Whispers of the Bond

The Auction

Kit's pulse hammered in her chest as she stood on the auction block, her body tense, eyes scanning the dimly lit room. The air felt suffocating, thick with desperation and greed. She didn’t recognize a single face, but every gaze made her skin crawl.

She had no idea how she'd ended up here—no clue who had sold her. She wasn’t some prize to be bid on, and the very thought of being treated like property made her stomach twist. Yet here she was, a captive in a nightmare with no way out.

The auctioneer’s voice echoed through the chamber, smooth and commanding.

“And now, a rare gem,” he declared, eyes gleaming as they landed on her. “A beauty like no other. A treasure to claim.”

While it was true she looked different—striking, even—it didn’t justify the way they handled her like merchandise. The anger rose sharp and hot in her chest.

Light from the spotlight poured over her like a silent command. Her once-dirty hair had been washed, now gleaming white and brushing her shoulders. She hadn't realized it until the glare revealed it—she’d been cleaned while unconscious. The contrast made her deep violet eyes stand out even more. They wanted to present her as something delicate, something polished.

Let them stare.

She gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to lash out. She wanted to run, but guards stood at every exit. Every movement she made was watched. Her skin prickled with that too-familiar sensation of being hunted, instincts screaming for escape.

How dare they touch her—bathe her—without consent. She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to plan. Her hands were cuffed behind her back, the metal biting into her tanned skin. The position forced her chest forward, accentuating a figure she never cared to flaunt. She didn’t have the exaggerated curves they worshipped, but it didn’t stop the stares. Her long legs made the thigh-length red dress cling in ways she hated. A single strap had slipped off her shoulder, and with her hands bound, she couldn’t fix it.

The heels they forced on her were brutal, biting into her ankles. She tugged at the cuffs again, noticing the chain connected to the ceiling. If she sat or collapsed, her arms would be yanked up behind her—a cruel design meant to keep her standing.

Still, she had options. If she needed to, she could break her thumb and slip free of the cuffs. Painful, but doable. She just needed an opening. Her eyes darted across the room, searching for a door, a vent—anything she could use.

And then she saw him.

Him.

The man from her nightmares. The one who had found her when she was barely eighteen, still reeling from the wreckage of her childhood. The one whose presence had ruined everything.

Their eyes locked.

Her breath caught.

The sound of the auction house faded, drowned out by the thunder of her heartbeat. That same magnetic pull surged between them—deep, ancient, and terrifying.

He was older now. Sharper. More powerful. But unmistakably the same. The man who had tried to claim her. The man who had taken everything.

He raised his number.

He was bidding on her.

No.

Not him.

Anyone but him.

Kit’s throat tightened as his gaze pinned her in place. The invisible thread between them pulled tight, suffocating and inescapable.

Whispers swept through the room like smoke, curling around her, tightening. No one knew his name. No one dared speak it. He was a myth, a shadow, a force. No title. No identity. Just rumors—of power, destruction, and one universal truth: he was untouchable.

Flashback:

Sixteen years ago, Kit lost everything.

The night her parents died, she was thrust into a cold, unfamiliar world. Alone and frightened, she wandered the streets, the grief a constant ache in her chest. There was no one left. No safety. Just survival.

Then, five years later, came Marco.

Kind. Gentle. Like a big brother. He took her in, taught her to read and write, showed her how to live again. For three years, he gave her a home. A family.

One night, she went for a run—a ritual to clear her head. But something felt off. The air changed. Heavy. Charged. And then, she saw him.

He stood still, unbothered, his gaze locked on her. She froze.

He wasn’t like other men. His presence commanded attention. Broad shoulders, short dark hair tousled by the wind—but it was his eyes that held her. Intense. Hungry. A gaze that pierced through skin and bone.

“You’re mine,” he growled, voice low and certain. Then he sniffed the air and added a single word that sent ice through her spine.

“Kitten.”

His voice was velvet-wrapped steel, and something inside her reacted instantly—heart racing, breath catching. She didn’t know why. She didn’t understand it.

So she ran.

She didn’t look back.

Days later, Marco’s home was nothing but ash and ruin. Rumors of arson swept through the streets. No one had survived.

She knew it had been him. She didn’t know why he had done it—but there was no doubt.

Even now, the memory of his voice and that look in his eyes haunted her.

Back to the present:

The auctioneer’s voice cut through the fog.

“Will anyone challenge the bid?”

Silence.

Kit’s heart pounded as her gaze stayed locked on his. He stood like a statue, but his presence flooded the room—an overwhelming tide of energy and control.

No one moved.

No one dared raise a hand.

Because he had spoken.

Her breath hitched. Her body trembled, but she stayed upright. Don’t show weakness. Don’t look away.

The pull between them snapped tight—electric, ancient, unwelcome.

She wanted to run. Every part of her screamed to run.

You promised you’d never feel this again.

But her body betrayed her.

Heat pooled low in her belly. Memory tangled with fear. Longing slid under her skin like poison.

The auctioneer turned to him.

“SOLD.”

Kit didn’t need to hear it.

She already knew.

Her freedom had ended the moment he walked in.