Send “Auction” for your muse buying mine as their slave
Derek snarled lowly but kept his head down as he was transferred to the person that bought him, seeing a small female form before him now.
“An unwilling bodyguard is worse than no bodyguard at all.” The comment hung there, as the limo turned up a shaded drive and came to a halt. Over the quiet sounds of the driver turning off the car and getting out, she said, “If I uncuff you, will you undertake to stay and do as you’re told for 24 hours?”
Derek let the words hang there. He wasn’t one to turn on someone unless they’d harmed him. The worst she’d done was rap him on his cheek bone, as degrading as that was. He didn’t bite her yet, that was a good sign for him. He didn’t answer the second question. He didn’t know. The cuffs couldn’t be broken, his wrists were still raw because of all the chafing, his healing couldn’t keep up. He couldn’t remember the last time they were off.
She sighed and shook her head. “I can’t help you if you aren’t willing to /be/ helped,” she said, and let the driver assist her out of the car without another look. Someone else — a different woman, taller and brightly blonde — came and pulled Derek out, guiding him around the outside of the huge house to an entrance at the back, through a garden just coming into bloom.
Still in silence, the blonde gestured him to sit on one of the plain benches lining what appeared to be a mud room, and fetched a first aid kit. Though she didn’t remove the cuffs, she sponged away all the dirt and dried blood, and did — something — that boosted his healing momentarily. From there, she took him into a big kitchen and brought him a bowl of soup and a grilled cheese sandwich, humming quietly to herself as she made the sandwich.
“My name is Spring,” she said, quietly, before leaving. “When you’re finished here, ring the bell and Winter will come show you where you’ll be staying.”