Bought By The Masters

by Daniella Wright

  His snout is squat and boarish, with frills like the thin membrane of shark purses, and a lot of small, white horns descending over his back. He must have been fifteen feet long, and almost eight feet tall at his head.

  His form also attracted photographers, who were probably family to his colors, and there were plenty of snaps taken of four of us clambering onto his back. It was only under the flash of cameras and yells for interviews that I appreciated why he wanted to seek anonymity in a different district, and was less inclined to let me out into the open. I have no idea what kind of headlines will be attached to those photos, or if my yelps of terror as those great wings lifted off will indicate cowardice in me or something.

  Imagine me posing for Victoria’s Secret like this, I think wildly, as a distraction, while praying for the flight to end, and burrowing my face behind some spikes to avoid the wind ripping tears out of my eyes. Bet Tiffany would have been impressed.

  The flight ends, and with it, I breathe an all-too noticeable sigh of relief to have my feet touch upon bare ground. (Beron sighed much the same.) Other dragons, and winged horses were lifting from the ground around us, but I needed Alex’s support to keep myself steady.

  One thing’s for sure: I’m never going to aim for a career in aviation.

  “Don’t look so relieved,” Beron says, though not without some sympathy. “We’ll still need to fly back afterwards.”

  “I can hardly wait,” I groan, queasy at the prospect. The last thing I want to do is fly and potentially slip off a giant dragon.

  In the new area, there’s little hills, where people are snowboarding and skiing over obstacles and down glittering slopes. In display are gigantic globes with snowflakes tumbling inside them, shifting between different colors for a spectacle. It’s so much beauty. So many scents in the air from all the stalls cooking foods. Snowflakes tumble from the sky biomes like sugary powder, and for the first time since my imprisonment, I feel happy.

  Breathing in the cold, delicious air, letting the chill freeze the blood vessels in my cheeks, watching the shapeshifters and fae with all their differences amble or fly by, and a little boy made of flowers offering me one from his hair.

  This is the side of magic I wanted to see. This is the world I wanted to see. It’s a better place than being stuck in the hospital. It’s inspiring to witness. The Morrigan, pulling expressions nothing like the ones Tiffany did, is also fascinated by the lights. My resentment for her gowns down when I remember that for her, she hasn’t had a body for decades. I don’t know if she had consciousness or not, but the image of being locked in a room in pitch darkness, unable to move keeps trickling into my mind, and I shiver at the prospect.

  I also have to remember that she was murdered. Taken before her time. I try hard to keep all this in mind, but livid heat pulses through when I picture having to explain to Tiffany’s parents that an ancient Irish queen and possibly an Egyptian one too, is wearing their daughter’s face.

  Don’t see that one going down well.

  “I was thinking we could try skiing or snowboarding,” Cato says, gently touching me upon the shoulder. “Or snowball fights.” He points over to a high fence with a banner draped over it, depicting fully covered people firing snowballs from guns. I grin and loop my arm around Cato’s, ignoring the strange hammering in my chest as best as possible.

  This is starting to have the hallmarks of a date. Though maybe there’s a few too many people around to let it happen. And no date would make me so jumpy whenever someone stops to stare at us, as if they’re trying to drill the secrets out of me. The little tattoo on my back is what protects my magic from being detected, though I still feel it lick inside me, begging to be used. It certainly doesn’t stop me from using my magic.

  The Morrigan and Alex are walking in front of us, slow, engaged in hesitant conversation. I can see Alex is still reluctant to talk to The Morrigan, but it seems she wants to find out more about this person in her friend’s body. Cato and Beron are with me just behind, and we’re out of their hearing range.

  I like how big Cato’s grin is, or how concerned Beron is for the two of us, to make sure that we don’t get ourselves into trouble, though it seems we’re all a little leery of approaching any establishments where there happens to be a lot of humans. Even although the paranoia is over the top, it’s not exactly unfounded, is it?

