“And what are your other three going to say?” the second guard asked, relaxing slightly and leaning against the wall.
“Nothing, if they know what’s good for them,” the first one said, swiping a thumb across a nipple, watching it peak. “That’s your problem—you never learned that you can’t let them talk.”
“If you don’t they sulk around for days. And you have to bring them something pretty.”
The first guard shot him a look of disgust. “They’re not your wives—they’re your slaves. You bring presents to slaves?”
“Sometimes. It makes things easier.”
“No wonder you have trouble. You don’t know how to treat them.”
“And you do?”
“Oh yes.” He let go of my breast to trail a finger down my stomach.
Unlike the other, his eyes weren’t black but blue, clear and bright and amused enough that I wondered if I’d been wrong, if there was some human in there, after all. Or maybe some things were just universal. The unwanted touch slid past my navel and continued to drop, down to where my hand still rested. Down to the la
st bit of me that was still concealed.
And playfully pulled up one of my fingers.
“Oh yes,” he repeated. “But I like to try before I buy—”
Pritkin knocked his hand away. “She’s not for sale!”
The fey looked up, and again, he seemed more surprised than anything else. “She’s human. They’re all for sale.”
“Not this one. She’s to go in with the others—”
“She goes in when I say, half-breed—”
“Then say it!” It was not a request.
But to my surprise, the fey merely smiled. Maybe because his friend had just joined the action. From leaning on the wall to hands on Pritkin’s biceps, in the time it took to blink. Pritkin jerked his arms, which went exactly nowhere, and the first fey resumed his former occupation.
And lifted another finger.
“What are you concealing, lovely one?” he asked, watching Pritkin’s reddening face. “And so carefully?”
A third finger was raised, and his eyes slid back to me.
“Is it dangerous?”
A fourth.
“Or is it . . . sweet?”
He pulled my hand away, leaving me bare to his gaze. And to his touch, which immediately slipped between my legs. I choked back a sound of revulsion, but I guessed not well enough. Because a scuffling fight suddenly broke out between the other fey and Pritkin.
The first one barely glanced at them. “Oh yes,” he said as he began to explore, “I think it’s sweet.”
He found the small nub hidden inside my folds and rolled it between his fingers, grinning when I recoiled. He did it again, and his eyes darkened when I cried out. “Let’s find out if you think I’m sweet, too,” he said, and pushed me to my knees.
But a second later, Pritkin was out of the second guard’s grasp and between me and my tormentor, shoving him back with one hand, the other pulling me behind him. Which might have worked better if there hadn’t been two of them. “Knife!” I yelled as the second guard lunged up from the floor, weapon in hand.
But the first one raised a hand, pausing the action, his eyes suddenly sharp and thoughtful. He glanced at me, and at the fist I’d curled into the back of Pritkin’s shirt, in case I had to shift us out. And then back at Pritkin.
The eyes narrowed.