This is news to me. “What, like another planet or something?”
“Maybe.” Melantha shrugs. “Don't know for certain, but it's funny how we never find the women that go missing, yunno? You'd think at least one of them might have broken free to describe what happened to them. But nope. Makes you think there might be truth in what my sis says.”
I don't know. What I do know, however, is that in another place, another time, I'd grow to adore Melantha as a friend. We could totally hang out at all the cool clubs, tease the men and probably hike around with a full set of leather. I bet she's the kind of girl who'd enjoy riding a motorcycle.
Maybe I won't see her after the shifters have their way, but it does get mad lonely in this place, when all you hear are the hysterical gibbers of the others around you. “You're right that it's weird we've never heard from the disappearances. Like, girls might disappearing with sex trafficking and drugs, but you always get tales of people who escaped. Yet there are absolutely no reports on anyone who has escaped from shifters.”
“Pretty fucked up, right?” We share a wry grin between us. “Man. Wish I were home. I got some girlfriends there who might be pretty mad that I haven't turned up to their party. They always expect me to be available. Most often I'm mopping up after my deadbeat dad. He got some drinking issues. Might be a Texan man thing, though. Everyone's hammered at least three times a week.”
I grimace. “Mine are smokers, but they insist I don't do the same thing they did. They don't drink so much. Mostly when guests are around. They want to make sure they always have a selection for the guests to choose from.”
“Ah. Lucky you. Two-parenter.” Melantha sounds bitter as she states this. Like it's a sore point to be the woman with the lowlife dad. “My dad used to moan about mom leaving him stuck with his daughter. Did what he could, I spose. We were patching some shit up before these assholes took me.”
I nod, not sure what to say. “That's rough.” It's empty words, but it seems to satisfy her. We both look over to the place where the shifters line up for us. There's a lot more of them now, all squished into the tight pathway. Someone appears to be going amongst them, taking money or explaining some of what's going to happen. I check the women in the other cages, and most of them are now curled up into protective balls. A few hold halting conversations, but most are too scared of what will happen to them to function properly.
Itching at my shirt collar, I sigh. Many of the shifters are well dressed. In human society, being well dressed generally means a formal event, or the person wearing the clothes is very, very rich. Showing off wealth is one way of attracting a potential mate. Women and men alike flock to those who have money. Since regardless of the work ethic we have installed in our wonderful American society, many people much prefer having someone bail them out and take care of them for the rest of their lives.
So, just like how some men tend to dress wealthy, you also get women who dress provocatively, in their attempt to attract someone. I see both men and women in the crowd of shifters waiting to presumably buy us.
For some reason, seeing women there feels more like betrayal than it would be if the crowd was only men. Like you think women would know better in what it feels like. You think they wouldn't stoop so low as to harm others like them.
But it's not true. Humans in general seem to have a thing for being little bitches.
Melantha moves closer to the edge of her cage door, and starts attempting to pick at the lock. Unfortunately, her arm can't hook around at a decent enough angle to reach and work at the padlock effectively. I had the same issue, though I see Melantha actually has a hairpin she wants to use in it.
She'll have to be fast, though, because I don't think the shifters will be waiting for much longer. At least Melantha is covered by the rest of the women in their cages, so she can attempt to unlock it without drawing attention.
She lets out a grunt of disgust and tucks the hairpin back in her hair. A moment later, the rope barrier is removed. About fifty shifters mill through the little gap. Ready to begin their inspections. Ready to steal us away from our homes further.
Chapter Two
Male and female shifters walk up and down, with some of them in groups chattering to one another.
I shudder. There's nothing really to wrap myself up here. I'm in my work clothes still, and whilst it was sunny back in North Carolina, it's chilly here. What's worse, I don't recognize the mountain range at all. I never paid that much attention in geography, to be fair, and I can barely pinpoint most countries on a map. But I'd like to think I could recognize prominent mountains from all the pictures I've seen on Instagram and Facebook. Whatever this place is, it's not a popular holiday destination.
Right now, I could be sold off as several things. As food, as a servant, or a sex slave. Hopefully I'm not food, because I don't particularly like the idea of being eaten. I can just about cope with the other two. As long as I'm not pumped with drugs or being treated as a dog's chew toy.
The strange thing is, before my imprisonment, I've never even spoken to a shifter. Even though I've passed them on the streets before. All I really know about them is that they're strange types with their own cultures and animals that they turn into, and they mostly prefer spots outside of human influence. Due to human nature to expand and colonize everything, like we did when we rushed into the new lands of America and Australia, we encountered shifters there. They were not happy at our invasion. The reason why they lost the wars was because there simply wasn't enough of them to deal with the massive influx of humans and their tech. I mean, when you have a clan of fifty shifters versus fifty thousand humans – especially if you have a weak form, like a snake or koala or something, then there's really not much you can do.