  “I wish I could take you out more like this,” Cato says, as we begin to stroll through a beautiful, flower-stuffed park, with plenty of benches, and people feeding the birds on them, or the squirrels that make their way down from the trees and scuttle across the ground, their fluffy tails moving like a tidal wave.

  I want to join the feeders as well, just to have the experience of a squirrel jumping onto me, but Beron seems less willing to do the same. One of the pigeons land on Beron, anyway, apparently detecting a bread crumb in his beard, and he swats it away in startled anger, prompting roars of laughter from us in response.

  We continue walking, enjoying the tranquil gurgle of the river next to us, where barges float gently over it. Snow edges its banks. Cato rests a hand upon my shoulder, and I shiver from the contact.

  “Hey,” he says then. “I have a question. Or two, or three.”

  “Hundreds, he means,” Beron adds.

  Wary, I arch an eyebrow at him, unsure of the intent behind it, but feeling excited all the same. It’s an energy rippling through me, because there’s an odd twinkle in his eyes.

  “I may be mistaking the situation – so in that case, just ignore me and pretend this conversation never happened – but are you attracted to me? Us? Still? Or has everything that’s transpired since put you off that thought forever?”

  I gape at him, not expecting this question at all. Which also causes my cheeks to flame out. And for my heart to take a leap, as if it’s trying to jump out of my throat. Nothing dramatic or anything. But of course, he’s going to notice such a reaction from the get go.

  “Um,” I say, wondering if I should lie. It’s hard to lie under pressure without it sounding bad, though. “I, well, that is to say...” Goodie, look at me, doctor extraordinaire, unable to articulate a single sentence. Typical, really.

  “I’m going to take that as a yes.” Beron’s now grinning, and I want to burrow my head in the ground like an ostrich from those cartoons.

  “It might be,” I agree, and then I decide I want to burrow myself some more. “But I feel pretty fucked up about it, if I’m honest. Because I feel like I shouldn’t like either of you two after all this, but I keep getting these random impulses. Ever since that implant, if I’m honest.”

  Instead of this exciting Cato, however, the twinkle in his eyes dies out as a result. “Oh,” he says. “That might be a side effect, then. If it’s random.” He moves his hand away from my shoulder. “Is it the implant, do you think?”

  “How would I know?” I say, though a tiny part of me thinks it is. The other, larger part doesn’t want this to be used as an excuse to not associate with these two. In a slightly different way. Though now I consider it more, I realize I’m not just focusing on one person at all. I thought I’d end up preferring one of the supernaturals over the other. But it seems I’m very good at imagining them both. Cato being rough, Beron being gentle. Wondering if I would have them separately, or together.

  “Hmm. That could be tricky then.” Beron also seems dejected, and I wonder sharply if these two discuss anything to each other. Regarding this whole situation, regarding their own feelings – if they have any – towards me. “We’ll keep a distance from you if you think it’s going to cause trouble.”

  “Oh no, it won’t be. It won’t be any trouble at all.” I muster a smile this time. “In fact, I think it’s only a small influence. Boosting what’s already there.” At least, I hope it is. Because I know I was interested in them beforehand. I couldn’t choose, because they were both attractive, both had something appealing about their personalities, and both also seemed to be interested in me. So t
hat was something.

  I do know a relationship based on purely lust probably wouldn’t go so far. But friends with benefits…

  But could I call them friends, though? Do I even have the presence of mind to be able to separate something like that for what it is?

  Or would I fall, and fall hard?

  “Well, if you are attracted,” Beron growls, “is it me or Cato?” He seems to be preparing himself for disappointment. “I get it if it’s Cato, he’s pretty good with the ladies. I usually hold myself back from them.”

  “Why?” I ask, astounded. “They’d be crawling all over you, surely. Big man like you, muscles like that. And your eyes: you don’t really smile much with your mouth, but man, there’s something about your eyes that tell a different story. That’s how you smile.”

  The more I talk, the more deflated Cato seems to become, while Beron swells up in pride like a balloon, drinking in my compliments.

