Chapter 11 Danica
Danica
My chest constricts painfully, heart thundering against my ribs as two vampires wage a bidding war over me—my blood, my body, my existence. I'm being auctioned off like some rare vintage wine, the price climbing to obscene heights.
Silas's corpse lies at my feet, a grotesque reminder of his final act.
His poison courses through my veins like liquid fire, forcing unwanted heat through my body until I want to claw my skin off.
This invasion runs deeper than the bite—my flesh betrays me, responding to his toxic gift while my mind recoils in horror.
I battle against the sensation, but it's futile.
His dark magic sends waves of unwanted pleasure crashing through me.
I want to scream, to kill, to tear this whole fucking place apart with my bare hands.
This is assault at its most primal level—my body forced to dance while my mind howls in rebellion.
Hot tears of rage and shame streak down my face as I struggle against Morgan's magical bonds and this chemical prison. It's a desecration beyond words, and I'm powerless to stop it. Even in death, this bastard torments me, his poison commanding responses I never consented to.
With Rhyland, each bite was sacred—pure love, trust, and passion merged into one perfect moment. His fangs pierced my skin because I craved it, needed it, welcomed it. Even Lucian's unexpected bite held a measure of understanding between us.
But this? Feels like the ultimate betrayal—my flesh singing while my spirit screams. I'm trapped in my own body, forced to perform in this hellish puppet show while my mind rages against every sensation.
The bidder stands before me, power draped in expensive clothes. His predatory gaze marks me as conquered prey. His eyes never waver as he casually tosses another bid—eighty million dollars. The auctioneer's voice scrapes against my nerves like broken glass, each call making me flinch.
"Eighty million going once..."
My gaze darts desperately to the back of the room, searching for the other bidder.
Nothing. Just silence. He's abandoned the game.
Apparently, that's my price tag—eighty million for one night of horror.
One night where some ancient monster gets free rein over my body, all because my blood holds the key to daylight.
Nausea claws at my throat as Lilith's words echo in my head—how the winner claims me until sunrise, how "nothing is off limits." My stomach heaves as I imagine what awaits me. The thought of being used, not just for blood but for... everything else? Makes me want to scream until I shatter.
"Eighty million going twice…"
The vampire before me lets his victory smile spread, already savoring his prize. His gaze strips me bare, calculating exactly how he'll break his new toy. I've never felt so raw, so reduced to mere merchandise. To these monsters, I'm nothing but property to be traded.
The crowd drifts away, bored now that the entertainment's ending. They mingle through the ballroom like they're at a charity gala, not watching someone's life being sold. Their casual chatter floats up to my display platform, where I sit waiting to learn which sicko buys the right to destroy me.
They sip blood-laced champagne, gossiping about the evening's prices like they're discussing art pieces. The surreal disconnect makes my head spin—how can they stand there, socializing while participating in supernatural sex trafficking?
My insides twist as I await the final blow.
"SOLD! To Mr. Leighton!" The announcer's enthusiasm makes me sick. Lilith claps and smiles, gliding toward her customer. I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling hot tears escape despite my resolve.
Morgan's magic binds me like steel chains as she drags me from the ballroom. Behind us, Lilith and my "buyer" negotiate terms as if discussing a business merger. My struggles against her spell might as well be a kitten batting at iron bars.
She hurls me into my prison chamber—the same room where this nightmare began. Poetic, really.
"Wait here while the winner claims his prize," Morgan announces, clinical as a mortician reading a toe tag.
The casual cruelty of it all makes my blood boil. This woman—this witch—is supposed to represent balance and nature. Instead, she's playing enforcer for Lilith's sadistic games. What happened to all that bullshit about cosmic harmony?
"Why?" I demand, fury giving me courage. "Why are you helping that psychotic bitch? What's in it for you?" The words come out sharp enough to cut.
Morgan pauses at the doorway, turning back with eyes like frozen amber. "It's simple, really," she says, hatred lacing her words. "I have my own score to settle with your little vampire family. Consider this payback for what they did to mine, back when we served them."
