Bought By the Fae Savage (Fae Overlords #6)

Chapter 1

GWEN

I stand on the auction platform, dizzy from hunger and thirst, as leering male faces stare back at me.

There must be a hundred men in the crowd, mostly human, though I spot a few orcs and fae.

I don’t even know the name of this remote mountain village, yet I’m about to be sold to the highest bidder, like the other poor souls who have stood here before me.

It takes all my willpower to remain upright.

My legs tremble, and with my wrists bound tightly behind my back, I can barely keep my balance.

Sweat trickles down my temple, and a wave of nausea sweeps over me, making me wonder if the cuts on my wrists have turned foul. I’ve never felt so unwell in my life.

The auctioneer’s voice carries over the boisterous shouts and laughter of the crowd, and I flinch at the sums being offered. Six pieces of silver. Eight. Eventually, twelve.

Is that truly what my life is worth? A bag of silver?

I shudder to think what the winner intends to do with me.

Gods, please help me.

Tears prick my eyes, and I blink quickly, not wanting to cry in front of the watching crowd. As the bids climb higher, my thoughts turn to my family… and to how I ended up in this mountain village.

After the Winter Court army conquered my home city of Braemar, each household was ordered to pay a tribute of ten pieces of silver to the fae. My family didn’t have enough. And so, on Tribute Day, I was taken in place of payment. Taken as a slave.

My throat tightens as I remember my mother’s mournful cry when the burly fae guards dragged me away.

I had expected to remain with the fae, among the Winter Court army, forced to labor in their war camp and perhaps even be used as a plaything by the soldiers.

Instead, I was separated almost immediately.

Along with two other enslaved humans, both young men, I was marched into the mountains under the watch of three fae soldiers who had pulled us from the dungeons of Braemar Castle.

None of us knew where we were being taken.

At first, I thought we were being sent to one of the new fae settlements recently established in human and orc lands.

But now, after more than a fortnight of travel, I can’t help but wonder if the fae who took us were not loyal soldiers of the Winter Court at all. Perhaps they were outcasts or deserters scheming to make a quick profit from a few tribute-cursed slaves before vanishing into the realm.

My gaze drifts beyond the crowd, and I finally notice the snow-capped mountains in the distance, set against a vibrant blue sky filled with billowing white clouds.

The vegetation covering the mountains glimmers with ussha, the life force of fae magic that has started spreading into human and orc lands.

At the base of the nearest mountain, the ruins of a massive temple lie half-swallowed in sparkling, ussha-blessed vines.

Despite everything, I find the sight beautiful.

Before the fae took me, I used to dream of escaping Braemar, of going on grand adventures and seeing such exotic sights for myself. I used to sit on the city walls and stare longingly at the road that disappeared into the forest, aching with all my heart to follow it.

But now that I’m far away from my home city for the first time, all I want is to return to Braemar and never glance over the walls again. I would give anything to be sitting at the breakfast table with my mother, my stepfather, and my younger siblings at this very moment.

If only.

A man with cold blue eyes suddenly pushes to the front of the crowd, pulling my attention away from the mountains. He stares at me with undisguised hunger and shouts his bid. Fourteen silver pieces and five coppers. My stomach drops. It’s a massive sum.

I murmur another quiet prayer to the gods, desperate for help. I don’t want the man with cold blue eyes to win. I don’t want to belong to any of the men in the crowd. I just want to go home.

More sweat trickles down my face, and as my nausea deepens, I know it’s not the morning sun making me overheated.

I have a fever. I’m certain of it. The deserter-soldiers kept my wrists bound too tightly during the journey here, causing rope burns that eventually broke open and bled.

I haven’t bathed since Tribute Day, so it’s no surprise the wounds have started to fester.

What if my new master, whether it’s the man with cold blue eyes or another male from the crowd, doesn’t treat my wounds?

I think of my older brother, Corran.

He died from a festering wound when I was six years old.

A young soldier-in-training, he’d taken an arrow to the shoulder during a skirmish with orcs.

My mother did everything she could, but there was no saving him.

I remember the foul stench of the wound and the heat of his fevered skin.

Mama had gone to buy more medicinal herbs, and I was left to watch him.

He stopped breathing before she returned.

His chest fell, only to never rise again.

I watched and waited, willing him to take another breath, but it wasn’t meant to be.

Will I suffer the same fate as Corran?

As my gaze sweeps over the leering crowd again, part of me thinks death might be kinder. I swallow past the dryness in my throat and blink back more tears. Regret swells in my chest.

I had a nice, quiet life in Braemar, one I sometimes thought was dull, perhaps even stifling on occasion, which was why I dreamed of adventure.

Money was tight, and we didn’t have much, but we always made it work.

I helped my mother and stepfather keep the household running as best I could.

I cooked, helped with chores, and looked after my four younger half-siblings.

Most of all, I was loved, and I was safe. It was a far cry from the early years of my childhood, which were spent under the iron grip of my birth father, a man whose passing I never grieved.

Maybe I really am dying. I’ve heard that when death draws near, your life can flash before your eyes. Is that what I’m experiencing now? A final rush of memories before the end?

I suddenly think of the days before my birth father died. When I was eight, he caught me trying to buy a map from a traveling merchant. Though I tried to explain that I only wanted it as a keepsake, he believed I intended to run away. Enraged, he dragged me home and…

I briefly press my eyes shut, trying to banish the memory of that terrible afternoon and the price my mother paid for defending me.

A week later, he collapsed during dinner.

His face turned purple as he clawed at his throat, unable to breathe. And my mother just sat there, making no move to help, impassively staring at him as though she’d been expecting it.