  “Thing is,” I admit, “I find myself liking the both of you. I keep picturing one or the other. Sometimes the both of you. But I also know that’s not exactly what you want to hear.” Hey: I want you both. I’m not fussy. It’s not something you normally say. People like to be chosen.

  Neither of you are that important.

  Or both of you are more important than you think.

  “You’re not a whore,” Cato says immediately, but there’s a slightly different reaction from his guard.

  “Both of us?” Beron’s eyes are about ready to pop out of his head. “Like at the same time… with you?”

  “That’s what she means, yes,” Cato says, thoughtful, rather than angry or offended, which I’d admittedly expected. I mean, people would rather prefer if you just liked the one.

  I’d prefer that too, to be honest. It sounds a lot easier. But then there is that annoying quirk of being attracted to multiple people. Wanting to taste them all. Wanting to give into whatever heat there is, blossoming inside my chest, like little flames nibbling at kindling, threatening to increase in strength until it’s completely out of control.

  Maybe it’s the implant within me, increasing the desires until they spiral out of control. Maybe, maybe…

  “How does that even work?” Beron says, and for a moment, we just stare at him.

  Good question, Beron. Good fucking question, actually.

  “Don’t look at me,” I say. “I’ve never had a threesome before.”

  “I have,” Cato says, which is surprising to hear. Our heads are swiveling like we’re watching a tennis match. “Twice. It was pretty fun, but it depends on the preference of the other two. She liked the idea of being spit roasted. That is, uh,” he gestures rather vaguely, but we get the idea. I consider that for a brief moment, and I’m not sure if it appeals. It’s deliciously naughty, it’s almost degrading, really, which thrills me a little more than I’d like to admit – but I’m not a fan, I think, of having something in my mouth.

  Terrible gag reflex and all. But if they asked, well, I’d probably try all the same.

  “I just think, won’t someone get jealous? Won’t it feel weird to see two naked guys?” Beron struggles with the idea, still, but it’s clear that he’s not wholly opposed, either.

  “I’d be fine with it,” I say. “Don’t you watch lesbian porn anyway?”

  “I don’t watch porn,” Beron says, and Cato chokes back a snort.

  “At least you’re not a virgin, aye?”

  “As opposed to you, who could be considered a whore,” Beron says, now garing at Cato. I step in before the two of them decide to be at each other’s throats.

  “Like I said, I don’t want to cause trouble. I don’t even really want to be attracted to anyone. I don’t like this situation. I don’t want to be in it. Rather be back home.” Without a dead friend, but I refrain from saying that out loud, because I don’t want to sour their moods.

  “I understand,” Cato says, though his expression is now sadder anyway.

  “Hey.” I pat him on the cheek. “We can’t always control what we feel, can we?”

  He finally seems to get the meaning. And I feel a little stirring of hope in my chest. No matter what happens, maybe we can make something of what’s happened. Maybe the five years I’m scheduled to spend with them can be made into five good ones. Maybe once my friend’s brought back, and we’ve found out about Gentleman, located him, somehow, and got him to revert the trade.

  Then maybe I would be far more willing to explore things with them.

  But for now, it feels like there’s a taint on what could be something wonderful.

  Cato quickly glances around the park, before he takes me to the side, behind a tree, out of sight of the others.

  Without warning, he kisses me, firm and confident, and just like that, wildfire rages through my body. My brain buzzes, along with a lash of excitement between my legs. When he pulls away, I’m barely able to keep myself upright. I draw in a surprised breath, and Cato’s grinning madly. There’s something in Beron’s expression I can’t ascertain, but it doesn’t look like jealousy.

  “Just checking,” he whispers, before he offers an arm, and helps me in a rather wobbly manner start to walk again. I’m surprised just how much that felt like being hit by a truck full of hormones.

  It’s worse, too, with the implant. The one they say might be enhancing my emotions further. The desire wells so thick in my throat, aches so sweetly between my thighs that I’m half tempted to give into impulse here and there. In the middle of the park, with everyone watching, and to hell with them.