Now, it seems, they're getting back at us in other ways instead.
“Yeah, that's right,” Melantha snarls as a female shifter pauses at her cage. “Take a good look at me, bitch. I'll be too much for you to handle.”
“Do you talk back to your superiors this much, little girl?” The female shifter stares at Melantha in disdain. Melantha grins back. I notice she's hiding her pendant under her smooth blouse, so I can't tell what sort of shifter she is.
“It's called conversation. We don't have slaves where I come from.”
“You do, actually. In every one of your stinking human countries, you enslave one another. Some more than others. You pay people so little, they may as well be slaves. You abuse them, you rape them, you tell them they can't go anywhere... so why not accept what you humans seem to naturally do to one another anyway?”
“Cos it ain't natural. It's what shitty humans do to one another. And what shitty shifters do as well, apparently.”
I ignore this back and forth going on. No matter how belligerent Melantha seems to be, the shifter enjoys eliciting additional responses.
I scowl as the first of the shifters walks past me. I see a bear pendant on his chest, and he looks as shaggy as I would expect a bear shifter to be – broad chested, face full of fuzz and mean, glinting brown eyes. He crouches before me for a moment, before passing by, then pausing at the dark skinned woman with the blonde hair. He ignores Melantha as the female shifter is still exchanging dialogue with her. He nods to himself and scribbles in a notepad. Wait. Now I notice all of them have notepads. Even the dark blonde female talking with Melantha, who is also now scribbling something furiously down.
Jesus, I should have guessed. They're listing the ones they want to bid on. A couple stop and scribble, all the while trying to creep me out with creepy little grins.
I catch other shifter types as well, since not all of them are hiding their symbols like the woman. There's panther, tiger, snow leopard, lion – a lot of feline species. I also catch the most popular shifter group, wolves and polar bears.
Then there's one I don't recognize. I examine the pendant, but it's of some winged lion bird thing. Mythical shifters.
I've heard about those. Mythical shifters were supposed to
be the rarest, because their forms were based on imagination, rather than creatures that actually exist.
I scowl as the last of the shifters made their way through, before paling when I see at least four of them sporting mythical pendants as well.
Dragons.
Two of the dragons in question have blue and amber eyes, and take far longer than the others upon examining my red tresses, pale skin, smoky green eyes and freckle explosion. Both jot me down in their pads, and then both glare at each other.
The blue eyed blondie growls at the dark haired counterpart. “Are you serious? Do I have to compete with you on everything? I saw this one first.”
The amber eyed dragon smirks. “Deal with it, princeling whore. This one will be mine.” His voice has a distinctive husky growl to it, as if he's building a fire in his throat. They continue their bickering argument as they go to the other cages, barely paying attention to the other women. My eyes immediately lock upon them with suspicion and hatred,and a grudging interest. They're not ugly. If anything, they're pretty fucking handsome.
Doesn't take away the fact that they're currently bickering over who might get to own me.
“I'm richer than you. There's no way you can out=buy me. My father owns the gem mines in southern Frostgreen. Yours only owns a pathetic gold mine.”
“So why is it that your clan is subject to mine, if you're the richer one again?” This comes from the amber eyed dragon. Right. So blondie claims he's richer, darkie says he owns blondie. Clans. Princes. I'm barely wrapping my head around this as they continue.
“Why don't you instead go for one of these girls here? This one's a nice blonde, like me. Boobs are a little on the small side, so you can pretend it's me when you do what you need to do.”
“I don't want the female version of you,” the dark haired shifter hisses. “I want what you want.”
“Oh. Well I want this blonde girl here.”
“Nice try.”
I can barely believe what I'm hearing. These don't sound like noble and dignified shifters at all. They sound like a pair of ordinary people discussing about their favorite place to shop or something. Except the person on the shopping list is me. For some fucking reason.
“No, I'm serious. I mean, I've changed my mind. Red heads aren't my thing. This one's gonna be my choice.”
“Then you won't mind if I stick with the red head. Will you?”
I can't determine their accents upon listening to them either. Maybe they're European, or maybe they're from outer space. They don't sound American, though. It's more like their accents are so neutral, that I can't place them on my limited idea of the world anywhere. It's the same with Melantha's female shifter, actually.
A few other shifters have paused to note me down as well, but I have a strong feeling that it's the dragons I'm going to be torn between. They seemed pretty fucking determined to buy me. And they both sound like they want to out-bitch the other. Now, if they were smaller shifters, I reckon I could handle them.
But if they turn into great whopping big dragons, I might have considerably more difficulty in subduing one of them.
For fuck's sake. I don't think I can handle being some shifter's chew toy. I have my own opinions, my own mind. I'm not a slave.
I'm not here to be taken and fucked with at will. But I don't see what other choice I have. Neither does Melantha, who has taken to huddling up in the corner furthest away from the others.
