Page 10 of Fangs

“And then there’s Lord Cain.”

Mag shakes her head softly, as he turns flashing a warm, disarming smile in my direction.

“He’s charming. He makes you feel safe—and that is precisely what makes him the most dangerous man in this room.”

I glance at Cain again.

He is the jerk who asked about my period and dismissed me like I was yesterday’s newspaper.

“And the youngest-looking one?”

She doesn’t answer at once. A shadow crosses her face. A flicker that makes me pause. “Lord Thomas.” She says, finally. “He’s complicated.”

I frown.

She stops and turns to face me fully. Her eyes unreadable. “Just stay away from all of them, Lucy. Especially Lord Thomas.”

“Don’t stare,” Jenny murmurs. “They don’t like it.”

“Why? What happens if you do something they dislike?”

Jenny laughs dryly. “Nothing good,” she whispers. “The Masters rule this place. They own every one of us.”

“Four men,” I repeat. I see no guards. “That’s all?”

“It’s enough. They’re not just men. They’re—”

“Jenny.” Margaret’s tone carries a clear warning. “Don’t.”

Jenny meets her gaze. A silent argument passes between them. Then she looks away, jaw tight.

“They’re powerful,” she says instead. “That’s all you need to know. They’re powerful, they own us, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

Servants bring more food than I have seen in years. They place it before me. I stare at it as if it might vanish the moment I reach out.

“Eat,” Jenny says, nudging my arm. “Trust me. You’ll need your strength for tomorrow.”

“What do they force us to do every day?”

“The training.” Her voice drops even lower. “They don’t tell you what it is. Not until you’re already in the room. But…” She glances at Mag, then back at me. “It changes you.”

I force myself to eat. The food tastes like ash, yet my body doesn’t care. It is hungry. It devours everything I set in front of it.

“Why are they doing this?” I ask between bites. “Why treat us like guests? I thought I was going to be a slave.”

Jenny’s smile thins. “You’re not a slave. You’re an investment. They’re polishing you, Lucy. Making you pretty. Making you desirable. Then they’ll sell you to the highest bidder.”

“At the auction,” I whisper, reaching for my wine glass, needing the liquid to steady my nerves. The wine is rich, the color of rubies. It tastes like nothing I have ever known.

“Don’t drink too much,” Jenny warns. “It’s stronger than it looks.”

I don’t listen. I’m too tired, too scared.

“And the Masters?” I nod toward the dais. “Are they always so—”

“Creepy?” Jenny laughs. “Yes. Always.”

She lowers her voice and leans in until we almost touch. “But you should see the way Mag looks at the young blond one. Thomas. The one with the green eyes.”