Angel's POV
"Riders approaching!"
The shout came from the front of our miserable procession, and my heart - already so battered and broken - somehow found the strength to sink even lower.
Lord Harwick.
He was coming.
The traders started moving quickly, suddenly concerned with appearances. The Boss barked orders, men scrambled to straighten their clothes and check their weapons. Even the horses seemed to sense the shift in energy, stamping nervously.
"You." The Boss grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh. "Stand up straight. Try to look presentable."
Presentable. I almost laughed. I was covered in dirt and dried blood, my white dress torn and filthy, my hair a matted mess. I could barely stand without swaying.
But I tried. Because another beating was worse than my pride.
Through the trees, I heard them coming through. The thunder of hooves, the clink of armor, the low rumble of masculine voices. Then they emerged onto the path - at least fifteen riders, all armed, all wearing matching dark leather that marked them as Lord Harwick's men.
And at their head rode the lord himself.
I'd imagined a monster. Something grotesque and obviously evil.
What I got was worse.
Lord Harwick was old - perhaps in his sixties - or sixty thousand - it was hard to tell with werewolves. They aged differently than humans, slower, more gracefully. But time had still left its mark on him. His hair was silver-gray, pulled back in a severe tail. Deep lines carved his face, and his eyes - pale yellow, like a wolf's - held a coldness that made my blood freeze.
But it wasn't his appearance that terrified me. It was the way he smiled.
Like he'd just been given a gift he couldn't wait to unwrap and destroy.
"Gentlemen!" He dismounted with surprising grace for someone his age. "Always a pleasure doing business with you."
"Lord Harwick." The Boss bowed. "We received your message and thought we'd save you some travel time."
"How considerate." Harwick's gaze swept over the carriage full of women, lingering on each face with disgusting hunger. Then his eyes found me.
I felt it like a physical touch - invasive, violating, disgusting.
He walked toward me slowly, "This is the one?"
"Yes, my lord. Just as you specified. Soft. Plenty of curves. Unspoiled."
Harwick stopped directly in front of me, so close I could smell the garlic and tobacco on his clothes. He was tall - most werewolves were - and I had to crane my neck to meet his eyes.
I immediately wished I hadn't.
There was nothing human in that gaze. Nothing kind or merciful.
"Stand up straight," he commanded.
I tried, but my legs were trembling so badly I could barely hold myself upright.
His hand moved so fast I didn't see it coming.
The slap sent me stumbling sideways, stars exploding across my vision. I tasted blood from where my teeth had cut my cheek.
"I said, stand up straight!" His voice was calm, almost pleasant. "You're going to be my mistress, girl. That means you need to be toughened up. Shaped properly. Do you understand?"
I forced myself upright, blinking back tears. "Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes... my lord."
"Better." He circled me like I was livestock at auction, his eyes cataloging every inch of my body in a way that made my skin crawl. Then he leaned in close and inhaled deeply near my neck.
I went rigid, every instinct screaming at me to run.
"This one doesn't have the scent of a werewolf," he observed, pulling back with a frown. He turned to the traders. "You told me she'd satisfy like a she-wolf. She's human."
The Boss shifted nervously. "She is human, my lord, but I assure you - she has the strength of a she-wolf. And the stamina. She'll give you pleasure just the same, if not better. Humans are more... malleable."
Harwick's hand shot out, grabbing my chin and forcing my head up. His fingers were cold, his grip bruising. He examined my face, my neck, then lower, his gaze lingering on my chest in a way that made me want to vomit.
"Soft skin," he murmured, almost to himself. His thumb traced my lower lip, and I had to fight every instinct not to bite him. "Luscious breasts. Yes... yes, she'll do just fine."
He released me and stepped back, licking his lips like he'd just tasted something delicious. "I'll take immense pleasure shaping her into exactly the kind of girl I want her to be. Breaking her down and building her back up in my image."
"Excellent choice, my lord!" The Boss was practically vibrating with relief. "Now, about the payment…"
"Of course, of course." Harwick gestured lazily, and one of his men rode forward carrying a heavy leather pouch. "Triple rate, as promised. Though I must say, you've outdone yourselves this time."
The transaction happened quickly after that. The women in the carriage watched through the bars, their faces filled with sadness as they watched the slave traders counting their newly acquired prize.
"Put her on my horse," Harwick ordered.
Two of his men grabbed me, ignoring my weak attempts to resist, and hauled me up onto Harwick's massive black stallion. The lord mounted behind me, his arm wrapping around my waist like an iron band.
"Try to run," he whispered in my ear, his breath hot against my skin, "and I'll break both your legs and keep you in a cage. Try to fight, and I'll make your punishment last days. But obey..." He squeezed my ass. "Obey, and you might even learn to enjoy it."
I couldn't respond. Could barely breathe without inhaling his foul smell.
The horse lurched forward, and we began the journey to what I could only imagine would be my personal hell.