She met my eyes briefly with a look that told me everything. She’d poisoned him, and he would never hurt us again.

Six months later, she married my stepfather, a gentle, patient man whose kindness helped ease the painful memories of my earlier years.

My guilt deepens. I had a good life in Braemar, yet I didn’t fully appreciate it. Perhaps the gods are punishing me for that. Perhaps that’s why I was taken.

All at once, the weather changes. A cold wind sweeps through the village, and clouds blot out the sun. Moments later, snow begins to fall in soft flurries. I draw in a deep breath, savoring the cool air that fills my lungs. It helps steady me.

Suddenly, a deep, thunderous voice rises above the crowd.

“Twenty pieces of silver!” the deep voice booms.

I gasp and search the crowd for the male who placed the shocking bid.

“Twenty pieces of silver,” the auctioneer calls, “going once, going twice… sold to the highborn fae male at the back of the crowd!”

Sold.

I’ve been sold.

To a highborn fae male.

Then I see him. My new master.

Our eyes lock instantly.

Massively tall, the fae male stands atop a cart, his enormous, black wings spread as though he has just landed. And perhaps he has. Perhaps I was too lost in my thoughts to notice him descending from the sky.

My pulse quickens as I take in his savage beauty.

He has large, pointed ears and thick, black horns that curve back from his head.

Broad-shouldered and powerfully built, he wears fitted black leathers that cling to his massive frame, accentuating every sculpted muscle beneath.

As the wind blows harder, his long, dark hair streams behind him, giving him a wild, untamed look.

He’s not as polished as the other fae males I’ve seen, though he is far from unkempt.

To my dismay, he really is handsome.

But he’s a fae male. A dangerous one.

His wings mark him as highborn. Only highborn fae, those from bloodlines that possess great magic, can summon and vanish wings at will.

Oh, gods. How will I survive such a male?

My panic swirls and deepens, and I feel on the verge of fainting… until his voice abruptly echoes in my head.

Be calm, human female. I am Lord Merak Blackthorne, and I won't hurt you. I will protect you. Always.

Magic, I realize with a jolt. He’s using his fae magic to enter my mind.

I don’t try to respond. I don’t possess any magic, so surely I cannot speak into his mind. And even if I could, I don’t think I would want to. The idea of sharing my mind with my new owner feels deeply unsettling.

His wings flare briefly, and then he’s airborne, flying straight toward the auction platform. Toward me. My heart thunders in my ears.

As he flies closer, I glimpse the splotches of red covering the sharp tips of his curved wings. Blood.

Oh, gods. Did he just kill someone?

Am I next?

What if he bought me just so he could torment me? Maybe he flies from village to village, searching for his next victim.

Then his voice echoes in my head again.

Please don’t be frightened. I won’t hurt you.

The deep, strangely gentle tone reverberates through me as though he has just spoken aloud. Fresh tears burn in my eyes. I so badly want to believe that he won’t hurt me.

But he’s a highborn fae male. He’s an enemy of my people.

I cannot trust him.

He lands before me, his unblinking gaze still holding me captive. No matter how hard I try, I cannot look away. I stare up at him, my heart racing faster as he steps closer. The auction platform groans under his weight.

He looms over me, his wings flaring wide, as though to shield me from the crowd. Even if it weren’t for the snow and biting wind, the chill that radiates from him would easily reveal what court he belongs to.

The Winter Court.

His people conquered mine.

They killed thousands of humans in Braemar.

Is he a soldier? I can’t help but wonder. And if he is, why is he here, in this remote mountain town, so far from the Winter Court army?

Without looking away from me, he reaches into his pocket, withdraws a money bag, and tosses it toward the auctioneer.

“Her cloak!” he calls, holding out a hand behind him.

The cloak the auctioneer ripped off me earlier goes flying through the air, and the fae male catches it easily.

He takes another step closer.

Before I can back away, he reaches around me and touches my bound wrists. Somehow, the ropes vanish. There’s a rush of tingling cold, and then my wrists are suddenly free.

I lower my aching arms to my sides, allowing the sleeves of my threadbare dress to conceal my festering wounds. I can’t bear to look at the damage yet.

He drapes the cloak over me, his movements rushed and impatient, as though he cannot wait to get away from this place, yet he still takes the time to draw the hood over my head.

A moment later, the large fae male sweeps me into his arms, cradling me close to his chest. His winter scent immediately washes over me. Smoky wood, peppermint, spices, and freshly fallen snow.

Oh, gods. He’s touching me.

He’s holding me as though I weigh nothing.

A sob catches in my throat, and warm tears soon spill down my face. I can’t help crying. I’m so overwhelmed. So scared.

But I don’t struggle in his hold. Even if I possessed the strength to fight back, I’m not certain I would. Though he’s promised not to hurt me, I don’t know if he’s telling the truth, and I have no desire to provoke his anger.

I once heard a traveling merchant say that the fae could lie as easily as humans, but they spread rumors claiming otherwise so they could gain an advantage in their dealings with humans.

And so, I remain pliant in his arms, hoping that if I’m obedient, he won’t hurt me too badly.

“I’m going to fly you away from here now,” he says, speaking just loud enough for me to hear over the crowd. “Close your eyes, my dearest.”

I manage a slight nod before shutting my eyes. Instinctively, I reach for the small key hanging from my necklace, clutching it in my right hand and drawing strength from its presence. I exhale with relief. It’s still there. I haven’t lost it.

My left hand comes up, and I curl my fingers into the fae male’s leather shirt. I bury my face in his chest.

Then I feel the rush of wind as he launches into the sky.