All that's left is to wait for judgement. I'm not sure how long it takes before they finish examining each of the females, but they eventually filter out of viewing us, and then gather at the roped up entrance again. Without the scrum of shifters blocking the way, I noticed that there's a stage beyond the rope barrier – and a gap where they can all stand, though it can't be seen how big the place is from my current angle.
Well, guess I'm soon about to find out. When they start the auction, they take out the women one by one. Each one that's taken out is described as best as able. Given that they know nothing about them other than their features, they actually come up with some comical and attractive details about their captives. They also subdue any who are acting out of order by jabbing them with a fucking cattle prod.
Holy shit. A cattle prod. Making it far more obvious that we are indeed cattle to them.
If my mom could see this now, I bet she'd beat these people up for their abuse. She's always been die hard about ending abuse. Thinks humans are terrible enough without encouraging that terribleness. My dad would simply shoot them all with that little glock he has tucked in his drawer at home. It's one of the few things he clashes with my mother about. Violence versus absolving something peacefully.
And I'm inclined to agree with my father. Not everything can be solved peacefully. Not everyone is willing to listen to someone advocating peace, when the issue can be solved just as easily by punching someone in the face.
Now, here's the thing. I was taken like an idiot, grabbed before I had the chance to react, overpowered before my muscles could snap into position to defend myself.
I have, however, taken a few discreet lessons in Krav Maga. I'm no black belt, but I learned enough to be able to fend off the occasional annoying drunk, or any types of threats that insist on forcing themselves on you. Let's just say I never stuck around long enough with my lessons to take it seriously, though.
Right now there's nothing I can do, and it's frustrating me. Even if I bust out of the cage, I have no idea where I am, and no way to contact. I might die in the wilderness unless I steal a vehicle. Then I have to somehow avoid shifters who will morph into their animal forms to hunt me down.
Even if I can physically out-fight any of them in normal forms, I have no chance in hell of overpowering fifty of those fuckers, along with the event organizers.
The realization doesn't fill me with confidence. Bear Grylls would not be proud of me. I slump in my cage, not bothering to touch anything, and wait for my turn to come.
Melantha goes before me.
“So long,” she says, giving me a small smile on those thick lips of hers. I saw many stop at her cage. She's going to be a star attraction. But somehow, I think she'll be sold to that woman.
I only catch snippets of the auction that follows. Descriptions of her “luscious hair and ample cleavage.” Roars of approval from the shifters. People in a bidding frenzy, even as Melantha stands there on the stage, rigid and staring right ahead. Her side profile is striking as well. The bidding cumulates in her being sold to the person I predicted.
And then it's my turn. The guards come for me, checking for the number on my cage as lot twelve is announced. Even though I know it's pointless, I still start sizing up the guards as they open the door, wondering if I can take them on. Wondering if there's anything I can do to incapacitate both of them at once and make a run for it.
The moment never comes. They open the door and haul me roughly out. Part of my red hair gets caught in a button in the mean, piggy faced one's cufflink. When he yanks his arm away, a few strands of hair go with him. A third guard is there as well, wielding that ominous looking cattleprod.
One of them cops me a feel on the ass, even as I'm unceremoniously dragged along to the wooden platform. Here, I'm forced to face a crowd of shifters sitting in seats, keenly scrutinizing me as the announcer starts going on about my “Sumptuous red locks, my exotic and alabaster skin marked with the freckling of youth.” I have to wonder whether I should laugh or cry.
I wonder how they'd all react if I burst out laughing on the spot. Maybe the price for me would lower if I seemed mentally unstable? Would it be worth trying?
The man with the cattle prod looks as if he really wants to use it when I discreetly crane my neck to face him. His knuckles whiten, to the point where I think they're going to pop out of his skin. I mentally prepare myself to grab the cattle prod. I imagine exactly how I'll do it. Feint to the face, block with the hand, kick his back leg and twist the weapon out of his grasp. He looks gormless enough to n
ot expect any kind of resistance.
I may not have any control, but I wouldn't mind obtaining a small amount of confidence in a situation where I have no hope of escaping. A weapon would be a nice start.
The bids start.
I'm free to stand, though the guards are nearby to stop any trouble. I consider my incredibly limited options for a moment, before I decide to fuck it and go for that cattle prod. I turn to smirk at the guy wielding, before holding up my middle finger to him. Let's see if that aggravates him.
His gray eyes flash in irritation. He growls, steps forward and jabs at me.
Instantly I sidestep, grab the electrical prod by the uncharged handle, step in to kick at his back leg, and yank the prod out of his hand. It goes almost exactly how I envisioned it, though I didn't expect his pig-like squeal of terror when I hold the weapon towards him. I jab him with it and he spasms, before collapsing into a shivering heap.
Sold To The Dragon Princes: The Novel Page 2