Chapter 1
“Going once? Going twice? Sold, to the gentleman in the double-breasted suit!”
The auctioneer gestured to the winner with the silver body of the mallet before slamming it against the gray stone of the podium.
“A fine choice, sir; I’m sure you’ll be more than pleased with this, ah, lovely specimen.”
The “specimen” he was referring to was the slim-bodied blonde in red silk bra and panties, and black manacles standing in the middle of the stage. She’s certainly a cute one. Kieran looked at her bare, slender legs, which she crossed as she stood in an attempt at modesty. She was a slip of a girl, her straw-colored hair tied back in a thick French braid and her arms crossed over her small, pert breasts.
But, just like all the others, not my type.
With a slow, sweeping gesture of his arm, the auctioneer beckoned the girl to leave the stage. She nodded. Her face was tight with fear; her blue eyes were wide and shimmering, which Kieran could see from his seat dozens of feet back from the stage.
Docile, timid, and willowy. He traced the circular rim of his drink with a long, graceful finger. I’ll leave those girls for the Ukrainians.
And, as though on cue, the buyer, a stocky man wearing a pin-striped double-breasted suit and with oil-black hair slicked into a tight sheen stood from a seat closer to the front.
I should’ve known when he said “double-breasted;” only the Ukrainians would be tacky enough to go for a look like that.
The Ukrainian walked toward the stage and extended his hand toward the woman he had just purchased. By polite instinct, the girl, who couldn’t have been far out of her teens, extended her own, but was abruptly stopped by the lack of length in her chains. A murmur of laughter swelled from the crowd.
“No matter,” said the Ukrainian in a thick accent, his low, bass voice tinged with a rich, Slavic accent echoing through the hall, “there will be plenty of time for formalities later.”
He then gestured toward one of the guards in slim-cut, tailored suits who stood on either end of the stage. They dashed over and undid the chains; the manacles fell to the stage with a heavy thunk. The girl stretched her now-free arms and legs.
“Come, child,” said the Ukrainian, pointing to the empty chair at his table.
She nodded with apprehension before stepping off the stage with the timid, shy steps of a baby deer and taking her seat next to her new owner, who put his heavy, burly arm around her and pulled her close.
Leave it to the Ukrainians to be unable to wait even a minute before getting their hands all over the fresh meat. Kieran shook his head and took a slow draw of his drink.
“And for our next item, please welcome this lovely young lady, new to our fair city by way of Des Moines,” said the auctioneer in his clear, buttery voice.
The next girl was brought onto stage by one of the suited guards. Where the previous girl was slim and fair, this girl was shapely, with a rich, olive-colored complexion. Her coal-black hair fell around her face in straight, symmetrical tresses, and her lips were full and painted with a shiny lacquer of dark red lipstick. And unlike the last girl, who seemed fragile and frightened on stage, this one seemed to enjoy the attention; she put her hands on her hips and shifted her weight from one foot to the other while winking and blowing kisses to the audience, the thick metal of her chains clanging together.
Does this girl not understand the nature of the predicament she’s in? She must think we’re some collection of rich dilettantes bidding on a companion for the weekend. She’ll learn.
Kieran then cast his gaze toward the Italians, who chatted in quiet but lively tones among each other, probably deciding who had bidding rights on the young Mediterranean beauty on stage.
Bored, Kieran threw back the last dregs of his drink, letting the bitter tang of blood mixed with rich, caramel-toned whiskey loll over his palate. As he scanned the room, he caught the gaze of Drugi, one of the vampires from the Polish society, and one of Kieran’s only friends outside of his own society of Irish. Drugi raised a slim, small glass of vodka; a crimson streak of blood looked like a small vein in the otherwise clear liquid. Kieran raised his own empty glass, which Drugi noted with a wry grin. Drugi tossed back his shot, and then gestured with sharp points to one of the serving staff, then to Kieran. Within seconds, another drink was in front of him.
Kieran gave a nod of thanks to Drugi, and took a sip. The time seemed to drag; none of these women appealed to him. They were the same collection of dull-eyed Midwestern cast-offs and prissy rich girls living on their father’s American Express cards as every other year.
“Eh? You gonna pick one or not?” Ian slapped Kieran on the side of his thigh with the back of his hand.
Ian was Kieran’s closest friend in the Irish society. They were turned at around the same time, and having someone just as new to the world of the undead as you could be all it took to create a bond like this.
“When I see one I want, I’ll bid,” said Kieran, his voice laced with traces of an Irish brogue.
“Yeah, the same thing you say every year, then you go home with nothing. Such a picky one, you are.” Ian waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.
The previous girl had been won and led off the stage; the nods and shoulder-slapping in the Italian group indicated that one of them was her new owner.
“Our next girl, well, she’s really something special.”
Kieran suppressed a yawn and checked his watch, not even bothering to register the time.
“Bring her out!”
The glass of whiskey was in front of Kieran’s face, blocking his vision, when the girl came on stage. When he lowered it, he was struck in his seat. His honey-colored eyes narrowed, and his slim, but full, lips curled up in one corner.
Something special, indeed. Kieran reached for the polished ivory handle of his bidding sign. There’s a first time for everything…