
I close my eyes, pushing down the fear that builds within me every time this happens.
I need to close my eyes, because otherwise the world spins around me, and I hyperventilate, and sometimes, often, even throw up. That is never a good look. A Master can’t get a good price for a sick slave, no matter what sort of witch she’s supposed to be.
The trouble is that behind my closed lids my memory replays much clearer than if my eyes were open, and so now I can see the angry mob gathered, hear them shouting and chanting and pounding the handles of their pitchforks and brooms against the ground, and feel not only the vibration of those same tools hitting the earth, but closer, and far more terrifying, the flame of the ringleaders torch as it swings precariously close to my face, followed by the singed smell of burnt hair.
I suck in deep breaths, pushing away the memories.
I still don’t know whether it would have been better to die that day.
I was saved, ironically, by a swarm of demons who’d broken through the town protections and sent the villagers running for cover.
It helped fuel the rumor that witches are in league with the demons, and oh how I wish it were the case sometimes! But in reality, The only reason I was saved was because the villagers had poured a circle of salt around the stake where they’d tied me. It was their attempt to keep my power in.
One thing I’m absolutely certain of now, it keeps the demons out.
They’d not even glanced my way, raging in from all sides to grab and maim and injure the humans amongst the crowd. But it was when one accidentally brushed against the edge of the salt circle and let out such a squeal of pain, and went fleeing in such horror that I can’t possibly doubt it was the salt that affected him so , and not something else. It makes me doubt the usefulness of the cross, truth be told, because almost everyone in the crowd wore one small one around their neck, or carried a larger one in their hands.
“Open your eyes!” The words are hissed in my ear, and again my body responds automatically, back straight, eyes up.
People still wear crosses. They obviously have never seen what I’ve seen. Then again, they are still alive. Maybe there is more to it than I think.
There are people strolling past, eyeing me off. They have hungry eyes, and I have to suppress the shudder that threatens. If I’m seen to be repulsed by any of this, then there’ll just be more punishment later, one way or another.
Master is frowning beside me, but when he sees me behave he turns his focus back to the potential buyers.
“She’s a powerful one this one,” he says to anyone who’ll listen. “Got me out of a few scrapes, I can tell you.”
“If she’s so powerful, why’s she tied up like a slave?”
Master doesn’t even flinch. “Her magic is bound. Bound to whoever holds her contract. If you purchase this witch, all her power is yours to command. Think of that — unlimited power, on tap! She couldn’t even harm a hair on your head, no matter how desperately she wanted to. She’s completely under your control.”
A few more people gather around. There’s a mixture of human, and shifter, and I only know that because I can read the energy produced by their bodies. Shifters have much more of it, coiled up, ready to spring to action the moment they need to use their animal sides.
One fellow, a human, is just there to look. I can see by his attire, and his energy that he’d never have the money my master wants. The other two, one human, one shifter, are both possibilities though, and I force my gaze between them, fixed on a building in the distance.
I don’t want them to see the hatred in my eyes.
Too many men like to beat that out of a slave.
I’m not sure who I hate the most, truth be told. The shifters who took us in the first place, or the humans who used their positions of power to align themselves with the shifters and so keep their power, instead of standing up against the shifters, and fight for the rest of us, even at the risk of losing their own freedom.
Instead I focus on the realization I’d had earlier, that how I present myself to the world has a lot to do with how powerful I’m seen to be. If I can work on that, hold that thought, build up confidence, and rebuild my strength, maybe I can find a way to get to that contract, and destroy it once and for all, and then finally, finally, get my true power back.
As the day progresses, other women are taken up to the stage, all their good points announced to the world so that some man can buy them.
My Master is holding me till as close to the end as they’ll let him. The more people who have a chance to see me, the higher the bidding will be, the better the price he’ll get.
On one hand, it’s a relief. I might be tied to a pole, but at least I’m not being ordered around, performing spells that cost far more than my master is willing to pay, or else, being forced to do things I’d really, really, rather not.
