4. Calix

4

CALIX

T he room buzzes with low murmurs and appraising glances. My eyes lock onto the human girl. She's standing on that damned platform, wearing that pathetic excuse for clothes the human woman named Miss Pickett insisted on putting on her body.

"Here we have Geneva," Miss Pickett announces, her voice oozing with feigned sweetness. So that's her name? It sounds melodic to the tongue. "Eighteen, strong, obedient. A perfect addition to any establishment."

The dark elves lean forward, their greedy eyes raking over her. A wave of jealousy surges through me. The idea of their filthy gazes on her makes my blood boil.

But this has to happen. She must go through this. It will make her stronger.

"She's got a fire in her, that one," one of them comments, a lecherous grin spreading across his face.

"Indeed," another chimes in. "I can see the appeal."

I clench my fists, trying to maintain my composure. If they knew who I was, they'd be groveling. But right now, I'm just another shadow on the wall, made invisible by my own power. I materialize at whim, and right now isn't the best time to do so.

"Isn't she a bit scrawny?" a dark elf in the back calls out, causing a ripple of laughter.

"Scrawny?" Miss Pickett scoffs. "She's athletic, nimble. Just imagine the things she can do for you!"

Geneva's eyes dart around the room. There's fear, but also that familiar resolve. She's stronger than they think. Stronger than any of these fools.

"And what about her obedience?" another elf inquires, raising an eyebrow.

"Never had a more compliant girl," Miss Pickett says in a shrill voice that makes me grimace slightly. Most humans make my skin crawl, like this one. "She knows her place."

Miss Pickett continues her pitch, but my focus is solely on Geneva. The way she stands, trying to hold herself together despite the humiliation. It makes my blood simmer. I should be the only one allowed to look at her like this.

"Enough talk," a particularly impatient dark elf says. "Let's start the bidding."

Miss Pickett smirks, enjoying the power she holds over these pathetic creatures. "Very well. We'll start at ten thousand!"

The bidding commences, voices overlapping, each offer higher than the last. My jaw tightens. This is absurd, but the dark elves have been buying and selling humans for the longest time. It's part of their tradition now.

And some of them even take humans on as mates, funnily enough. Though, that's a more recent development.

The room's atmosphere thickens as the bidding escalates. The dark elves grow more animated, their voices louder, their comments cruder. I lean against a shadowed corner, completely invisible to their eyes, but my attention never strays from Geneva.

"Twenty thousand!" one dark elf shouts, his voice laced with impatience.

"Twenty-five," another counters, eyeing Geneva with a lewd grin that makes me want to unsheathe my claws and rip out his throat.

"Imagine having her clean your chambers," a third one says, his tone dripping with innuendo. "Among other things."

"I'll make her clean my manor with no clothes on, mark my words," another chimes in, his grating laughter echoing through the room.

My breath becomes more shallow as my piercing red eyes never stray from Geneva. The dark elves' vulgarity irritates my nerves, but I remain silent, biding my time. Miss Pickett settles the crowd with her sweet words, demanding their attention.

I grit my teeth. Where's their dignity? It's pathetic how they drool over a human slave. No wonder their kind is losing respect in the darker realms.

"Thirty thousand," the first one barks, clearly agitated. "I'm not leaving without her."

"Oh, we'll see about that," the second one sneers, stepping forward. "I can outbid you all night."

Miss Pickett's smile widens. She's reveling in the spectacle, enjoying the power she wields over these wretched creatures. Geneva, on the other hand, stands rigid, her eyes darting to the door, calculating an escape that won't come.

"Maybe I'll just buy her and keep her for myself," the third dark elf continues, his voice a sickening whisper. "I've got a few tricks she might enjoy. Has she ever had some cock from a dark elf before?"

My vision blurs with rage. I take a step forward, wanting to materialize and take charge of this ridiculous bidding, but I force myself to stop. This isn't the time. And I'd be damned if I let my emotions get the best of me here.

