Bidding on the dragon

The rain didn’t just fall; it attacked,

a cold, relentless assault that

matched the war raging in my head.

The number on my phone screen

seemed to pulse in time with my

heartbeat, a digital death sentence.

$187,432.17. Medical debt for my

sister, Elara. A sum so large it had

become an abstract monster, until

the final notice arrived this morning.

Now, the monster was at the door,

its breath frosting the glass.

My umbrella had given up the ghost

two blocks ago, and water seeped

through the seams of my cheap

boots. This part of the city was a

forgotten wound, all crumbling brick and shadows that clung too long. I

was looking for a door, a specific,

unmarked door beside a pawn shop

that reeked of despair and old

metal. Finn, a guy from the bar who

knew things he shouldn't, had

muttered an address and a name.

"Asmodeus Inc. They don't ask

questions. But the interest… it has

teeth."

It was my last, worst option.

I found the number, but the pawn

shop was dark, a metal grate pulled

shut. Panic, cold and sharp, lanced

through me. Had I gotten it wrong?

Was I truly out of options? Then I

saw it—a sliver of light from a

narrow, black door I’d mistaken for

an alleyway entrance. There was no

number, just a simple symbol

etched into the dark wood: a

serpent coiled around a key.

This was it. The point of no return.

I took a breath that did nothing to

steady me, pushed the door open,

and stepped into another world.

The silence was the first shock. The

door clicked shut behind me,

muting the city's roar into a distant

hum. The air was warm, thick with

the scent of old books, sandalwood,

and something else… something

metallic and wild, like the air after a

lightning strike. I stood in a small,

opulent antechamber. Dark wood

paneling, a single plush chair, and a

single elevator door made of

burnished bronze.

A man stood beside the elevator. He

was tall, gaunt, dressed in an

impeccably tailored suit that

seemed to drink the light. His eyes

were the colour of a winter sky, and

they assessed me with a

dispassionate chill that made my

skin prickle.

"You are expected?" he asked, his

voice a dry rustle of leaves.

"I… I was told to come here. For a

loan," I managed, my own voice

sounding small and pathetic.

He didn't blink. "The acquisition is

underway. You may observe. Do not interfere." He pressed a button on

the wall, and the bronze elevator

doors slid open without a sound.

Acquisition? Observe? The words

felt wrong, but the door to the rainy

street behind me felt like a lifetime

away. I was adrift, pulled by a

current I didn't understand. I

stepped into the elevator.

It descended. Not for a second, but

for a full minute, the numbers on

the display above the door counting

down into negative levels. My ears

popped. Finally, with a gentle

chime, the doors opened.

The sound hit me first—a low,

resonant murmur of dozens of

voices. The sight that met my eyes

made my brain stutter, trying and

failing to process the reality.

I stood at the top of a steep

amphitheatre, looking down into a

circular chamber. It was grander

than any opera house, draped in

blood-red velvet and lit by glowing

crystal orbs that floated near the

vaulted ceiling. The attendees… they were not all human. A woman

with skin like polished jade and hair

of living ivy sat beside a man whose

eyes flickered with literal flames.

Another had the sharp, elegant

features and faintly pointed ears of

the fae from Elara’s storybooks. I

saw scales, horns, and shadows

that moved on their own. This was a

gathering of myths, and I was a

mouse who had wandered into a

den of lions.

At the centre of it all was a raised

dais, where a man in a silver robe

stood, his voice magically amplified.

"—a singular opportunity! Lot 77! A

prime specimen, recently…

acquired."

My heart was a frantic drum against

my ribs. I needed to leave. Every

instinct screamed at me to run. But

my feet were rooted to the spot, my

eyes locked on the dais as two

figures dragged a third onto the

platform.

The prisoner was a man. He was

tall, with a powerful build that even the cruel, silver-chained manacles

on his wrists and ankles couldn't

diminish. He was shirtless, revealing

a torso mapped with muscle and

old, silvery scars. His head was

bowed, a fall of dark, unruly hair

obscuring his face. But even in

submission, he radiated a terrifying,

coiled power. The air around him

seemed to shimmer with heat.

"I present," the auctioneer's voice

dripped with theatrical relish,

"Kaelen of the House of Drakon. A

pure-blooded Royal Dragon shifter.

Former CEO of the Drakon

Consolidated empire. Neutralized

and collared for your security and…

pleasure."

A dragon. They were selling a

dragon.

The bidding started fast and

furious, a blur of numbers and

flashing paddles. Ten million.

Twenty. Fifty. The numbers were so

vast they lost all meaning. This

wasn't my world. This was a

nightmare. I had to get out. I turned to leave, but a group of

newcomers entered the balcony,

blocking my path. I shrank back

against the wall, into the shadows,

hoping to become invisible.

"The bidding stands at eighty-five

million!" the auctioneer crowed. "Do

I hear ninety?"

A deep, resonant voice from the

front row answered. "One hundred

million."

The man who spoke turned his head

slightly, and I saw a profile of sharp,

cruel beauty, skin pale as

moonlight. He smiled, and the tips

of elongated canines glinted. A

vampire. He looked at the dragon

on the stage not as a being, but as

a trophy.

Something inside me snapped. It

wasn't bravery. It was a culmination

of everything—the debt, the rain,

the fear, the sheer, monstrous

injustice of this entire scene. This

man, this Kaelen, was a king, and

they were treating him like

livestock. A hot, reckless fury burned through my veins, scorching

away my fear.

In that moment, the dragon lifted

his head.

His hair fell away, revealing a face of

hard, unforgiving lines and a jaw set

in defiance. But it was his eyes that

captured me. They were the colour

of molten gold, flecked with emberbright sparks. They burned with a

feral, ancient intelligence and a rage

that promised utter destruction.

They swept over the crowd, a king

surveying his captors with utter

contempt.

And then, those fiery eyes locked

directly onto mine.

It was like being struck by lightning.

A jolt of pure, unadulterated energy

slammed into me, so visceral it

stole my breath. My skin tingled.

The noise of the auction faded into

a dull roar. In that single, searing

glance, I saw not just his rage, but a

profound, soul-deep weariness. And

a question.

The vampire bid one hundred and

ten million.

The auctioneer grinned. "Going

once! Going twice—"

The word was out of my mouth

before the thought had fully

formed, propelled by a force I didn't

understand. My voice, clear and

sharp, cut through the anticipatory

silence.

"One hundred and ten million and

one dollar!"

A dead, profound silence swallowed

the entire chamber. Every single

head, human and otherwise, turned

to stare at me, the drenched,

shivering human girl in the

shadows. The vampire's smile

vanished, replaced by a look of icy,

murderous fury.

The auctioneer blinked,

stammering. "I… I beg your

pardon?"

The dragon on the dais, Kaelen,

didn't look away from me. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his

face. It wasn't a smile of gratitude.

It was the smile of a predator who

had just seen a fascinating new

game enter his territory.

The auctioneer's gavel slammed

down with a crack that echoed like

a gunshot.

"Sold! To the human in the back!"

The vampire rose, his eyes glowing

crimson. The dragon, Kaelen, kept

his burning golden gaze fixed on

me, and his low, resonant voice

carried across the suddenly tense

room, meant only for my ears.

"Well, little mouse," he said, the

words a dark promise. "Now you

own a dragon. I hope you have a

very, very large cage."