Bella's POV

The smell hits me first.

Iron. Copper. Something wet and terrible that makes my stomach twist into knots. I try to breathe through my mouth, but the metallic taste coats my tongue anyway.

My head throbs like someone's hammering inside my skull. Everything feels fuzzy and wrong, like I'm underwater or in a bad dream. I want to reach up and touch the sore spot where they hit me, but my arms won't move.

That's when I realize my hands are tied.

Panic shoots through me like lightning. I try to sit up too fast, and the world spins sickeningly. But I force my eyes to focus, and what I see makes me wish I was still unconscious.

Blood.

Everywhere.

The walls are stained with dark, rusty streaks that look old and new at the same time. Some spots are still wet and glistening in the dim light coming from somewhere above. The stone floor beneath me is slick with it, and I can feel the dampness soaking through my dress.

I'm in some kind of cell. The walls are made of gray stone blocks, and thick iron bars stretch from floor to ceiling in front of me. Everything looks ancient and horrible, like something from the worst kind of fairy tale.

But this isn't a story. This is real, and I'm trapped here.

My hands are bound so tightly with rough rope that it's cutting into my wrists. When I try to move them, pain shoots up my arms. The rope is knotted behind my back where I can't reach it, and it's tied to something heavy that I can't see.

"Help," I try to say, but my voice comes out as barely a whisper. My throat feels raw and dry, like I've been screaming. Maybe I was screaming and don't remember.

In the distance, I can hear voices. Two men talking in low, rumbling tones. I can't make out their words, but something about the sound makes my skin crawl. They don't sound like they're planning to help anyone.

I look around desperately, hoping to find some way out of this nightmare. But what I see instead makes me gasp so hard I almost choke.

Other women.

Lots of them.

They're sitting against the walls with their hands tied just like mine, and every single one of them looks terrified. Some are crying silently, tears making clean tracks down their dirty faces. Others just stare at nothing with empty, hopeless eyes.

Most of them are young, maybe around my age or younger. Their clothes are torn and stained, and they all have that same hollow look that comes from being scared for too long.

"Oh God," I whisper, and a few of them turn to look at me. Their eyes are filled with a kind of despair I've never seen before.

One girl who can't be more than eighteen catches my gaze and shakes her head slightly, like she's warning me to be quiet. Her lip is split and swollen, and there are finger-shaped bruises on her arms.

That's when I see her.

The woman lying on the floor near the bars is completely still. Her eyes are wide open, staring at nothing, and there's blood on her lips and chin. Her skin has a grayish color that makes my stomach lurch, and flies are starting to gather around her face.

She's dead.

Actually dead.

I've never seen a dead person before, except for Grandpapa at his funeral when they made him look peaceful and clean. This woman doesn't look peaceful. She looks like she died afraid and in pain.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to pretend this isn't happening. Try to pretend I'm still at home with Grandmama, reading stories by the fireplace. But when I open them again, I'm still here. Still tied up in this horrible place with blood on the walls and a dead woman on the floor.

The voices in the distance stop suddenly, and the silence is somehow worse than the talking was. My heart starts beating so fast I can hear it echoing in my ears.

Then I hear footsteps.

Heavy boots on stone, getting closer. Two sets of them, walking with purpose.

All the other women tense up, and some of them start whimpering quietly. The girl with the split lip moves as far back against the wall as she can, like she's trying to disappear.

The footsteps stop right in front of our cell.

I look up and see two men standing on the other side of the iron bars. The sight of them makes my breath catch in my throat, but for completely different reasons.

The first man is huge. Not just tall, but broad and muscular in a way that makes me feel like a child in comparison. He's wearing dark clothes that look expensive, and his hair is black as midnight. But it's his face that makes me stare.

He's handsome. Not just handsome, he's beautiful in a way that seems almost impossible. Like someone took all the best features from different people and put them together perfectly. Strong jaw, high cheekbones, and skin that looks like it's never seen a flaw.

But his eyes ruin everything.

They're cold. The kind of eyes that look at people like they're things to be used or broken. When his gaze sweeps over the other women, there's no kindness there. No mercy. Just a predator deciding which prey to choose.

The man next to him is smaller but still intimidating. He has brown hair and scars on his face that suggest he's been in plenty of fights. He's watching his companion carefully, like he's waiting for orders.

"Who are you?" I ask before I can stop myself. My voice shakes, but I need to know. I need to understand what's happening to me.

The beautiful man's eyes lock onto mine, and I feel like a mouse being watched by a snake. Slowly, a smile spreads across his perfect features. But it's not a nice smile. It's the kind of smile that promises terrible things.

He doesn't answer my question. Instead, he just stares at me for what feels like forever, that cruel smile getting wider. His gaze moves over me like he's examining something he might want to buy.

The other women have gone completely silent now, even the ones who were crying. It's like the air itself is holding its breath.

Finally, the beautiful man turns slightly toward his companion, but he doesn't take his eyes off me. When he speaks, his voice is deep and smooth, like honey poured over broken glass.

"I want this one, Lyk," he says, pointing directly at me with one long finger.

The wicked smile on his face makes my blood turn to ice.