WHISPERS OF THE FORGOTTEN MOON

CHAPTER TWO

"Where do you think you're going?"

I freeze at the doorway, my hand already on the rusted handle. Madame Celine's voice slices through the morning air like a blade, and I know—without even turning around—that whatever comes next will shatter what's left of my world.

"I asked you a question, girl."

My shoulders hunch automatically as I face her. She stands in the hallway flanked by her daughters, Vivian and Claire, their matching smirks promising nothing good. The dim light from the cracked window catches the gold rings on Madame Celine's fingers as she drums them against her silk robe.

"The cemetery," I whisper. "It's my Beta Kaya’s—"

"My husband's death day. Yes, I know." Her lips curve into something that might pass for a smile if you didn't know better. "But, how touching that you think you'll be going anywhere today."

My stomach drops. Vivian giggles behind her manicured hand while Claire examines her nails with theatrical boredom.

"I don't understand." But I do. The way they're positioned, blocking the narrow hallway. The gleam in Madame Celine's dark eyes. The way her daughters can't quite contain their excitement.

"Of course you don't. You never were particularly bright." She takes a step closer, her perfume cloying in the stale air. "I have news, Sasha. Wonderful news."

The floorboard creaks under my weight as I step backward. "I need to get to work. Mrs. Henderson is expecting—"

"Mrs. Henderson can find herself a new little mouse." Madame Celine's voice drips with false sweetness. "You won't be cleaning her toilets anymore."

"What?"

"I've sold you."

The words hit me like a physical blow. The hallway tilts, and I grip the doorframe to keep from falling. "You can't—people aren't—"

"People like you are whatever I say you are." She inspects her reflection in the hallway mirror, adjusting a curl. "You've cost us far too much, and frankly, we're all tired of looking at your pathetic face."

Vivian's laughter rings out, sharp and cruel. "Mother, look at her. She's about to cry."

"Don't." The word tears from my throat, raw and desperate. I drop to my knees so hard the impact sends shockwaves through my bones, my hands clasped in front of me like I'm praying to a god who stopped listening long ago. "Please, Madame Celine. I'm begging you." My voice cracks, breaking into pieces. "I'll work three jobs. Four. I'll give you everything—every penny. I'll sleep in the basement, I won't eat your food, I won't even breathe your air if you don't want me to. Just please—please don't do this."

Tears blur my vision, hot and shameful as they spill down my cheeks. My chest heaves with each ragged breath, panic clawing at my lungs like a trapped animal.

"The deal is done." She doesn't even look at me, examining her nails as if my breakdown is nothing more than background noise. "He paid handsomely for damaged goods."

My chest caves in, the air rushing out of my lungs like I've been punched. The walls seem to close in around me, and I can taste copper in my mouth where I've bitten my tongue. "Who?" The word comes out strangled, barely human. "Who did you sell me to?"

My whole body trembles now, violent shakes that I can't control. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold the pieces together, but I'm falling apart right here on this filthy floor.

"Does it matter?" Claire's voice is bored, like we're discussing the weather. "At least we won't have to look at those ugly scars anymore."

The sound of tires on gravel cuts through the morning quiet. Through the grimy window, I catch a glimpse of black metal that gleams like obsidian in the pale sunlight.

"Right on time," Madame Celine murmurs.

I scramble to my feet, panic clawing at my throat. "I won't go. You can't make me."

"Can't I?" Her smile turns predatory. "Would you prefer I call in your debt to the police? I'm sure they'd be fascinated to hear how you've been stealing from me all these years."

"I never—"

"Your word against mine, dear. And which of us do you think they'll believe?"

The front door opens without anyone knocking. Two men step inside, and they're nothing like what I expected. No leather jackets or visible weapons. Instead, they wear expensive suits that probably cost more than I've seen in my entire life. The first is tall with graying temples, his movements measured and respectful. The second is younger, his dark eyes scanning the room with professional efficiency.

"Ms. Celine." The older man inclines his head slightly. "We're here for the girl."

