“Didn’t you hear that?” Need demanded, frowning.
“Hear whaaaaat?” the Zitch’rell demanded, shaking his shaggy head. “I heard nothing but that poor little female about to be sold to the Traaahllox.”
He nodded at Drung, who had pushed his way to the front of the crowd and was standing at the foot of the stage, leering directly at the girl. Silent tears were rolling down her cheeks, though she had yet to sob aloud. Drung seemed to enjoy her fear—he was licking his tusks with a long, wet, gray tongue and grinning at her with all three heads.
“That beast of a Traaahllox will rip her in two and never mind his ‘stretchers’ as he caaaahlls them,” the Zitch’rell remarked. “If I had the credits I’d buy her myself—she could teeehnd my flock of perbas and sheer their wool to eaaaarn her keep. But alaaaas…” He shook his shaggy head. “Fifteen thousand credits is too rich for my blood.”
“Fifteen thousand once…fifteen thousand twice,” the slaver called. “Sold to the—”
“Sixteen thousand credits!” someone shouted.
It took Need a moment to realize that someone was him. Every eye in the place turned towards him—Drung’s included. His Trollox shipmate glared at him, the corners of his middle mouth turning down in an angry scowl.
“Needrix you fucking arsehole,” he snarled, “You’d better not ruin this for me. I want this female, so I do! She’ll make a fine vessel to grow my heir in! Besides, I want to breed her.” His middle head leered at the shivering girl lustfully.
But the auctioneer had caught Need’s words and sensed an opportunity.
“Come up here if you would, Sir,” he called, beckoning to Need. “Have a look at the merchandise you’re bidding on.”
“Ain’t no need for him to look,” Drung snarled. “Seventeen thousand!”
“Seventeen thousand I’m bid for the luscious little female!” the slaver exclaimed. “Do I hear eighteen thousand?”
“Eighteen thousand,” Need shouted recklessly as he pushed his way through the crowd. He didn’t know how he had started this but he was damned if he’d lose—damned if he let fucking disgusting Drung have the girl!
“Nineteen thousand!” Drung snorted.
“Twenty thousand,” Need replied without hesitation.
He was standing at the base of the stage now, beside his massive shipmate. Drung was taller by at least two feet, despite the fact that Need was nearly seven feet in height himself. The other male was more massive too—even the smallest Trollox was built to the scale of a small building. But Need had never let the other male’s large size intimidate him before and he wasn’t about to start now.
“Twenty thousand,” he repeated, trying not to notice the hopeful look on the girl’s face as she looked down at him. He didn’t give a damn what she thought—any more than he cared for Drung’s opinion. After all, he wasn’t buying her to fuck—he fully intended to set her free the minute he won the bidding.
“Twenty thousand going once,” the slaver said. He looked at Drung. “Can you match it, fine Sir?”
Drunk scowled with all three heads and grunted, “Twenty-one thousand.”
“Twenty-five thousand,” Need countered recklessly. He didn’t know why it was so important to win the auction and buy the girl—he only knew it was.
Sensing a bidding war, the slaver came close to the edge of the stage.
“Gentlemen, I haven’t even told you the girl’s best feature yet,” he declared, pointing at the shivering female with a leer. “Little Lan’ara here has been infected with the Lust Bacterium!”
“What?” Drung’s middle head frowned, his heavy brows knitting in apparent confusion.”
“The Lust Bacterium,” the slaver repeated. “It’s a treatment the females at her finishing school are given when they’re nearing graduation and ready to go out and please the high-powered males who have bought them as mates. It guarantees you a virgin who acts like a whore!”
Need didn’t know what the Lust Bacterium was or what it did and he didn’t care either. He just wanted the bidding to be over so he could set the little female free and forget about her—though the Gods knew even if he never saw her again he’d certainly remember the sizable hole she left in his credit account.
“Don’t care about that—I just want to breed her.” Drung was practically slobbering with lustful greed. “Twenty-six thousand.”
“Twenty-six—am I bid twenty-seven?” the slaver asked, looking hopefully at Need.
Gods, this was getting ridiculous! The girl was going to clear out his entire account but Need couldn’t stop now.
“Twenty-seven,” he growled, frowning. “And that’s twice what any female—no matter how fine her pedigree—would sell anywhere else.”
“Indeed, indeed,” the slaver agreed, nodding briskly. He looked at Drung. “Do I hear twenty-eight?” he demanded.
“Twenty-seven five,” the Trollox grunted, glaring balefully at Need. “Leave now if you know what’s good for you, Kindred,” he snarled. “I aim to have this little female, so I do. You’ll be sorry if you take her from me—I promise you that!”