The walk of shame—that's what they should call this, Celeste thought as she was shoved to the back of the line. Twelve women in all, bound with leather rope, wrists tied so tightly she winced with every tug. She twisted, tried to bring the knots to her mouth, but the bindings cut deeper. There would be no escape.
The others walked as though they had rehearsed it, hips swaying, steps deliberate, as if they welcomed the eyes about to devour them. Do they actually want this? Celeste wondered. Nothing about this felt right. She longed for the cracked fields of home, even barren and empty. At least there, her humiliation had been private.
When the doors opened and they were marched into the street, the sunlight blinded her. Then came the noise—cheers, whistles, curses. Men shouted obscenities; women hurled insults sharp as stones. Celeste's body wanted to shiver, but she stiffened instead, spine straight, chin high. These people were vermin. She would not bend for them.
Still, her mind grasped for straws. If I'm rude enough, stubborn enough, maybe no one will want me. Maybe Sisisky will cut me loose. It was a fool's hope, but hope was all she had.
They reached the platform.
"First up, Levana from the planet Tigon, previously a slave of the House Redington," Sisisky cried, his voice slick with pride. "Let's start at twenty thousand chips."
Celeste blinked. Previously a slave. No wonder the women beside her seemed so comfortable—they had already been broken. Her pity for them was sharp, but so was her dread. Without hope, what was left?
"Beautiful firefly."
The words weren't spoken aloud but whispered inside her mind.
Celeste jerked, eyes snapping open. She scanned the crowd, and then she saw him. A man astride a beast with the head of a dragon and the body of a horse. His shirt gaped open at the collar, revealing bronze skin stretched taut over muscle. Power radiated from him in the way his thighs gripped the saddle, in the calm arrogance of his gaze.
And his eyes—green, so deep they looked carved from the earth itself—were locked on her.
"Do you like what you see?" the voice brushed against her mind again, amused.
Celeste's heart stuttered. Could he hear her thoughts? She narrowed her eyes, letting her mismatched gaze clash with his.
"Last but not least," Sisisky crowed, yanking her back to the present, "the treasure you've all come for. The Omega herself—Celeste."
A cheer rose from the crowd. Celeste forced a smile, raised her bound hands, and gave them the only gift she had left: both middle fingers, displayed proudly from one side of the stage to the other.
Gasps rippled through the square. Sisisky gave a nervous laugh. "As you can see, my Lords, she will need thorough breaking. A wild one."
Celeste reveled in their shock, but her triumph was short-lived.
"You may inspect her before the bidding begins," Sisisky added.
Her blood ran cold. None of the other women had been inspected—only paraded. But now men surged toward her, scanners in hand. Red beams swept over her face, each device confirming the truth: Omega.
"By the Gods, she really is one," someone muttered.
"But is she a virgin?" another jeered.
Hands seized her. Her legs were forced wide, rough fingers bruising her skin. Celeste thrashed, but the more she fought, the harder they held her. Heat seared her cheeks as laughter and vile comments washed over her.
"Enough!"
The roar cracked like thunder, silencing the square. Celeste was dropped unceremoniously to the boards, teeth rattling from the impact.
When she dared to look up, he was there—the man with the green eyes, moving through the crowd like a storm. A knife flashed; her bonds fell away. Before she could react, he hauled her over his shoulder.
"Talk with Jubal and settle a price," he told Sisisky, his voice like steel. "The Omega is mine."
Sisisky gaped. "B-but, Your Highness, this is an auction. The lords deserve—"
Thane Rysling turned, eyes deadly. "I am your Emperor. Speak again, and I'll see your tongue cut out. And while you're at it—gather the rest. I'll take every woman here." His smile was sharp as a blade.
Celeste's mind reeled. Emperor?
Her chance. Escape. She beat her fists against his back, kicked, twisted.
A sharp smack landed across her bare ass, the sting shocking her into stillness.
"How dare you!" she spat. "Unhand me this instant!"
He only laughed. "Stop thrashing before you hurt yourself, little firefly."
"I said put me down!" she snarled, tangling her fingers in his hair and yanking.
Another strike, harder, cracked across her skin. "Pull my hair again, hellcat," he growled low enough for only her to hear, "and I'll take you right here in front of them all."
Celeste froze. The threat was brutal—and yet the rough timbre of his voice sent a confusing heat coursing through her veins. Shame and something darker tangled inside her as her body betrayed her, trembling against his broad back.
She bit her lip, fighting it. He was power. He was danger. And he was the Emperor.