Chapter 2

Chapter2

Briar

Iwake up in a strange bed. Instinct takes over, and I lie perfectly still, eyes closed and breathing even. It’s a nice bed, the mattress below me strange and soft in a way that seems to invite lying down and never getting back up again. The blanket over me is lightweight but more than keeps the faint chill of the room away. It slides against my skin decadently as I shift.

My bare skin.

Where the hell are my clothes?

“You can stop pretending to be asleep, Briar.”

I recognize the voice even though it’s only been a few days since I met him. Azazel. I sit up—and have to bite back a scream. The voice is the only thing about him that’s the same. I look around the room for some other explanation. Surely the broody-looking demon who made the deal with me isn’t this giant, horned, crimson-skinned beast sprawled in a chair on the other side of the room?

My brain skips, shudders, and goes numb.

This is fine. It’s better than the alternative. I take a breath and then another. On the third one, I no longer sound like I’m about to hyperventilate. Good. This is good. “Azazel.”

He studies me out of dark eyes that might look different than the ones I was familiar with, but the sardonic amusement at my expense is the same. “You’re taking this rather well.”

“Hysterics aren’t going to change anything.”

“Hmmm.” He sits forward and flicks his fingers at one of his horns. “I only wear my human form when I’m in your realm. Now, we’re in mine, and there’s no need to do so.”

I’d listened to the offer, had allowed him to read the contract to me. Somehow, in all that, I hadn’t really processed that other realms existed, let alone that I’d be traveling to one. It feels too big to comprehend, so I focus on something else. “Where are my clothes?”

“They’ll be returned to you when your contract is fulfilled, along with your other personal effects.”

I look around the room, mostly to give myself time to process that. I don’t have much worth fighting over, but the photos in my suitcase are the only ones I have of my gran. “They’ll be kept safe?”

“Yes.”

I have no reason to believe him, but this isn’t a fight I’m going to win. I don’t know if I’ve ever been in a fight I had a chance at winning. Without thinking, I press my hand to my face. It’s only then that I realize the throbbing pain is nowhere in evidence. I prod my skin gently, but the swelling seems to be gone as well. “How long have I been out?”

“A few hours. Transitioning from realm to realm isn’t easy, even when you’re traveling with me.” He pauses until I look at him. “A healer took care of your injuries.”

“Oh.” I drop my hand. “Thank you.”

“You’re one of my bargaining chips for a better future. It’s not in my best interest for you to be bloodied and broken on the auction block.” He pushes slowly to his feet, which is right around the time I realize how massive he is. He’s got to be seven feet. He’s got to be. “There are dresses in the wardrobe. One of them should suit. You have an hour.” He turns and walks out of the room.

I stare at the door for a long moment, processing what he said. Auction block. I’d honestly thought he meant to keep me for himself, but apparently that isn’t the case.

Does it really matter? There’s not much you can do about it now.

A gibbering terror threatens to break through my artificial calm, but I muscle it back. If I start crying now, I’m going to end up curling in a ball and sobbing until I can’t breathe. And nothing will change. If I’m supposed to be auctioned off, I won’t know anything about the person who purchases me until it’s over. Azazel has promised I won’t be forced or come to harm, but how far does that promise extend when I’m outside his control?

Movement has always helped. It keeps my fears from freezing me. Hopefully that will continue to hold true.

I fight my way out of the ridiculously plush bed and, after a short argument with myself, wrap the sheet around my body and pad to the wardrobe. It’s built on the scale of Azazel, so I have to reach up to grab the handle and wrestle the heavy door open. Inside, I find a rainbow of garments. Some of the textures I recognize, some I don’t, but they all seem horrifyingly expensive. I drag my fingers over the soft fabrics and worry my bottom lip.

Of course they’re expensive. Azazel is auctioning me off. I should probably be grateful he’s not going to put me on the auction block naked and weeping. The thought makes me shudder, and I grab a dress at random.

