Xavier

Prologue

The man stood close. I wasn’t supposed to look up but I squirmed a bit, trying to focus on his shoes. They weren’t dress shoes—expensive looking sneakers. The kind basketball players wear. And dark jeans . . . a sweater? I bit my lip, feeling more and more curious about who was standing in front of me.

He didn’t dress like the other men.

They were always in suits, dress shoes.

It was unheard of to show up to one of these events in such dress.

I felt his hair brush against my face and shivered, hearing him sniff me.

Vampires.

The first thing they’ll check for is the mark. Whether you belong to someone else or not.

His hand slipped to my throat and I swallowed, feeling his thumb press to my chin, tilting my head back as he straightened.

Dark eyes, black curls, and the hood of his jacket was up casting a bit of a shadow over his features. He was beautiful, the kind of beautiful that was hard to look at. Creatures of the night often are. It’s very misleading considering they’re rarely kind.

“I’ll take this one.” His voice was soft, deep, and his eye contact was unwavering.

Wait.

  What?

“She’s not for sale,” Turk barked.

"I want her."

A tremor went through me at such bold words.

Turk spluttered, “She’s an imperial slave—”

  “And she’ll remain one,” the man said, smirking.

   “Sir, you really can’t—”

   “You wouldn’t want me to break the treatise, hm?” the man wondered, still eying me, hand slipping down my throat to my shoulder, finally allowing me to lower my head again.

He wants to . . . buy me?

My stomach churned at the thought of what other horrors I could possibly face.

As if Turk wasn’t bad enough.

“Surely you wouldn’t—”

“Wouldn’t I?” The man’s tone was breezy, as if he weren’t threatening a Royal family member.

  There was a drawn-out silence. The snap of fingers. I flinched at the noise. “One million. Our only offer.”

  I glared at the ground. An impossible price. Nobody would—

“Deal.”

All the air left my body.

This man . . . just agreed to that?

“Come.”

  His hand slipped to my arm, tugging, and I stumbled after him, wide-eyed. What?

“Sir, the money,” Turk snarled. I glanced over at him, taking in his outraged expression.

“It’s being wired as we speak,” the man said, still towing me behind him.

There were outraged noises and shuffling about the council and I just stared at his hand, taking up most of my forearm, so large, grip so firm—I’d just been bought.

  By who?