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I hear him. See him in front of me, but only vaguely. I’m staring through him as my mind whirls.
They knew. The whole time, they knew what I was doing. They baited me into showing my hand. Just like Enzo had the first day of Herbalism.
I underestimated them, but I won’t make that mistake again. My freedom and Gael’s depend on it. My head spins. I can’t be here. I can’t be a part of this.
But I need them. How can I get out of this and still get Gael?
“Just keep pinning,” Lumière says to the remaining helper. “What wrong, Ms. Collins? It’s quite the honor to be chosen by a horde in such high standing.”
I shake my head, words falling out of my mouth. I’m midway through a confession before I stop myself. “Maybe so, but I…” I already have a mate. I’m already promised, body and soul, to the love of my life.
It’s one thing to idly fantasize about getting some demon action.
Actually doing it…
It’s not just forbidden.
I’m risking everything. Not just Gael.
If I sleep with them, any of them…
I’ll be nothing but a fallen whore.
I’ll have ruined everything—my chance at saving Gael, performing the Rites, having access to my full power.
Escaping my father on my terms.
My wings will wither and die, and I’ll be cast from not just his host, but from Celestus, shamed and sullied.
“I-I can’t do this,” I whisper as Yanis puts a glass of water in my hand.
“Spill it on the fabric, and the heirs will be the least of your worries,” Lumière warns.
“I can’t do this,” I repeat to myself, hoping for a spark of inspiration, the seed of an idea. The first step of getting my angel ass out of this infernal mess.
“Ms. Collins.” The dressmaker looks at me with pity. “You might think you can’t, but youmust,and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
I knew what the Auction was.
Iknewwhat happened to that poor wolf shifter girl, and somehow it didn’t occur that it might happen to me. How stupid was I to think I was merely a guest invited by the host.
Not the main event. Not the one being auctioned.
I fooled myself into thinking I had the skills to manipulate four demons and not get burned.
I’m an angel, for Flames sake!!
“I’m going to be sick.”
The dressmaker steps back, but not before magicking the fabric off my body and replacing the water glass in my hands with a conjured small pail.
“Aim for the bucket, please.” He sounds rather bored. As if he always tailors dresses on women who are actively throwing up.
A helper pulls my hair off my neck. “It’s OK, Miss. Everyone knows the sons of the Syndicate are to share the same demoness when they take power. The flames foretold it. Be honored they chose you as worthy.”
Another heave wracks my stomach muscles.
“Please, Miss. Pull yourself together,” he urges, patting my back. “This is a good thing. Most would be elated.”
