Page 8 of Purchased

“Come here,” I say, reaching for her neck. “Let me get that cheap silver thing off you.”

She allows me to remove it. I open the window and toss it out, hoping that the gesture of freedom will help her feel better about her predicament. I am, in some respects, a hypocrite. I am not here to set her free. Not entirely. I am here to claim her in a new way, one that will see her made into a creature she does not know exists inside her as yet.

“Let’s go,” I tell the driver. “To the station, quick as possible.”

“Yes,Maître,” he responds, sending the car into the night, away from the scene of all these crimes.

I cannot take my eyes off my mate. She is the most beautiful creature in the world. Every line of her face, every curve of her body, every breath she takes enchants me.

The dress they put her in—I have the sense she would not have chosen such a thing for herself—is too short. Not in an alluring way, simply in a way it was clearly cut for a shorter woman. The waist is too high, the hem too short and tattered. There are scratches along her legs.

“What happened to your legs?”

“I tried to run,” she said. “Before it happened. I got caught in the brambles. My mistake. I should have gone through the river. They wouldn’t have been able to scent me then.”

“You knew there was an auction?”

“They tell us it is a ball. They tell us we will meet handsome suitors, maybe the loves of our lives. But we’re really just slaves.”

“You’re not going to be my slave.”

“You bought me, beat me, and are taking me…”

“Home. I am taking you home.”

She gives me a dark look.

“How did you know about the auction?” I ask her. “The others didn’t know?”

“I was in trouble again,” she says. “They sent me to see the director. He wasn’t there, so I was in the director’s office. I started looking around and I found the files. I tried to tell the others, but they didn’t believe me. They never listened to me. Not since they put me on the pills.”

“The pills?”

She falls silent, and the fact that we are two strangers who do not know anything about each other begins to assert itself in the rear of my car.

I am discovering a lot about her with these questions. I know she is independent, rebellious, smart. I know she does not play by the rules or respect authority. I know she is prepared to suffer for freedom. I know she is a wild thing yet to be unleashed.

“What else do you know?”

She shrugs. It could be that she doesn’t want to overplay her hand, but I don’t think so.

“Did the orphanage teach you that you were special, or different from other young women?” The director mentioned her Siberian heritage. I wonder if she knows what that means. I wonder if she knows why she had a silver collar around her neck to stop her from shifting. The director clearly knew, though I don’t think his use of it was appropriate or necessary.

She frowns. “No. It did not. They made it clear we are inconveniences fortunate to be fed.”

I have to assume she doesn’t know what she is. She doesn’t know where she came from. She doesn’t know what makes her special. She doesn’t know why she and I are so deeply connected. I will have to explain all of this to her at the right time. Now is not the moment to reveal something so monumental to a clearly traumatized young woman who wanted to flee.

“What did you want me for?”

I hesitate for a moment. I could say I liked the look of her, but that is not the half of it. I could tell her I was drawn to her, but likewise… My hesitation gives her the opportunity to fill the silence with her own theory.

“You look rich enough and handsome enough to get a girl the usual way. So I guess you’re going to eat me.”

“Eat you?”

“Eat me,” she repeats. “Or hunt me for sport.”

I narrow my eyes, confused. “What makes you think…”

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