A Twist of Fate
1170 Words
Jasmine's POV
Days turned into an endless nightmare that I couldn't wake up from in the market.
Thrown into the holding pens with the other captives, I learned very quickly that this was not the forest. There was no room for quiet survival or silent endurance. Here, you either submitted, or they made you submit.
Day one and all, I resisted. And when the guards barked orders for us to fall into line, I didn't move, stirring faintly in defiance. They didn't waste any time. A whip laid across my back, sharp and unforgiving, sent me to the ground in a gasp.
"Stubborn one, aren't you?" jeered one of the guards, his hand tightening on the whip.
I bit my lip hard to avoid crying out, glaring at him through the haze of pain. Inside, I was breaking, but my pride would not give him the satisfaction of seeing my tears.
Starvation, beatings, and constant ridicule following days, at least, with continuous destruction of the remaining bits and pieces of my dignity taken from me, with agonizing shredding, tattered, teased, hit around, and humiliation.
The market itself was a cacophony of misery: people were dragged from the pens and beaten into submission, then paraded before potential buyers. I could hear their cries, the broken expressions haunting my mind even after they'd been dragged away.
Days, I fought. I would not bow at every command nor lower my head like the others. I held onto my anger, to my defiance as if it were the last piece of self that I could hold onto.
But even this, little by little, began to wear off.
This side of the market belonged to a man who was as different from the guards working for him as night and day: where they barked orders and lashed whips, he was all civility that made my skin crawl.
Tall, with a well-attired air about him, his sharp features were framed by neatly combed black hair. At first glance, he seemed almost kind. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, and his tone was soft, even sympathetic, as he approached me one morning.
"You're wearing yourself out, little one," he said softly, crouching before the cage in which I sat.
I regarded him warily, suspicious of his meek tone.
"You'll only make it worse on yourself if you keep struggling," he continued, a touch of pity, or sham? "Why don't you make it easier on yourself? Accept your position. Submit."
His words cut through my stomach like acid. I wanted to scream at him, to strike out and tell him that I'd never let anybody beat me. But his eyes stopped me cold.
Behind the soft smile, there was something dark. Something vicious. He wasn't advising me because he wanted to help; he enjoyed the struggle and relished every slow moment of erosion my hope would suffer.
I clenched my hands into fists, but I didn't say anything.
The man laughed and raised himself. "Suit yourself," he said airily, "but remember, little one, everyone breaks eventually."
He strode off, leaving me in a blind fury of futility, shaking.
I quit fighting.
Not because it was agreed upon, but because I couldn't afford to waste one more ounce of my much-needed strength. My body was weak, my wolf a little more than a whisper buried deep in the back of my mind. What was left of the fight in me had dwindled to a flicker.
I waited.
Waited for a buyer to come and whisk me away from this location as if I were some sort of chattel. I was a shell, the chafing edges of my spirit dulled to a nothingness.
But in my desperation, I was holding onto one small shred of hope: that whoever came to buy me might hold something different from this sliver of freedom, a means to survive.
***
It was one of those days when nothing out of the ordinary happened along the market.
I stood behind the pens, my arms wrapped around myself, trying to block the cacophony of the crowd. Buyers meandered between the cages, their voices loud and impatient as they haggled over prices.
I barely registered the new potential buyer being ushered in by the guards. I was numb, resigned, to care.
Until I felt it.
A ripple of energy coursed through the air, sharp and electric, raising the hairs on my skin. My wolf stirred, stronger than she had in days, and my heart skipped a beat.
I looked up.
He stood near the pens' entrance, and the width of his shoulders commanded every eye in the room. The sea of people around him parted almost unconsciously, his energy such that even the guards paused at their approach to him.
I could not look away.
He was… beautiful.
Dark hair framed a face chiseled to an almost too-perfect definition to be part of any mere mortal. His sharp jawline, piercing eyes, and powerful build combined to give an aura of strength and command. Every step he took was purposeful; his movements were fluid, and controlled, like a predator surveying his territory.
But it was more than his appearance that beguiled me. The air seemed to shift with him beside me, charged with a focus that quickened my heartbeat.
He passed the other cages, his eyes flicking to the captives with a glance unreadable. Arriving at mine, he stopped.
Our eyes met.
The world seemed to tilt.
A wave of heat washed over me, the air between us crackling with something undeniable. My wolf stirred, her voice rising into a triumphant howl.
No, it couldn't be that.
The bond hit like a wave, sudden, overwhelming. My breath bucked in my throat, and I stared at him, my heart aching in my chest so painfully.
Mate.
I could hear the word in my mind, clear and sure of itself.
His face changed; his eyebrows furrowed a little in some confusion. I saw the clench of his jaw, the fists curling at his sides. His eyes narrowed on me as if trying to make sense of what happened.
My chest constricted, and a whirlwind of emotion threatened to pull me under.
How could this be? Another mate? After all that had happened with Asher, I hadn't dared hope for a second chance. Yet here he stood before me, his presence undeniable and smothering.
I couldn't speak. I couldn't move.
The man, my mate, took one step closer, his gaze fixed upon mine. His presence overwhelmed and suffocated me, and yet I could not bring myself to look away.
And then the guards seemed to pick up on it, too, their movements slowing as they watched us. The sounds of the market fell away, leaving only the pounding of my heart.
He finally broke the silence.
"What the heck?"
His voice was deep and rich, threaded with shock and confusion.
I felt my knees go weak as my breath hitched in my throat, the bond pulsating between us.
- Writer
