A small bidding war had ensued over the second item, but to be honest, I was paying more attention to how they bid, and the looks of calm confidence on their faces as they did so, hoping I could duplicate it, and that I wouldn’t be drawing a target on my back as I did.

But I was pretty sure that part was going to happen no matter how confident I acted.

I had received too many calculating looks from the same people, even though they appeared to be entirely normal, not monsters. And I caught that same friendly old man who had thought he recognized me, glancing at me, muttering under his breath. Three different times now.

They finally called my item, and I did my best to keep my face neutral, disinterested. They didn’t have the story right, at all, thank god. The auctioneer described it as the broken haft of an axe taken from the Romans thousands of years ago, but that was about as close as he got. The video footage on the projector screen zoomed in to reveal some faded script carved into the wood, but it wasn’t legible.

I was merely glad the auctioneer had maintained his neutral tone while describing it. Roland had told me the true story wouldn’t be revealed, but I had feared for it anyway. The bidding began, and I took a slow breath, squeezing Claire’s thigh as she began to fidget slightly. She almost squeaked, both in surprise and embarrassment, but she did visibly relax.

I waited, allowing those interested to bid as they would, not wanting to attract attention to it. Bids were exchanged casually back and forth, but many dropped interest, more focused on other items, some paintings, it seemed, coming down the queue once this piece of wood was finished. Mostly, the men seemed to want my item. Likely, thinking it would be cool to own part of a two-thousand-year-old weapon haft.

When it was apparent that most were ready to move on, and the auctioneer repeated his request for a second bid, I raised my paddle with a bored sigh for those around me. The auctioneer nodded, and those around me blinked in surprise. I leaned closer to Claire, murmuring lightly, appearing more interested in the conversation with her than the bidding. Just a bored trust-fund heir, spending daddy’s money. Nothing more to see.

Someone bumped it up by five-thousand, also looking bored. I sighed, forcing a lethargic sigh on my face, as if debasing myself by raising my paddle. The auctioneer noticed, and his eyes scanned the crowd, asking for the next higher bid. I did the same, lazily scanning the crowd, until my eyes locked onto the green-eyed man from the bar. He was staring right at me.

He was in the front row, and only visible as the people between us just happened to be seated in a way that — with him turned around — we had an unimpeded line of sight with each other. Before, he had just been the back of a head.

He studied me with a quizzical grin, breaking the unspoken protocol of sitting respectfully and staring towards the auctioneer. He casually flung his paddle up like he was tossing a pair of dice in a back-alley bet, never shifting his gaze from mine.

But his smile did stretch, seeming to challenge me.

I felt my face flush with heat, but I was almost confident that nothing showed.

Claire had gone very still beside me. We were still well under the hundred-thousand-dollar mark that Roland had anticipated I would have to pay if I played my cards right — maintaining my illusion of boredom and a lack of any real interest in the item. I held his gaze, feeling a sudden stubborn streak as I raised my paddle, and before I knew it, I spoke loud enough for all to hear.

Because the room had gone deathly silent as soon as the green-eyed devil had bid.

“One hundred thousand.” The words rolled off my tongue without conscious thought, and Claire flinched subtly.

The man’s eyes sparkled at the sudden game. Exactly what I didn’t want.

But a new face caught my attention. The hazel-eyed gentleman who had thought he knew me as his friend, Constance. “One hundred fifty thousand,” he said, raising his paddle. I turned back to the green-eyed man with a scowl, as if it were all his fault, but in reality, I knew it was mine. I had shown too much interest by suddenly bumping it up to six figures. The green-eyed devil arched a brow at me, as if encouraging me to beat the old man.

“Two hundred,” I said boldly, and felt Claire’s fingers squeeze my thigh like a vise.

“What are you doing?” she hissed under her breath.

“Winning,” I said, not turning to look at her.

“Quarter of a million,” the green-eyed man grinned, looking very interested in the unexpected game he saw before him. I deflated, thinking furiously. I knew I could hit that amount, but that was already much higher than Roland had anticipated, and I didn’t want to draw ire by bidding higher than I knew I could afford. Roland had been adamant that we could cover it, but he hadn’t shared a number with me, and I wasn’t about to make the church look a fool by suddenly writing a check they couldn’t — or wouldn’t — cash.

And my mind suddenly came to an entirely different conclusion. This man was only bidding because I seemed interested, almost as if bragging to get my attention. Okay. Time to teach the prick a lesson. This was something I could do. Familiar. Not fangs and claw, but manipulating another person. I sighed openly, and flashed him a guilty smile, feigning defeat.

He studied me thoughtfully, smile slowly fading as he realized that his brief game was now concluding. He finally turned back to the auctioneer with a casual shrug. I waited until the auctioneer began to open his mouth, and with perfect timing, I spoke loudly, feeling excited as I changed the rules of the game, changed the game itself.

