Chapter Two

The drive lasted over an hour through winding forest roads I had never traveled. Anthony sat in the front passenger seat next to his driver, making quiet phone calls in a language I thought might be Russian or Ukrainian. I huddled in the back corner, watching trees blur past in the darkness and trying to process what just happened.

My husband sold me at an auction. The Lycan King bought me. I was pregnant with Mitchell's child.

Wait. No. That last thought had not been true thirty minutes ago, and it was not true now. I was not pregnant. My cycle was as regular as clockwork, and I had just finished... When was my last cycle exactly?

Oh gods!

I pressed a hand to my stomach, doing frantic mental math. Six weeks since my last period. Six weeks. I had blamed the missed cycle on stress because Mitchell had been acting strange and distant. But now I knew why he had been distant. He was planning this. Preparing to sell me.

If I were pregnant with his child and he sold me anyway, that would make this worse. Or maybe better because it meant my baby would grow up far away from a monster.

The car turned through massive iron gates onto a private road lined with ancient oak trees. In the distance, lit up against the night sky like something from a fantasy novel, stood the Lycan Palace. I had heard stories but never imagined I would see it in person, let alone live there as a... what? Prisoner? Servant? Property?

We pulled up to the main entrance where a man about Anthony's age waited on the stone steps, tall with kind eyes and an easy smile that seemed out of place in the Lycan King's court.

Anthony exited first, then opened my door himself before I could fumble with the handle. He offered his hand; I took it because my legs felt unsteady, and the last thing I needed was to collapse at his feet like some fainting maiden.

"Christopher," Anthony addressed the waiting man, "this is Mirabel Nicholas. See that she receives the west wing guest suite, fresh clothes in her size, and whatever else she requires. Have the healers examine her tomorrow morning."

Christopher's eyebrows rose slightly. Guest suite? Not dungeons? Not servants' quarters?

"Of course, Your Majesty," Christopher said smoothly, then turned to me with a warm smile. "Welcome to the palace, Miss Nicholas. I am Christopher Martinz, the King's cousin and chief advisor. If you need anything at all, please ask."

I stared at him, then at Anthony, utterly confused. This was not how I imagined being someone's property would work.

"I do not understand," I said carefully, looking at Anthony. "You bought me. You paid one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. But you are treating me like a guest instead of a... instead of what I am."

Anthony's grey eyes met mine, and again I saw that flicker of something beneath the cold exterior. "What you are is a person who was sold against her will by someone who should have protected you. What I am is someone who has the resources to remove you from that situation. The rest we will figure out as we go. For tonight, you are safe, you have a place to sleep, and nobody will harm you. That is enough."

He turned and walked into the palace without waiting for a response, leaving me standing with Christopher, my mind spinning.

"He is not what people say, is he?" I asked Christopher quietly.

The advisor smiled. "Anthony is exactly what people say when he needs to be. But he is also a great deal more. Come on, let me show you to your rooms. You look ready to collapse."

He was right. Now that the adrenaline was fading, exhaustion crashed over me like a wave. I followed Christopher through marble hallways decorated with paintings and tapestries that probably cost more than Mitchell's entire pack, up a grand staircase, and down another corridor to a beautiful wooden door.

"The west wing guest suite," Christopher announced, opening the door to reveal a space larger than the entire house I had shared with Mitchell. A massive four-poster bed dominated one wall, covered in soft-looking blankets. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked gardens I could barely see in the darkness. A fireplace crackled merrily, already lit.

"There is a full bathroom through that door," Christopher continued, pointing. "I will have staff bring clothes, toiletries, and anything else you might need. Breakfast is served at eight in the main dining hall, but if you prefer privacy, I can arrange for trays to be sent to your room."

"Why is he doing this?" The question burst out before I could stop it. "Why did the Lycan King pay triple what Mitchell owed and then give me a guest suite instead of... of..."

"Instead of treating you like property?" Christopher finished gently. "Because Anthony understands what it is like to lose someone to those auctions. His mother was sold when he was nine years old. She died before they could find her. He has spent most of his adult life trying to shut down the trafficking rings, one purchase at a time."

My heart clenched. "He saved me."

"He gave you a choice," Christopher corrected. "What you do with that choice is up to you. Get some rest, Mirabel. Tomorrow will be easier with sleep."

He left, closing the door behind him. I stood alone in the beautiful room, still wearing the blue dress that Mitchell had told me to wear, still processing the fact that my entire life had changed in one night.

I walked to the bathroom and found it stocked with luxury soaps, thick towels, and a tub big enough to swim in. I started the water running, stripped off the dress, and threw it in the trash can with more force than necessary. I never wanted to see it again.

The hot water helped unknot some of the tension in my muscles. I scrubbed my skin until it was pink, trying to wash away the feeling of being examined and bid on like cattle. Then I just sat in the tub and let myself cry for the first time since Mitchell pushed me onto that stage.

I cried for the two years I wasted on someone who never loved me. I cried for my father, who died believing I would be safe with a good mate. I cried for the baby I might be carrying, who deserved so much better than this mess. I cried until no more tears would come, and then I got out, dried off, and wrapped myself in a plush robe I found hanging on the door.

Someone had left clothes on the bed while I bathed. Soft pajamas in my exact size, slippers, even undergarments. The efficiency was almost frightening, but I dressed gratefully.

I crawled into the enormous bed, sinking into the mattress and pillows that felt like clouds. The last coherent thought I had before sleep claimed me was that tomorrow I needed to figure out what the Lycan King actually wanted from me because nobody paid one hundred and fifty thousand dollars for nothing.

But for tonight, I was warm, clean, and safe for the first time since Mitchell woke me at midnight with lies.

For tonight, that would have to be enough.