His Wicked Embrace novel Chapter 2

"The shoes will have to do." The blonde woman stared down at Zehra's sensible black boots. "And your hair-ain't nobody here can style it like them fine ladies do."

Though she had her mother's bright-blue eyes and full lips, Zehra's Persian features and raven-black hair had been inherited from her father. She had pulled her hair up with pins in a loose tumble days ago while still confined to the cabin aboard the ship, and she hadn't touched it since. She hastily adjusted the pins now.

"'Tis fine. Won't matter in a few hours. Not when you'll be on your back giving it up to some fine gent. Probably goin' to be that dark-skinned fella." The woman was prattling on, and Zehra was barely listening until she heard the words "dark-skinned."

She grasped the woman's arm. "What? What man?"

The prostitute scowled, and Zehra released her. "Some man was talking to the madam about you. He's darker than you are. Found out you'd been sold here, and he tried to buy you straightaway. Said you belonged to him."

Al-Zahrani's words knifed through that thin veil of hope she'd been clinging to. "You belong to me."

"What did he say, exactly? Did he mention his name?"

"Name? I didn't 'ear that. Something foreign, funny, you know." The woman plucked at her gown, but the wrinkled fabric was beyond saving. "He's come before, that one. Sells girls like you all the time. Doesn't usually buy, though. He was right mad someone else had sold you to us. The madam told him he had to bid at the auction like everyone else."

No...oh, heavens no. It was Al-Zahrani. It had to be. A strange rust taste filled her mouth, and sweat coated her palms. He was going to buy her tonight. He would pay anything for her. And then...

"Right, come with me." The woman started for the door, and Zehra followed behind, touching the small gold locket around her throat. It was the only thing of value she had left, and it held her parents' portraits inside. Al-Zahrani had seen no advantage in taking it from her when he'd kidnapped her, and the slavers on the ship hadn't known she'd hidden it away in her skirts. The gold was warm upon her skin, and she traced the intricate floral patterns, wishing more than anything that her parents were still alive, that she was still asleep in her bed, having an awful nightmare.

The brothel was decorated with red satin wallpaper. Gilded sconces illuminated the hall as the prostitute led Zehra to a door at the end of the corridor. Three tall, muscled servants stood behind her, preventing any chance of escape. Zehra fisted her hands in the folds of her skirts to keep them from shaking. The door opened, and a flood of sound hit her. Men were laughing and talking in the dark interior of the room beyond. There was a small stage with a chair on it. Somewhere in the darkness, Al-Zahrani was likely waiting, like a wolf preparing to pounce.

The blonde-haired woman nudged her toward the stage. "Go and sit down." Zehra kept her head down, even though she couldn't see any of the men because of the lighting on the stage.

"Well, we start tonight's auction with a treat for you gentlemen." An Englishman spoke, then chuckled. "Feast your eyes upon this Persian princess. What pleasures might this virginal beauty know in your bed? Bidding starts at five hundred pounds."

Her heart pounded as the men began to bid. The numbers climbed higher and higher. The heavy scents of tobacco and spirits hung in the air, filling her nose with a stench she couldn't bear. She saw the shadows of men just behind the reach of the chandelier's glow. They prowled at the edges of her vision like creatures born of shadows. Harsh laughter echoed around the room, providing a ghoulish symphony to the sounds of the brothel. She focused on the bidding, trying to fight off her panic by reciting the numbers in her head over and over.

"Two thousand pounds!" Al-Zahrani's voice carried across the room. There was no mistaking it. Zehra didn't move, didn't flinch, even though part of her had turned to ice.

Please, let someone bid against him. The devil himself would be preferable.

"Two thousand?" A silken voice from nearby chuckled. "Heavens, this beauty is worth more than that! Seven thousand!"

"Are you all right, my dear?" the man asked. She squinted in the darkness, her eyes slowly adjusting. She caught sight of a tall handsome man with red hair. She'd prayed for a devil to rescue her, and she'd found one. She glanced around, afraid she would spy Al-Zahrani waiting to steal her away.

"Yes...I..." She swallowed, unsure what else to say.

"Good. Wait for me. I won't be long. I promise not to let anyone hurt you." The man turned and vanished into the crowd.

He wouldn't let anyone hurt her? She felt a surge of hope inside her so strong that she almost smiled. He had mercy, this beautiful stranger. He could be the one to set her free, and then she might find her mother's family.

"Come, this way," the auctioneer growled and once more took her arm, though less rough than before, and escorted her back to her chamber. Zehra barely heard the man's grumbling-all she could think about was that tonight might not be as awful as she'd feared. If she could just convince the man who'd bought her to help her, she might yet survive.

"He'll come for you once he's paid." The man chuckled. "Assuming he has that much money. No gent's ever paid that much for a pretty bird like you. I hope you're worth it, because the madam won't be giving anyone their money back." The auctioneer laughed softly, the sound grating on her ears as he shut the chamber door in her face.

Zehra swallowed hard. The finality of the sound of the lock clicking into place still filled her with dread, but she clung to the hope her rescuer had given her. Zehra pressed her forehead against the wood, catching her breath and trying not to cry. She was afraid and hopeful and so exhausted, but perhaps tonight everything would be all right.

Please... Let him be a man of mercy and save me from Al-Zahrani.