It’s not the most complicated design, but it’s got a corset kind of bodice beneath my breasts, and it takes a lot of cursing and twisting to get it in place. I gather up the long skirt and walk to the massive ornate mirror angled near the door.

I look…

I stare blankly at my reflection. Gone are my favored oversized sweatshirts and loose jeans. The white dress clings to my waist and ribs, the structure of the bodice making my breasts look much larger than they are, pressing them up until the ruffles of the top seem to cling precariously to their slopes. The skirts aren’t as billowy as they feel, draping down to brush the tops of my bare feet.

Reluctantly, I lift my gaze to my face. The swelling is gone, of course. But more than that, this healer has done something to me. My skin has never looked so dewy and unblemished—not even when I was in my early twenties. And my hair…

I should have cut it. It’s too red, too wavy, too noticeable. The years and lack of care had dulled it, which in turn helped to keep other men from looking at me; something that infuriated Ethan even though it’s not as if I solicited attention ever. My hair isn’t dull and frizzy now. It looks like I’ve just come from some spa and salon treatment.

I don’t look like me.

A quick exploration of the rest of the room reveals a cleverly understated door that leads to a bathroom. It takes a bit of experimentation since nothing looks quite like I’m used to, but I am deeply relieved to discover they have indoor plumbing in this realm.

I barely get back into the room before the large door Azazel left through creaks open. I freeze, but no one appears. Seconds tick by into minutes before I’m able to make my body move. Even then, it’s a fight against myself to walk to the door and peer out. “Hello?”

The hallway is twice as wide as I’m used to and well over ten feet tall. It stretches down to a corner where it turns right, and there are a number of side tables arranged against one wall and four doors between mine and the turn.

The other doors swing open without a sound. I tense, ready to scramble back into my room and slam the door, but then a woman steps out of the nearest door. She’s nearly as pale as me and has an athletic build that’s a little on the soft side. Her brown hair is piled on her head and her dress is deep blue and short, hugging her curves. She turns to look at me, and I distantly note that her nose is crooked.

On the other side of her, another woman steps out. This one is tall and lean with a light tan. She wears a slinky purple dress with a slit up one side. Her black hair falls around her beautiful face in waves, but the way she looks around isn’t as confused or tentative as I feel. She looks like a soldier about to go to war.

Next is a curvy woman with light-brown skin and thick dark curls in a ponytail. She’s wearing a deep red gown that clings to her breasts and billows out about her. She looks at us and laughs, the sound bright. “Wow, we look good.”

Through the final door tentatively steps a woman in yellow that shows off a round and soft body. Her blond hair hangs in a shining bob, and she seems utterly terrified, her pale features completely colorless.

The woman in purple studies us for a long moment and shrugs. “Might as well get this over with.” She turns and starts down the hallway.

Herd mentality kicks in, and we move as one to follow her. Or maybe no one wants to be left alone now that we’ve found others. Aside from the woman in yellow, none of them seem quite as freaked out as I feel beneath the fragile layer of calm I’m barely holding on to. I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse, so I set it aside and fall to the back of our group to give myself some time to process.

The woman in red chats happily, not seeming to care that she’s only getting monosyllabic responses. The one in purple who’s leading the pack seems to pick up her pace, and I can’t tell if it’s an attempt to distance herself from the rest of us or because she’s hunting something. Her stride is predatory, and if she were coming at me like that, I’d turn around and run for my life.

The hallway ends at another door. The woman in purple doesn’t hesitate. She wrenches it open and stalks through. The rest of us exchange a look, and then the woman in red moves to follow. One by one, we file through the door after them. Low lights make it challenging to see, but not so much that I miss our destination.

A dais at the front of the room.

One by one, we step up and form a line. It’s a little brighter here, which only makes it more challenging to see the rest of the room. I get the impression of large shapes but not details.

I do recognize Azazel’s voice, though, when he says, “Now, we make our selections.”