Wait—what? My mind races through possibilities. Rhyland? Erik? Lucian? This could be useful. If I keep her talking, maybe she'll reveal something I can use.
"Who?" I soften my tone, letting curiosity mask my intent. "What happened to your family?"
Come on, spill your tragic backstory, you vindictive witch. Give me something I can work with.
"Ever heard of the Hawthorne witches?" Morgan seethes with generational venom.
My blank look draws a bitter laugh. "Of course you haven't.
Well, here's your history lesson, princess.
Your precious vampires used my fourth-great grandmother, then threatened her into some bullshit treaty.
We Hawthornes don't bow to anyone—especially not fucking vampires. "
Raw hatred radiates from her, dropping the room's temperature several degrees—old wounds festering through generations.
I piece together this warped puzzle, choosing my words carefully.
"Let me get this straight—you're throwing a tantrum over some ancient contract, and somehow that justifies using me as your revenge prop?
" I arch an eyebrow. "And out of all possible allies, you picked the poster child for vampire daddy issues? Why Lilith?"
Morgan's smile turns vicious, triumphant.
"Because Lilith was the treaty, you idiot.
I freed her—breaking the chains your precious vampires put on her.
You have no idea the depth of their sins.
She's their Maker, the oldest, the strongest. And to get what I want?
" Her eyes gleam with malicious satisfaction. "She's exactly the weapon I need."
Well, holy fucking plot twist.
The pieces click together with sickening clarity. The treaty wasn't just paper and promises—it was a magical prison for Lilith herself. Now, this vindictive witch has unleashed her, all to settle a centuries-old blood feud.
Perfect. I'm caught in the crossfire of a revenge plot that's been brewing since before I was born, complete with a crazy vampire queen and her pet witch with an ancestral axe to grind.
"So you see," Morgan says with vindictive promise, "I'm done letting vampire assholes control my family legacy. Lilith and I have an... arrangement. One that works quite nicely for both of us."
My mind spins from Morgan's revelation, but before I can respond, she vanishes. The door seals shut with the finality of a tomb.
Oh, hell no. Pure adrenaline launches me at the door. I wrench the handle with enough force to send pain shooting through my shoulder. Locked. Because, of course, it fucking is.
Desperation sends me flying to the windows. My fingers skate across flawless glass, searching for any weakness, any escape route. Nothing. Just an endless expanse of smooth, impenetrable barrier between me and freedom.
"Goddammit!"
The bathroom becomes my last hope. There must be a vent, a window, any possible exit. But no, it's just another gilded cage, all marble, and luxury masking its true purpose as a prison.
The bedroom door hinges creak…
My heart stutters, then freezes. Lilith glides in like death-wearing couture, flanked by my "buyer" and Morgan. My own personal tribunal of nightmares, here to begin their show.
I retreat until my back hits the far wall, instinct screaming for an escape route that doesn't exist. One look at the buyer's hunger tells me exactly what kind of performance they're expecting.
Rhyland, where the fuck are you?
"Come out, come out, wherever you are, darling." Lilith's sing-song voice slides through the air. "We promise not to bite... much." Her laughter shatters the silence, sharp as broken mirrors. Morgan's spell coils around me, serpentine and cold, dragging me from my corner.
Silas's dried blood still maps my skin and dress, a crimson testament to earlier horrors.
The buyer's gaze dissects me inch by inch, reducing me to meat at the market.
His tongue sweeps across his lips—a predator's tell—and bile burns my throat.
Power rolls off him in arctic waves, ancient and corrupt.
Those aristocratic features might belong in a Renaissance painting if they weren't twisted by such raw hunger.
"Release the magical bindings," he commands."I want her unrestrained. I didn't pay eighty million for a fucking docile doll." Another slow lick of his lips. "I want every scream, every struggle."
Lilith flicks her wrist as if shooing a fly. "As you wish." Her casual permission lands like a death sentence.
Morgan's chains dissolve, leaving me unbound.