"Of course you are." She waves a dismissive hand in my direction. "Take her. She's all yours."

"Please." I back against the wall, my voice barely a whisper. "I don't want to go."

The older man's expression softens almost imperceptibly. "Miss, we're not here to hurt you. But you do need to come with us."

"I'm not property." The words come out stronger than I feel. "You can't just—"

"Actually, we can." Vivian's voice is sing-song, delighted. "Mother owns you. And now she's sold you. Simple business transaction."

The younger man moves closer, his hands visible and empty. "We understand this is difficult. But fighting will only make it harder."

My legs give out. I slide down the wall until I'm sitting on the floor, my arms wrapped around my knees. "This isn't happening."

"Oh, but it is." Madame Celine's heels click against the floor as she approaches. "Consider it your eviction notice. With interest."

The older man crouches beside me, his voice gentle. "What's your name?"

"Sasha," I whisper.

"Sasha, my name is Marcus. This is Leo." He gestures to his companion. "We're going to take very good care of you. I promise."

"Promises are worthless."

"Not where you're going."

Something in his tone makes me look up. There's no cruelty in his eyes, no malice. Just a quiet steadiness that I haven't seen in years.

"Can I..." I swallow hard. "Can I get my things?"

"What things?" Claire snorts. "You mean your collection of rags?"

Marcus shoots her a look that could freeze hellfire. "Of course."

I stand on shaking legs and walk to the tiny closet under the stairs. My entire life fits in a paper shopping bag—three changes of clothes, my mother's wedding ring, and the small wooden box where I keep her letters. When I turn around, Leo is waiting by the door.

"Ready?" Marcus asks.

No. I'll never be ready. But I nod anyway.

The SUV is even more impressive up close. The leather interior is cream-colored and spotless, and it smells like something expensive that I can't identify. Leo holds the door open while Marcus helps me inside.

That's when I see him.

He's sitting in the far corner, and my breath catches in my throat. Tall doesn't begin to cover it—even seated, he commands the entire space. Dark hair falls across his forehead in waves that probably cost more to maintain than I made in six months. But it's his eyes that stop my heart. Gray like storm clouds, they seem to see straight through me.

"Who are you?" I whisper, my voice barely audible over the sound of my racing heart.

"Hello, Sasha." His voice is warm honey over gravel, and something deep in my chest responds to it in a way that terrifies me. "I'm Damon." He doesn't move from his seat, doesn't crowd me, but I can feel the power radiating from him like heat from a fire. "You're safe now."

I press myself against the opposite door. "Safe? You bought me like livestock."

"I bought your freedom." The correction is gentle but firm. "There's a difference."

"Is there?"

Our eyes meet, and something electric passes between us. He reaches across the seat to help with my seatbelt, and when his fingers brush against my wrist, the world explodes.

Lightning. Pure, white-hot lightning shoots up my arm and straight to my heart. I gasp, jerking back, but the sensation follows me. Every nerve ending in my body suddenly comes alive, singing with a recognition I don't understand.

Damon goes completely still. His hand hovers in the air between us, his gray eyes wide with the same shock I'm feeling.

"What—" I start to say, but the words die in my throat.

He's staring at me like he's seeing me for the first time. Like I'm something precious instead of broken. His breathing has changed, deeper and more controlled, and there's something almost reverent in his expression.

"Impossible," he whispers.

The SUV starts to move, but neither of us notices. We're locked in this moment, this impossible recognition that has no name but feels like coming home and falling off a cliff at the same time.

"What's happening to me?" My voice is barely audible.

Damon's hand finally drops, but his eyes never leave mine. When he speaks, his voice is rough with an emotion I can't identify.

"We are mates."

"WHAT?!"

"You're mine now." The words should sound possessive, threatening. Instead, they sound like a prayer. "And I promise you, Sasha—no one will ever hurt you again."

I wanted to believe him, but i knew better. Why should I? He practically bought me and now we are mates?