“Three hundred,” I said, my tone laced with desperation.

He whipped around so fast I thought he was in danger of falling out of his chair. I batted my eyelashes at him and shrugged.

His interest was definitely ignited now, and a faint smile crept back onto his face, seeing that the game might not yet be over. But that was okay. He didn’t know I had changed the rules of the game. I was going to bleed this arrogant asshole. The room was as silent as a tomb now, the auctioneer looking both delighted and surprised.

“Five hundred,” the man said, watching me.

I didn’t have to fake my response at that, eyebrows climbing up my forehead. I let out an obvious sigh of defeat this time. He really didn’t like to lose. A perfect mark. Then I turned to Claire, shaking my head with a tight-lipped frown. It was so silent that I heard the man grunt this time as he turned back to the front.

But he hadn’t learned well.

“Seven hundred,” I said in a casual tone, waiting until he was fully facing the front again.

Stunned grunts echoed throughout the room, especially from the older man who had quickly dropped out after his single bid. He was openly staring at me now, muttering under his breath, but aside from a quick glance, I turned back to the green-eyed man.

“You sure you can play this game?” his cool voice was softly spoken, but full of confidence, as if it was bred in his bones.

I turned to the auctioneer, showing him my paddle number. I hoped I was flush enough, or I was about to become the laughing stock of the city. He consulted a tablet before him, and his face paled considerably. He looked back up at me with a slight frown as if both confused and thoughtful, but then he gave the green-eyed man a single nod. The man blinked, then turned back to me. “One million,” he growled, and he said it like he was slamming the gates of hell closed.

This time, I didn’t even react. I just stared at him. But he wasn’t about to turn around again. I felt the angry stares on me, but also some very approving stares. This man wasn’t loved here, and they liked the fact that someone was bleeding him. He continued staring at me as the auctioneer asked in a nervous voice if there was a higher bid. No one replied. I kept my face utterly neutral, uncaring, staring into those deep green eyes. I think I was still smiling though, but it wasn’t in my eyes. And the man could see that. He stared at me, uncaring about the item any longer, as if transfixed only by me, trying to categorize me.

“Sold,” the auctioneer said in a shaking voice. The green-eyed man continued watching me for a time, but seeing no reaction on my face, finally turned back around. The auctioneer continued after a deep breath. “We will take a brief break to refill drinks, as the next several items are open only to those with the right marking. A lavender oval on the bottom of your paddle.”

Several glanced down at their paddles with frowns, not having realized the items they had been holding out for were part of a VIP auction afterwards, likely assuming all the items on the stage would be available to them. But then again, those who had the appropriate marking likely hadn’t needed to be told. Roland hadn’t mentioned this, but seeing as how my item had already gone up for auction, he must have known it wouldn’t have gone to the VIP bidding. But this meant Roland had very deep pockets. Or the church did, because I had the required marking — as did the green-eyed man.

But my game was only just beginning, even if he didn’t yet know it. Allowing your mark to think they had won was part of the process. I stood, needlessly straightened my dress, and held out a hand for Claire, who looked weak in the knees and pale in the face. We exited with the rest of the crowd, and I felt their eyes latching onto my paddle, acknowledging the marking with disgusted scowls. Unsurprisingly, it was the same people who had shot me the most arrogant looks earlier.

Evidently, they weren’t pleased to learn that the young woman who they had openly dismissed had deeper pockets. I smiled politely — not smugly — at each one, and exited, heading straight for the bar. I knew he would come to me there.

Claire followed, desperately trying to keep her mouth shut by the looks of it.

“What were you doing?” she finally whispered in a low tone.

I opened my mouth to answer, but a familiar voice spoke behind me. “I was wondering the same thing.”

I turned to see the green-eyed man studying me curiously with his relentless gaze. Not rude, but commanding. A reporter hung patiently behind him, waiting for an opportunity to speak with him. I smiled back. “Just wanted to see how badly you wanted a foot-long.”

His lips tightened, and Claire coughed, trying to mask her sudden laughter. I continued to stare at the man, and a slow smile began to creep across his face. “Witty and pretty,” he murmured as if to himself, but loud enough for me to hear.

I noticed a slight commotion a dozen or so paces away. I turned my neck, frowning at the odd sight, because up until now everyone had been very composed. It was the older gentleman, but I couldn’t see who he was talking to. I did see he had a fistful of another man’s suit, veins prominent on his fist. “I see you, demo—”

Then the older gentleman erupted in flames. I gasped, jumping back a step, dropping my hands instinctively, realizing too late that I held my magical escrimas for all to see. But thankfully, no one paid a lick of attention to me, they were all too busy screaming and running from the burning man.

But the green-eyed man — who had also been staring in stunned disbelief at the burning man — suddenly flinched, his eyes flicking down to my fists, equally shocked.