5: He won’t take it

 *Tristan*

 Finally, she is standing in front of me, her small gloved hands folded tightly in front of her. With her this near to me, I can see clearly now that her eyes are the most beautiful blue. No, more than blue. Violet. I have never seen anything like them. I imagine them smoldering with heated passion, darkening, gazing at me in wonder as I deliver her pleasure such as she has never experienced. An easy task if she has indeed never known a man’s touch.

 But just as I have no use for mistresses, I also have no desire for virgins. I have not been innocent in a good long while. I have no interest in innocence. It is a weakness, a condition to be exploited, a quick path to ruin. It holds no appeal.

 She holds no appeal.

 I rethink the words in an attempt to convince myself of their truth. But as her eyes burn into mine, I am left with the realization that she is not only innocent, but very, very dangerous. A silly thought. I could destroy her with a look, a word or a sarcastic laugh. And in destroying her, the tiny bit of soul that remains to me would wither and die.

 It is an unsettling realization, one I do not much like at all.

 I watch her delicate throat work as she swallows, her breasts rising with the intake of a long breath as though she is building up her courage.

 “I don’t believe we have yet spoken”. She finally says.

 “No”. I answer.

 She gives me a small smile. “May I inquire regarding your name ? The other gentlemen were kind enough to introduce themselves”.

 “But then I am not kind”. I point out.

 Two tiny pleats appeared between her brows. “Why would you say something like that ?”

 “Because I am honest, at least”. I tell her.

 “But surely you have a name. Is it a secret ? Do you steal children from their beds ? Rumpelstiltskin perhaps ? I would be hard-pressed to see you as Prince Charming”. She muses.

 Fairy tales. She has been brought up on fairy tales, and she seems to have no awareness that she is wading through a nest of ogres.

 “Come on. It can’t be that horrible of a name. I would like to call you something”. She says softly.

 I consider suggesting Beelzebub, something to unsettle her, send her scurrying away, but for reasons I can’t fathom, I simply say. “Rafe”.

 “Rafe”. She repeats in her smoky voice, and a fierce longing fissure through me with an almost painful prickling. “Is that your title ?”

 I shake my head slightly. “No”.

 “Are you titled ?” She asks.

 Perhaps she isn’t as innocent as I had thought. She wants to ensure that she is well cared for, and is going to be particular about whose bed she warms. I suppose I can’t hold that against her. She is on the hunt for a man to please, one who will serve as her protector. She has a right to be picky.

 “No”. I finally answer.

 “I see you’re a man of few words”. She is chewing on her lower lip, which serves to plump it up and darken its red hue. I wonder how often she has been kissed. Has she ever let a man press his mouth to hers ? Has a man ever touched her skin, trailed his fingers along her high cheekbones, folded his rough hand around her neck, and brought her in close ? “What are your interests ?”

 I try to hold back a dark smile.  “None that would amuse you”.

 “You might be surprised”. She says, still smiling.

 “I doubt it. I’m a rather good judge of character”. I tell her.

 “A quick judge it would seem. I’m left with the impression that you don’t think very highly of me”. She says softly.

 I slide my gaze over her, admiring the curves, the dips, and swells. I can’t deny that she is a beauty, but she would require a certain … gentleness and care, neither of which is in my repertoire of behavior. “I have not yet decided on the matter”.

“Unfortunately, I have, I am afraid. I don’t believe we would be well suited. I hope you won’t take offense”. She says pushing her chin slightly out.

 “I would have to actually care about what you thought to be offended. I don’t”. I simply say.

 She opens her mouth …

 “Everly, you’re done here”. Her brother says as he grabs her arm and begins roughly ushering her toward the door.

 Almost tripping over her small feet encased in satin slippers, she appears to be attempting to shake off the alpha. She is gazing over her bare shoulder at me as though she is determined to have the final word, but she is no match for her brother's strength as they both disappear through the open doorway.

 It is some minutes before Littlefoot returns. I am surprised his sister doesn’t barge in behind him. No doubt he has convinced her not to, convinced her to lay low so as not to discourage any of the Alpha’s from having an interest in her.

 “All right, gentlemen”. Littlefoot says, rubbing his hands together. “Does anyone wish to bid on her ?”

 So that is how he is going to handle the matter, I muse. I don’t know why the manner in which Littlefoot is proceeding causes a chill in my bones. The girl means nothing to me. It might prove interesting to see what sort of value the other alpha places on her. Especially if I can determine a way to use that knowledge to my advantage.

 “I say, Littlefoot”. Alpha Ekro sneers, “I’ll give you five hundred quid for her, but I’ve a mind to examine her first and ensure she is a virgin as you claim”.

 A round of raucous laughter accompanies the vulgar suggestion. I suspect those who laugh the loudest are striving to cover the fact that they are not quite comfortable with the direction in which the evening is going.

 “By all means, each of you may examine her”. Littlefoot says callously as though he is offering little more than a mare for purchase. “Then I shall entertain further bids”.

 “Excellent. I’ll go first, shall  I?” Ekro and Littlefoot heads for the door.

 I envision Ekro’s pudgy sausage-like fingers traveling over her silky thighs, ripping at her undergarments, shoving into …

 “I’m taking her”. I can hardly recognize the words that burst from my mouth with such authority that Ekro and Littlefoot stumble in their tracks, while the other alphas gape at me.