  Cato smiles wider at my expression, my loss of words, but before he can add anything else to the matter, a familiar figure comes into view. One that makes all of us pause, and for my own heart to give a panicked lurch. Alex recognizes him and gasps. The Morrigan scowls at the one responsible for keeping a part of her cranium locked up in a cabinet.

  The demon gives us a thin, malicious smile.

  Gentleman.

  Cato

  Gentleman’s here. On what should have been a pleasant day out. In my attempt to make Roze and Alex feel less like prisoners, even though every camera pointed my way feels like it’ll transform into a damning newspaper headline the next day. Beron lets out a soft growl, his hackles rising, and Gentleman smiles with enough arrogance to make me want to punch the smirk off his demonic face.

  “May we talk for a moment?” Gentleman says, bowing slightly, and I can’t help but notice how secluded this section of the park is, which is probably why he picked this spot to turn up with. “I’m afraid I don’t have your number, so I had to find another way of procuring a meeting.”

  “It’s easy to find numbers nowadays,” I say flatly, while Beron prowls, checking for any hidden men. “I’d prefer a text.”

  Gentleman lets out a soft laugh. “I prefer face-to-face. And you don’t strike me as someone I’d want to arrange a meeting with beforehand. Too many chances of getting trapped, if you’d pardon me.”

  “What do you want?” I ask, while considering if we can overpower Gentleman. There’s five of us here, and if he has any backup, they’re not showing themselves right now.

  “To make an offer,” he says, now leaning upon his silver-embossed cane handle. “For the healer that you bought from the auction. A buyback, if you will, but for double the price that you put in.”

  Roze releases a soft gasp from behind me, and The Morrigan offers a low, breathy chuckle in return.

  The money offer doesn’t tempt me in the slightest, but the fact Gentleman wants her back is. Because I’m pretty sure that if I refuse him, he’s going to attempt to take her by force. I take a few steps to my left, which shields Roze from his view. His eyebrows purse together at the gesture.

  “Do I take it you are not interested?” He sighs. “I can sweeten the deal further. I can take a hand in your father’s campaign, put some pressure on several of the politicians to vote one way. At least three out of that mess of forty have dealt with me before.”

  “Why
are you so desperate to get her back?” Beron asks, and Gentleman narrows flinty eyes at him. “You sold her to us. You specifically promoted her as a product and sold without any qualms. The contract was signed, the deal is secure. Are you reneging on it?”

  One of the biggest insults you can offer a demon is to suggest that they are less than their word, their promises and oaths. They take an almost fanatic pride in sticking to contracts, so whatever else you might think about a demon, this is one area where they can be trusted.

  “There was an error in the distribution of her magic that I was, at the time, unaware of,” Gentleman says. “The bone that was used was never meant to be.”

  “How does that even work? Someone put it in there. Clearly, it was meant to be used,” Beron says. The Morrigan’s smirk grows wider. It occurs to me that Gentleman would have no idea that The Morrigan’s possessed someone else’s body. He thinks she is still tucked inside the bone Roze holds. Which is a headache in itself. The bone contains a slice of her power, for certain. But The Morrigan’s consciousness is entrenched within Tiffany’s body.

  Gentleman smiles. “Never mind the circumstances of how it ended up where it shouldn’t. The point is, I’d be willing to offer a lot to have it returned safely.”

  “And what would happen to me?” Roze says. Gentleman doesn’t even bother to look at her.

  “Nothing that shouldn’t,” Gentleman says, but in his eyes, that might as well mean her death. Because we both know that the moment she’s returned to him, that bone’s being yanked out of her. She will die, and I can’t let that happen. Not for all the gold in the world. She is under my protection: she will remain so.

  But at the same time, I know refusing will bring his wrath upon us as well.

  “Well, since we all know you love humans so much that you sell them as slaves, that’s reassuring,” Roze says, and Alex lets out a brief snort of laughter as well.

  “It’s a generous offer. The bone was never meant to be distributed.”