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“Leave that girl to me or I will make you cry like a piglet when I slaughter you in front of everyone,” I snarl in a low voice and his eyes flare. The auctioneer looks confused, waiting for an answer but the man quickly leaves the crowd and then he runs. I turn to the stage again, to the girl who now is watching me. She has noticed me taking an interest in her and I pull down the robe covering my face and her dazed eyes dash.
I lift my arm, showing the symbol on my wrist and there’s recoil among the people. I hold my identity sacred, don’t like to reveal myself. But for the girl, for the girl I’ll make every exception I have to make.
“Sold to the king of thieves!” the auctioneer yells nervously and I grind my jaw when the girl passes out.
Why? Because she’s terrified I’m the one who bought her? Does she know who I am? I doubt it.
Making my way through the crowd, I go up on stage to claim my prize. I can feel my men’s gazes burning me in the back of my neck. They probably wonder what’s gotten into me. I wonder the same.
I look down at the girl and she jerks, gasping and her head bobs when I gently pick her up. I try to get her to stand but it’s impossible. Her whole body wobbles and she passes out again. Giving up, I throw her over my shoulder, my pulse quickening when my palm touches her bare leg and I pull her skirt so far down it covers the knees.
“Who is she?” I ask the man who sold her and he shrugs.
“An American. We don’t know her name. She came to us in the desert, crawling on her knees and begging us to sell her.”
My brows curve. “What happened to her? Why can’t she stay conscious?”
The man laughs. “She’s drunk. You know how women are these days.”
I take a whiff of the girl and she doesn’t smell of alcohol. She smells of sweet perspiration and beeswax. Her clothes are of good quality and her sandals made out of real leather. This is not the kind of girl who crawls around in deserts, hoping to get sold and my eyes narrow when they go to the man.
“You know what I do to those who lie to me?” I grind between my teeth and his eyes flare. He swallows, backing and confirming my suspicions. I let out a hiss, lunging at him. He turns, runs and topples a couple of barrels in his way but he won’t come far. He and his crew are as good as dead and they know it. It won’t matter where they run or hide. They will pay for what they’ve done to this kid.
Taking a firmer grip around her, I turn her so that she’s in my arms instead of over my shoulder. I need to get her out of this fucking auction and I nod at my men that we’re leaving. They join up around me and we head out to where our stallions are patiently waiting. The girl shifts in my arms, murmuring something with her eyes closed and I take her in. There aren’t enough poems or poets in the world to describe her divine looks.
She’s made up of fine limbs and exotic features with high cheekbones, red lips and tawny lashes. And that hair of hers...like light glowing around her head, and suddenly I’m gripped by an urge to rip her formal clothes off and drape her in fine fabrics and gold. And I want her to open her eyes and look at me, see the man who bought her and feel a yearning to give herself to him.
Bending my head, I trace my lips over her jawline, inhaling her scent and my eyes shudder when my body fiercelyresponds. This is it. I think she’s the one. This girl is the one who will give me a son who will be just like me. I look at her in awe before I pull her closer, frustrated that she’s not as warm as she should be. There’s a chill to her flesh that bothers me and I lift my robe, using it to cloak her.
My men don’t say anything, standing silently behind me but they won’t dare protest. I make the rules and they follow. I twitch when the girl opens her lips, trying to exhale something and I pull my ear closer to her mouth.
“W...water,” she stutters. Fuck, these conditions are too rough for her and I snarl at my men to grab a bottle. I flip off the lid and allow her to take small sips. The liquid disappears into her mouth, turning those two petals of hers even redder. She squirms a little, before her eyes flutter and she opens them.
It’s an innocent move on her part but it feels like she just shoved her hand between my ribs and yanked my heart out. The color of her penetrating gaze is only slightly darker than the sand, and I can’t stay upright with her in my arms. I drop to the ground, cushioning my arm under her head to get her to sit up straight but it doesn’t work.
Her head bends back, her neck arching and when she looks up at me, her eyes are dazed as if she sees me through a fog. “Name,” I rasp, putting her little palm on her heart and I can barely hear her whisper.
“Kenna.”
Definitely a foreigner and my brows frown when a tear slides down her cheek. I wipe it off with my thumb and she struggles to speak. “Plane crash. Stung...T...they scared me. They t...took me...”
She’s been through hell that much is obvious. I growl at my men to go after those who hurt her and four of them jump up on their horses and race off. I stroke Kenna’s hair to curb the anger in me and it seems to soothe her. Her hand reaches for me like she’s trying to touch my face but then she drops it, as if she doesn’t have the strength.
Dammit, what’s wrong with her? This all can’t simply be from dehydration. Did those fuckers drug her?
Taking her hand, I move it to my cheek and a slow smile flashes her face and she bites her lip as if she’s trying to be strong. She makes a move to rise but then acts as if she’s been cleaved in two.
“Aoww,” she mewls and the sound cuts, making me frantic to know the source of her discomfort and she turns white. My eyes widen in surprise when her hand goes to her skirt and she tries sliding it up.
“Don’t look at her,” I growl at my men and they turn their backs. My attention goes to Kenna again and I lick my lips. “Let me.” I wait for her permission and then I slide her skirt up her legs, searching for what’s causing her pain and it feels like I’ve slammed into a wall.
She’s been stung. Poisoned. That’s what she was trying to tell me.
Panic floods me before I quickly regain control again and I pull her thighs apart, ignoring Kenna when she softly protests and shoves at my head. I grab her wrist, locking her down so she won’t move. With my face between her thighs, I locate the bite and start sucking on her smooth skin. She whimpers but lies still when I tell her to. I suck and spit it out, suck and spit it out.
I’m immune to the poison as it naturally runs in my veins. As children, we get stung by scorpions little by little until we build up a resistance. It’s an initiation rite. Every boy who’s about to become a member of the band of thieves when he grows up, goes through it. I was no exception. And neither will my son be.
“Why would you do t...that,” she stutters, as tears slide down her face and she must be in so much pain and I hurry up.