I face my triumvirate of tormentors—Lilith's serpentine smile, Morgan's glacial indifference, and the buyer's ravenous anticipation.
This newfound freedom is just another move in their game.
They don't want a passive victim; they want the thrill of the hunt.
My muscles coil tight, every instinct screaming to run, to fight, even knowing both options lead nowhere. The buyer tracks my movements with practiced patience, a spider watching its web tremble.
His eyes promise torments that make my blood freeze. I've seen that look before in human monsters, but this is infinitely worse—this is a predator with immortal strength and centuries to perfect his craft.
"Wait outside," the buyer orders, his voice rough with anticipation. "I promise to keep her breathing."
My lungs seize as Lilith and Morgan share a silent exchange. They discuss my fate through looks alone while I stand here, a lamb watching butchers debate knife techniques. Rage and terror war in my chest, each fighting to escape in a scream.
"Very well." Lilith purrs. "I'll remain within earshot." She studies her manicure with theatrical boredom. "You have until dawn. Then your... entertainment ends." Emerald eyes flash with lethal promise. "And remember—damage my property permanently, and your existence ends. Understood?"
He offers an elaborate bow, a mockery of courtly manners. "Crystal clear, my queen."
Their casual exchange about my impending torture might as well be a discussion about borrowing a designer handbag. Property. Entertainment. Understood. Each word strips away another layer of my humanity. To them, I'm nothing but a toy passed between immortal hands.
The sounds of destruction erupt from below—glass shattering, wood splintering, primal roars of combat—my pulse spikes.
Lilith's eyes flutter closed, pleasure painting her features."Ah, he comes. Right on time." She turns to Morgan, satisfaction curling her lips. "Let's go greet my love."
Hope detonates in my chest like a supernova. Rhyland.
"R-Rhyland—RHYLAND!!!" His name tears from my throat.
Stars explode behind my eyes as the buyer's hand cracks across my face. Copper floods my mouth. His glacial breath ghosts my ear, promising nightmares.
"Hush now," he purrs. "Can't let my eighty million go to waste." Those soulless eyes dismiss Lilith with imperial arrogance. "Leave us!"
His casual brutality, his way of reducing me to a price tag—it sets my blood boiling even as my cheek throbs. The bruise spreads like spilled ink beneath my skin, but I lock my spine straight. Terror claws up my throat, but I'll be damned if I let this monster see me break.
The sounds of chaos from below grow louder, and I cling to that hope like a lifeline. Rhyland's coming. I just have to survive whatever this psychopath has planned until then.
"With pleasure," Lilith purrs, sashaying away while death stares at me through immortal eyes.
Survival instinct kicks in—my knee rockets upward with desperate force. Instead of pain, his pleased growl fills the air. Ice floods my veins as his eyes slide shut in ecstasy—my resistance feeds his perversion. Dear god.
"Such spirit," he breathes, satisfaction with each word. "We're going to create such beautiful music together."
Time fractures. In one heartbeat, my dress becomes confetti.
The next, iron bands masquerading as fingers lock around my wrists.
My back slams against the wall, breath deserting my lungs.
His frame becomes a cage of muscle and malice, supernatural strength rendering my struggles meaningless.
Still, I fight—spitting defiance, screaming rage.
His answering smile belongs in hell's darkest corner.
His free hand claims my breast, ice-cold fingers bringing waves of revulsion. Nausea rises as his touch brands me. "Exquisite," he growls, malice gleaming in bottomless eyes. "I'll savor breaking every inch."
His head strikes like a cobra. Fangs pierce delicate flesh, and agony explodes through my chest. My screams shred the air until my throat feels raw. I thrash against his grip but might as well fight a mountain. He pins me like a specimen under glass, drinking in my terror as greedily as my blood.
The battle rages below, but it's a lifetime away. Each second stretches into infinity as this monster feeds, his grip painting bruises across my skin. My struggles only fuel his frenzy.
Rhyland, please. The prayer echoes in my mind. I don't know how much longer I can hold on.