On the other hand, being tied to a pole, and forced to pretend to be fierce, is tiresome, and the day seems to drag.
Funnily enough, by the time it’s my turn to be auctioned, it feels too soon.
My master has filled the auctioneers head with all the reasons I’m a worthy purchase, and he spills them now, spitting out my attributes as I’m pulled up to stand on the stage.
“We’ve a strong one here, a very powerful witch, can bring you all the power and glory you’d ever want.”
There’s movement in the crowd. “Burn the witch!” It’s called out by not one, but two voices, one of whom I notice was one of the fellows watching me earlier. I refuse to flinch, to give them any indication I even heard them, and thankfully the auction has guards to usher them away so they don’t make any more of a disturbance.
The auctioneer continues without missing a beat. “Immortality, riches, good health, hey she can probably turn you into a dragon shifter and make you fly!”
My eyebrows arch at this. That’s not something that’s ever been boasted before. Not something I’ve actually tried, either, truth be told, but some inner certainty tells me that’s another spell not quite within my means.
He continues. “And the best thing of all! It’s all safely bound up by a magical contract that means she can do magic for you, but not against you. your safety is guaranteed.”
I stand in the centre of the stage and take a deep breath, sucking my stomach in and straightening my shoulders and spine. I set my jaw, tilt my chin, and gaze out over the crowd, looking down my nose at them.
“Look at how powerful she is. She’s not one to be trifled with, by any but yourselves of course.” The auctioneer chuckles at his own little joke, and I wish I could turn myself into a giant and crush him under the heel of my boot.
Unfortunately, even if I did have my powers, that act is far beyond the realm of what I can do.
I clench my jaw again, and take another slow deep breath.
It’s always good to fantasize. Helps improve the situation, a hundredfold. Well, tenfold, perhaps.
The bids start around me, but I pay no attention. What does it matter who buys me next? I just have to maintain this projection, and hope that my next master is a weaker man than the last one.
The two richer men I saw watching me earlier are amongst the crowd, putting in their bids, along with a few others I hadn’t noticed. The human man looks desperate, there’s something about his energy, while the shifter fellow just looks confident. His energy swirls purple and black, amas
sing just above his shoulders in a way I’ve seen before, but never quite known what it means. His animal form, I guess.
The bidding lasts too long. The offers now are far higher than what anyone would pay for a normal woman. Apparently powerful witches are still in demand, even if most of the population wants to burn us at the stake. It’s a relief in a way, to know I’m being bought for my power, and not my body.
Finally someone wins, the shifter man, whose energy was so confident, and I’m bundled off the stage to come face to face with the meanest looking man I’ve ever seen. His brows are furrowed, and his mouth is set in a line. His shoulders are broad, and he’s so tall I have to tilt my head to look up into his face. He looks at me with such hatred the little amount of confidence I’d built up dissipates, and I have to swallow back the lump in my throat, because the squeezing sensation in my chest is making it hard to breath.
My master, my old master that is, hands over a silver scroll case, and my new master opens it up to view the magical contract I was forced to sign, that binds all my power into someone else’s control.
Oh how I wish I could burn paper with my gaze alone. Or turn back time, to never sign the damned thing in the first place.
But magic doesn’t work that way.
He grabs me roughly by the arm, his grip so tight I’m sure I’ll have bruises later, and pulls me through the crowd to a large cage that already contains four other women, one of whom I recognize from the auction. She doesn’t meet my gaze.
I’m thrust inside, and he disappears back among the crowd.
I glance around, but everyone is huddled up against the bars, trying to take up as little space as possible, and keep away from everyone one else.
It’s always this way, too. Fresh purchased slaves never know who to trust. Has someone been placed among them to report back to the master? Who knows. It’s happened before. Stories filtering back of slaves complaining about their conditions, and being given even worse conditions as punishment when the master heard. Better to just keep to yourself. Safer that way.
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