Blue

Part#5

I know nothing of this man and I have no idea about these children. Am I here for them, or to feed him

so he won’t eat them – which, in reality, still appoints me to them. I should be happy, but I’m scared. I should be

proud, but I’m nervous.

A big hand takes the bag from me. Another rests on the back of my neck with a firm

hold. Unceremoniously, this is the way he guides me outside. By the scruff. No long

goodbyes. No sentimental parting words. No explanation.

I dare not look behind me at him or past him. I feel the eyes stab in me. I bet they are

as flabbergasted as I am!

With my body, I shelter the babies and pull them into me.

This is not a life I wish for them. Whatever they are, human or otherwise, they

should be raised in a normal home; not as food and not as property. If I can provide that for

them, then that is what I’ll do. My life wasn’t bad, in fact it was comfortable and easy – but I

am not free. I am a possession changing hands.

Not a word passes between us as we make our way out of the building.

A large creamy-beige truck is parked in what appears to be a careless rush.

It is not what I expected from a Prince, not that I mind it, I like trucks. Mostly, the

men and women of high influence and standing, drive sports cars in sexy red or

intimidating black. The cars are not for practicality, but for showing off or establishing

status. The faster, newer and more expensive the vehicle, the higher the rank.

This one is bulky. Perhaps it is fitting; a monster-truck for a monster-man?

It is high. I look through the open door.

While spacious, it is not what I think of as an everyday mode of transport for

someone with two little packages. My mind conjures up visions of children staying put

because of duct tape. A quick change of gears wipes the idea from my mind before I head

into full-blown senseless mode.

The bag flies past my head and into the cabin. Without warning or notice, strong

hands around my waist lift me off my feet and deposits me on the high step. I shuffle inside

until I find a comfortable way to sit without letting go of the children. I still won’t bring

myself to look up all the way.

The driver’s door opens and from the back with a mere glance, I look on while two

hands grip tight around the steering. White sleeves of a cotton shirt push back to mid-way

and expose well-tanned arms. He’s a big man, I can tell by the tense muscles showing.

Quickly, I lower my eyes more as an exasperated exhale reaches my ears.

The engine roars to life and we are off to a slow roll. I close my eyes tight to hold

back the conflicting emotions. The absoluteness of this moment cements itself in my

memory.

I am adopted.

It is the term we use to avoid thinking of ourselves as slaves. No matter how you

slice and dice this happening, it is human trafficking and we’re not oblivious to it. When you

live a simple life, it is easier to accept the terms of that life; but it does not mean you don’t

know how the foundation of it fits together. The term is but a band-aid we made to soften

the cut which severs us from having choice.

I was sold to a stranger and I think, I have adopted two babies in the process. At least I don’t have to

hand them over to him. I can safely say this mission is accomplished as they are still sleeping.

“I will go over an agreement with you when we get to the ranch. Try to rest, the trip

is long,” the softer sound of his voice catches me by surprise.

“Thank you,” I mutter under my breath and maneuver myself to curl around the

kids. They don’t move and I think, perhaps, they too are just happy to be fed, clean and left

alone.

***

Declyn watches the sleeping girl in the rearview mirror and smiles. Her arms wrap

around the kids as if she’s their personal blanket. They seem to like that. Wide awake but

not a peep from them as they tug and pull, trying to eat her hair.

Unlike the other blood-donors he interviewed, this one left a unique impression in

seconds. No make-up, no fancy outfit and barefoot. She wasn’t even interested in him or his

status!

He knew from the moment she left, completely absorbed and uninhibited by

manipulation, he could find a way to tolerate her. She is simplistic in her looks as in her

ways. She wears the term average like camouflage, and unassuming is her armor. Her wild

blonde curls hide half her face, but he notes the soft rosy color in her cheeks. There is

something about her, in the way she avoids looking at him and carries herself … It is both

charming and annoying.

The sad little pull at the corner of her mouth turns into a deep, dimpled smile when

the baby flaps his arms and connects with her face. Her attention on alert, she quickly checks

them both and plays a silly game of peek-a-boo in a hush.

A new to him emotion echoes through his chest. His fingers rub over it and he

shakes his head as someone trying to dispel an unwelcome thought.

The thought however lingers in the form of recollection.

After he told Maylee of his conclusion, every person in the room seemed shocked,

staggered even. Antoine told him outright she is perhaps not the best suited for what he

needs. They were afraid of her. Not fearful in a way which earns respect; but afraid of what

she may do or how she will react. Afraid of her temperament; which baffles him. She does

not appear to be vindictive in any way.

Yet, from the councilors, he also picked up on a sense of protection over her. Antoine

and Maylee took nearly twenty minutes in private conversation before they agreed to his

conditions. Which is simple.

She is his responsibility and they do not have any say in her future, claim to her

person or that of her unborn lineage. For all intent and purpose, they disassociate from her

altogether and other than the restrictions he imposes, she is free from them and any

obligation they may think she owes them. By her choice and only her choice, will she be in

contact with them. They are not to try and reach her out of that agreement.

He gave them the opportunity to negotiate their price – and when they didn’t, it

angered him. Not because he enjoys negotiations, but because this girl’s value is far higher

than the one they placed on her. She carries no corruption, she holds no tainted notions of

grandeur, she is untouched – in all senses of the word. At her age, in this environment, those

things are just about unheard of! When he asked, the coven rulers assured him she is not

purposefully taught to have such pristine attributes, it ‘simply happens this way with her.’

Even now, because of the type of people – blood-donors – he encountered in that

room, Declyn Rothchildes’ temper fires in sporadic burst. He warned their councilors to

keep a closer eye on them, there’s a dark happening among them and some are in service

agreements as donors to the top ranks among councilors; except Anja, who is in custody and

service of her entire coven but she’s the worse of them all.

None of them cared for the job he presented. They planned and schemed on how to

get more, how to climb the ladder and how to manipulate him. Anja being the popular

choice, the others see her as their superior and she uses it to her advantage. All of them

compete but they all harbor the assumption of her getting the most prestigious offers. She

already sees herself as a queen; if not an immortal one, then a mortal one; to her the other

donors are her subjects and they appear to be keen on the job.

They are mere kids, playing grown-up games and thinking they’re winning.

To have these young children gather around with the impression they have the

power to control their immortal bondsmen - control him - is indicative of the modern human

species. Their world is run by immortals, and they forget they are vulnerable.

His glance lifts to the mirror again. The smile inside him does not translate to his face

or eyes.

She is different. Why or how he does not know, yet. All he knows is while he looks at

her, none of the other stuff really matters.

His fingers drag across his chest again and taps against it absently.