"Forty thousand!" a voice rings out, cutting through the noise. Silence falls, every head turning to the new bidder.

"Forty-five," another one quickly interjects, unwilling to be outdone.

"Fifty," the first one growls, his eyes burning with greed.

The second bidder, undeterred, raises the stakes again. "Sixty thousand."

I can't take it anymore. Their voices are a constant reminder of how vile they are, how much they don't deserve her.

"Seventy thousand!" the first dark elf yells, his desperation palpable.

Pathetic fools, I think to myself. Every last one of them.

The bidding continues, escalating to absurd heights. I watch, seething, as they throw around sums of coin like it means nothing. All of this for a human. It's somewhat amazing as much as it is disgusting.

"Maybe I'll teach her some real obedience," the third dark elf sneers. "Break that fire in her eyes. Bend her over, teach her what it means to be submissive. How about that?"

My blood boils at his words, but I stay composed. Losing control now won't help her. And it won't help me, either. It would just show vulnerability. Weakness. Things I abhor.

"Come here, you!" another dark elf yells, beckoning Geneva over.

With a nod from Miss Pickett, Geneva takes a few hesitant steps forward. She gnaws on her bottom lip, a nervous habit that only makes the dark elves around her holler and cheer louder.

"There you go," he drawls, running his fingers along her exposed skin. "You'll do splendidly. You've got some soft skin. You're not used to hard work, are ya?"

"Oh, don't be so convinced!" Miss Pickett interjects. "She knows how to work hard. She lives to please. And she doesn't rest until her master is completely satisfied!"

"Eighty thousand for the girl!" another dark elf yells, clearly impressed by what he's heard.

"Eighty-five thousand!" another dark elf shouts, his voice slicing through the tension like a blade.

The room falls silent, the other dark elves exchanging looks of frustration and disappointment. The bidder stands at the back, his presence commanding, a dark elf of the highest caste. The envy in the room is almost palpable.

Miss Pickett claps her hands together, her smile widening. "Sold to the dark elf over there! What is your name, good sir?"

"Sylas."

Long white hair with one slim braid cascading down the strands, dark skin, wearing jewels on his fingers that catch the dim lights of the bidding room. Based on the looks of the other dark elves, he seems to command a silent respect from everyone else.

Murmurs ripple through the crowd. The other bidders mutter under their breath, clearly disgruntled at having lost to him. But how can they blame him for their own poverty? The dark elves and their immense egos never fail to amuse me.

"Always gets what he wants, doesn't he?" one dark elf grumbles.

"Of course," another replies. "No one can outbid Sylas. He's already bought another damn human. Why can't he share?"

Geneva's shoulders slump, but only slightly. She's holding on, but there's an exhaustion in her features. Fear has a hold on her, and even though I can feel her desire to use the crystals, she's frozen in place.

That's not a promising sight for my dear human.

Sylas steps forward, the crowd parting out of his way so he can reach the platform where Geneva stands. His eyes rake over her with a possessive gleam. "You'll do nicely," he says, a smug grin playing on his lips. "I've got big plans for you."

He glances at Miss Pickett, gesturing with his hand before turning away.

"Make sure she's delivered to my manor by sundown," Sylas instructs Miss Pickett, who nods eagerly.

"Of course, Lord Sylas," she simpers. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you."

Sylas' gaze shifts back to Geneva. "You're mine now, girl. Better get used to it."

Geneva's jaw tightens, but she doesn't say a word. Her silence is her defiance, her way of holding onto whatever shred of dignity she has left. I respect that.

Miss Pickett leads her way, shooing her off the platform and behind some thick curtains. My dear human will learn, one way or another, how to protect herself.

She'll need it, if she wants to survive in the clutches of these dark elves.

As much as I want to help her, I can't. I'll hold back, watch her suffer and relish in her pleas for my assistance. She has hope in me. Trust.

But a human should know better than to trust a demon.