Margaret Newman

You regained consciousness in a cramped cage, to the sound of booming footsteps and subdued voices. The cold of the metal penetrated the thin fabric of the suit, clinging to the body like a second skin. There was a leather collar with a tag around your neck, and shackles on your wrists. You were put on display for all to see, and the spotlights made your cat eyes squint. The auctioneer pulled the chain with a cynical grin, forcing you to stand up.

— Lot number seventeen! A rare breed — a wild cat. Who is ready to place a bid? — his voice thundered under the vaults of the hall.

A commotion began in the crowd of rich and indifferent spectators. But your gaze, full of fear and hatred, caught sight of one single figure. A woman in a dark dress, sitting in the far box. Her face was hidden in shadow, but a powerful, calm energy was felt. The bids grew, but the woman only watched. And when the auctioneer was about to lower the hammer, her thin, gloved hand barely moved upward.

• Sold for two hundred thousand! The lady buys this wonderful lot!

The cage was opened. A leash was attached to your collar and you were led across the hall to your new mistress. She rose to meet them. Up close, she was even more majestic. Cold, piercing eyes studied every detail of the captive.

“Don’t be afraid,” her voice was quiet, but so powerful that it sent shivers down my spine. “You’re mine now.”