Page 115 of The Delta's Rogue
The only way out is through.
“Five hundred thousand dollars!”
My heart stops, as do all other sounds. The last syllable of the bid slithers through my ears as the room sits in stunned silence over the drastic raising of the stakes.
My insides twist, and I concentrate on breathing through my nose while I wait to see what happens next.
Will others follow suit? Will they drive the price to new heights? Did this number trigger a bidding war, or will this be it—my final selling price, my worth declared by an anonymous, faceless scumbag in the audience?
“Five hundred and fifty thousand!” Another voice rings through the house, upping the ante again, and the audience springs into action once more.
“Five hundred and seventy-five thousand!”
“Six hundred and fifteen thousand!”
“Six hundred and forty-four thousand!”
“Seven hundred and five thousand!”
On and on they go. Higher and higher the numbers reach, pushing closer to one million. They circle like sharks, spiraling tighter around their prey—close enough to strike but far enough away that the minnows think they can sneak through the holes in their formation.
Close enough to smell the blood. The fear.
I won’t give them that satisfaction. I won’t let them sense my fear and feed off it.
Shutting my eyes is impossible. The leash on my blood prevents that.
I block them out, though. Ignoring the rising bids, I dive into my memories.
I remember the first time I saw Sebastian and how everything about him called to me in a way I couldn’t comprehend or explain. Those stormy gray eyes of his never paid me more than a moment’s notice, but mine tracked him. They memorized him. He was all I could think about and all I could speak about. In time, I learned to keep my mentions of him to a minimum. But my thoughts of him never ebbed.
I remember our night at the club. Not Forrest’s club—The Black Door—but the club where Haven celebrated her birthday. I remember how he hovered near me, guarding me. He held me close, guiding the movements of my hips as we danced, subtle wisps of his lycan’s aura leaking from him in warning whenever someone wandered too close to me. So subtle, I don’t think he realized he was doing it.
But I did. Just like before, like the first time I met him, I noticed everything about him.
The memories shift again, and I remember waking up in his arms, curled into a ball in his lap and wrapped in his sweater that carried his scent, as he sat at his desk in his office. I remember the ease with which we conversed, how natural it was to be with him. I remember almost saying too much, and forcing myself out of there and back to the clearing before I spilled everything to him, taking his sweater with me. That sweater came to bed with me every night until the night I left him behind—the night he begged me to stay with him, but I was too afraid to ask him to come with me.
I should have asked him to come with me. Even if that nightwasjust a dream, dream me should have made it clear that he was wanted.Needed. That separating from him was like tearing my heart out and never closing the hole in my chest.
My breath catches in my throat, but I keep my emotions off my face. I tuck them away, attaching them to these precious memories I keep just for me.
They can take my body, and my choice and my will, but they’ll never take these from me. These memories will be my solace. They will be where I hide. They will be the last line of defense around my weak and crumbling heart, the glue holding the broken pieces together.
“Nine hundred and seventy-five thousand!”
The bids break through my thoughts as they jump again and hover right beneath that million-dollar mark. Murmurs ripple through the crowd as there is another break in the bidding. Whispers of awe reach me as the crowd discusses how this is the highest bid of the night, of perhaps any auction ever.
“Nine hundred and ninety-five thousand!”
It’s silent again—a sound I’ve come to hate. Nothing good comes from a silence such as this.
“Come now,” the auctioneer beckons with a faux warmth in his voice. “We’re so close to one million! Anaís here—”
“Nine hundred and ninety-six thousand!”
“Anaís here is worth one million. More than one million!” The auctioneer gestures towards me. “Show them how much you are worth.”
Manipulated by the unseen witch beneath the stage, my body moves of its own accord. I rise to my feet and spin to face upstage.
