A vacation home

The auctioneer banged his gavel. "Bidding starts on Lexi, crown princess of the elves — oh did I not mention that before?" the auctioneer's eyes sparkled and he grinned maniacally, "bring your best if you want to win!"

Paddles went up. A lot of paddles. Wide-eyed Kayla looked around with disgust and wonder. The gathered people murmured in the wake of the auctioneer's announcement. A few of the paddles strained and shook, the people holding them clearly way too excited to own a living being.

"Yes, your bid sir," said the auctioneer, pointing at a table near the front.

"My vacation home in Wales! Including the servants," said a mildly obese man loudly.

"Nope, definitely not," said the auctioneer, waving a finger side to side, then pointing at a new table, "you, yes you ma'am, your bid?"

"A fucking vacation home!" hissed Kat, then with a pout she tossed the paddle she'd grabbed without anyone noticing back into the center of the table, "maybe they're not asking for money, but seems you still have to be rich to play."

"Accounting services, infinite and free of charge, for personal money management, investments, taxes, the works."

"Hmm, from you that's quite an offer, but I think not," said the auctioneer, spinning his finger then pointing at another person, a bland-looking guy barely older than Damien's friends. "You sir?"

Damien smirked at Kat. "You never know, he did reject those bids. Maybe money isn't all that important."

Kat glared back. "Psh, he's just looking for something worth more. Whoever the seller is just probably has enough vacation homes, in whatever hole in the world they found the elf princess in."

"A lifetime's supply of cocaine," drawled the man, "delivery guaranteed. I'll even throw in enough for parties three — no six! — times a year."

Wyatt grabbed their table's paddle and looked at it. He spun it in his fingers.

Damien laughed. "Somebody knows how to party!"

"I don't think so, however exciting those parties would be," the auctioneer shook his head, "and you?"

A fresh-faced eighteen year-old smiled like a cherub. "A litter from my best wolfhound bitch. The sire to be chosen by our inestimable patrons."

A murmur went through the crowd, and a couple paddles actually dropped. The auctioneer stroked his chin.

"Tempting, very tempting, but—" he threw his head back and howled, the sound bouncing quickly around the whole room. "No, our sellers can get better," the auctioneer dropped his head back and looked over the crowd.

For a moment Wyatt could have sworn he winked at him. Wyatt looked back down at the paddle, his resolve building. He raised it.

"Yes, young man near the back," the auctioneer pointed right at Wyatt, "your bid?"

"W-w-Wyatt?" squeaked Kayla.

"When did that happen?" asked Kat, smiling sensually, "Wyatt, you're a man of many mysteries aren't you?"