Page 11 of Shut Up and Bite Me

Fuck.

Fuck!

“Right out of the gate, we have a bid of five thousand to Claire.”

“A bid of seven thousand to Sandra.”

“Eight thousand to Samantha. We’ve got a popular start for Greyson. Is anyone else interested? Oh, wait a second…ten thousand back to Claire.”

They continue to bid back and forth until it’s up to eighty thousand. My palms are sweating as I hear a woman’s name announced with each new bid that isn’t my own.

Claire. Sandra. Samantha. It doesn’t matter what their names are, they can’t have him. My heart is racing, beating in my chest with vigor as I try to talk myself out of what I’m doing.

But it’s too late.

Wrapping my sweating fingers around the pen, I lift my thumb, hovering it above the button, take a deep breath, and state my claim, one no one else in this building can come close to competing with. “One million dollars.”

The entire building falls completely silent as my bid is announced through the speakers. But that silence is short-lived as every vampire in the vicinity gasps at my participation.

They know as well as I do that I haven’t participated in the Culling for decades. My decision may have been hasty and reckless, but I don’t care.

The only thing I care about right now ishim. And there is no chance in hell someone else is going to bring him home. You’re mine, Greyson.Mine.

What in the actual fuck is going on?

It was spontaneous, a complete spur-of-the-moment decision to come here tonight, and I think I may have lost my mind. Because I just walked onto a stage where rich people bid for me, and I must have sold rather quickly because I wasn’t out there for very long, I don’t think.

Everything about tonight has beenstrange. The security of this creepy but weirdly elegant hotel at the entrance would only allow me in if I knew the passcode, which, thankfully, I had overheard from the girls at that coffee shop.

When I got inside, they escorted me to some ginormous clock that had a secret staircase leading us down to the dark depths beneath the Barlowe.

We each filled out some fact cards about ourselves and even had to include our blood type, which I thought was rather odd, but I suppose that could be a safety measure if we got injured orsomething. Although it would be even weirder if they had a stash of blood somewhere for that reason.

Then, we had to fill out our information on a contract that I skimmed over. Basically, I would be the winner’s servant for two weeks and in return get at least one hundred thousand dollars. It may have been reckless, but once I saw that number, I signed on the dotted line and called it a day.

After that, some hotel staff lined us up and told us to remain quiet while the auction commenced. And everyone was silent,deadsilent. I wanted to ask a guy next to me if he had done this before, but I got one word out before he shushed me.

By the time I wanted to change my mind, run up those stairs, and never look back, I was being led onto the stage. I couldn’t see their faces or hear the people behind the glass, but I could feel their stares like a thousand fingers ghosting across my skin.

After only a minute or so, the exit door opened again, and I walked through, passing the man I had handed my card to. He was ecstatic, the most joyous look upon his face, and I wondered why. But not enough to stay and ask.

What have I gotten myself into? Is this safe? Is it even legal?

I should have asked more questions, thought this through more. But that’s always my issue. Sometimes thinking things through just means giving yourself enough time to talk yourself out of it, even if it’s the wrong decision.

Besides, it’s too late now.

A group of other people that just auctioned themselves and I file into an elevator with one of the staff. Her name tag reads Lana.

The doors seem to close at a record-breakingly slow speed, the mirror reflection forcing me to look straight into my own eyes. It also forces me to see the rest of the elevator, including the girl Lana, who is staring at me so intently that an eerie shiver runs down my spine. And she isn’t even attempting to hide it.

“I wonder why she chose you after all of this time,” she murmurs, and the whispers of the others fall silent as they listen in.

“I’m sorry?” I ask, clearing my throat.

Lana smiles sweetly. “Ms. Barlowe hasn’t participated in the Culling for decades. But then, all of a sudden, she bids on you. It’s interesting…” Her hand reaches up, and she runs her pointed nail down my jaw and beneath my chin.

“Wait—are you talking aboutMs. Barlowe?” someone shrieks excitedly.

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