"Is this really the underground market?" You question, squinting through the tinted cab window [https://img.wattpad.com/b644bc469acbdd1e1df9ab3c5ab24844e7fa4f0e/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f3439566c6d565659716c673633413d3d2d313439393434333534322e313830636639346262343337373161323134353434393536363538362e706e67?s=fit&w=1280&h=1280]

"Is this really the underground market?" You question, squinting through the tinted cab window. There's a dignified-looking manor in the distance, its gothic architecture sitting proudly in view despite the pouring rain. It looks very above-ground to you, and nothing at all like a market. You nervously rub your fingers around the gold letter "M" around your neck—the necklace your grandma gave you that always seems to soothe your nerves.

"Beats me, lady," responds the cab driver, eyeing you through the rearview mirror. "I've heard of this place—driven a few... odd folks to this lot, even. Haven't gone further than where I'm taking you now, though." He turns the steering wheel and rocks crunch as the cab slows to a stop. The manor is still far away, and he hasn't even driven to the golden gate ahead. You flash him a look. "Are you sure you can't get any closer? It's raining, and I'm wearing a dr—"

"I said this is as far as I go." He interrupts, rubbing his neck. Taking a sharp breath, you decide it's not worth making a fuss about and pay him anyway. He leans towards you as you clutch the door handle.

"Watch yourself in there, lady. You don't seem like one of them." He warns, his eyes heavy and serious. Your face nearly contorts in confusion, but you suppress it, clearing your throat and nodding instead.

You push down on the handle, plopping a heeled foot down, right into a shallow puddle. "Thanks a lot," you mutter under your breath before shutting the door. The driver gives you a nod of his head through the window before whirling the cab around and taking off. With a sigh, you shift your attention to the front of the manor. Gathering the length of your damp dress by the fistful, you make a mad dash towards the gate. You mentally reassure yourself that this would all be worth it after tonight. After all, you were breaking the Hunter's Association protocol by attending this event in the first place, not to mention going completely under the radar at that. You knew what you needed, and you decided you'd get it—tonight. What could possibly go wrong? You've already gone under the radar plenty of times before, and it almost always works out. Almost.

Splashing down the pathway, you hurl open the gate. It groans open, drawing the attention of a few figures in black and white at the front of the manor. One figure meets you halfway, stretching out an umbrella over you. He smells of too-strong cologne.

"Allow me to accompany you, ma'am. Apologies for the weather tonight."

"Don't worry about it," you reply, taking his arm. He leads you up the dark, brick path, past neatly trimmed bushes in geometric shapes. You shiver at the abrupt change in temperature as a satisfying warmth permeates through the entrance doors.

"Enjoy the party, ma'am." The man says before scurrying off to defend the next guests from the ensuing rain.

You take a few steps inside, soaking in the grandeur of the manor. Twin staircases twist around either side of the entrance hall, framing a podium and another figure, this time in a black and white dress, standing behind it.

"Welcome to the manor, ma'am. Please present your invitation token." The girl holds out a silver tray expectantly.

"Ah yes- I should have that right here [https://img.wattpad.com/fd3bc26f3c1fac074bb636f1d0e79daa2faf72ab/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f6379534f6d67696c3476792d6c413d3d2d313439393434333534322e313830636638386434363734393938653634323039353831393733382e706e67?s=fit&w=1280&h=1280]

"Ah yes- I should have that right here." You dig your fingers in your dress pocket, pretending to fumble around for whatever an invitation token is. You put on an air of urgency and pat down the other pockets on your person. "Oh dear, it seems I must have left it with my chauffeur. Would you kindly look up my name?"

You feel her eyes give you a once-over before she retreats to the monitor at the podium. "And what name are we looking for tonight, ma'am?"

"The initials should be under M.C. I'm terribly sorry for the fuss." Resisting the urge to bite your lip, you settle for shifting your weight instead. You become acutely aware of how heavy your dress feels due to the water it absorbed as your foot slides inside your wet heel. This has to work; you need to know where this organization obtains their protocores and, worse yet, if they interfere with them before selling them off.

"I'm sorry ma'am, I'm not seeing any name under the initials 'M.C.'- Is there another name you'd like to try?"

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

You give her a dramatic scoff. "Are you saying you don't know who I am?" You tilt your chin up at her. If she gave you a moment, you'd be able to think of who you might be and roll with it. Potential names and occupations flash through your strategic mind as you stumble for a believable persona.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, ma'am. I apologize, but this event is exclusive to only those who have received the official—"

Your instincts scream at you to retreat, but retreating isn't an option—not now, not when you're this close to sneaking in right under their noses. You've played risky games before, but none with stakes this high.

"How dare you reject me?" You huff, still piecing together who exactly "me" is. You attempt to take a dramatic step forward, but your foot becomes prey to the slickness of your heel, sending you backward. You gasp and brace yourself for a humiliating tumble, throwing your arms out. Thump. Your fall stops short, and your back presses into something hard and breathing. The aroma of cedar and patchouli fills your senses, though there is a dark note underneath it, reminiscent of burning embers after a fire. A cold hand clasps your shoulder.

"There you are, sweetie." Speaks a smooth, low voice that is far too close to your ear. You swivel your head around, eyes wide with surprise, first at the prompt and timely rescue and then at the utter audacity of him calling you sweetie. You glimpse a flash of his dark attire, pale skin and silver hair on his towering figure before returning your attention to the staff. It was hard to see the man's appearance clearly, but she can't suspect that you've never met this man before.

"Looks like I found my lost kitten." He asserts with a smirk. "She's with me." His grip tightens on your shoulders, and you wince.

"You're awfully quick to claim lost property," you mutter, your voice sharp to mask your pounding heart. His lips twitch into a slow grin, leaning closer.

"Only when it's this valuable, sweetie."

The woman behind the podium gives a shaky and apologetic bow, color draining from her face.

"Oh! Y-Yes of course, my mistake, sir. Please, go ahead."

"Make sure this doesn't happen again." He cocks an eyebrow at the staff member, and she bows profusely. You could have sworn you felt his chest rumble with a chuckle. The way he spoke, low and firm, gave you the sense that this stranger was used to people following his orders. Regaining your footing, he ushers you past the staff and through the entrance hall. Your mind races with what to say next. Should you thank him? What did he mean by calling you valuable? Have you met before? Or maybe—

"Careful what you say next. All eyes are on you." He interrupts your thoughts, drawing your mind back to the surrounding onlookers. You note the hush that follows in his wake, whispers brushing the air like spider silk. Heads turn, figures freeze mid-conversation, and you could swear even the chandeliers flickered in acknowledgment of his presence. You force a smile as his icy grip tightens, leading you further down the dimly lit, decorated hall. You can't shake the feeling that you've flown directly into the careful web he's spun.

"Do you have a habit of sweeping up strangers from embarrassing situations?" You question, raising your chin and mustering up your confidence again—you still need to act like you belong here.

"Hm, what makes you so sure this is a rescue?" His gaze flits down to meet yours, and your attention is drawn to his misty red eyes and sharp features. "You should know I need compensation for my efforts."

Your expression wrinkles with irritation. "Compensation? For what?" You retort. "I don't exactly remember asking you for your assistance, you know. You're the one who thought meddling was a good idea." You scoff, narrowing your brows at him.

"Don't be delusional. You and I both know you don't belong here, kitten. And what are you going to do if I also think exposing you is a good idea?"

Upon hearing his mocking tone, you plant your feet on the marble floor, swinging around to face the stranger. "Do you mean to tell me that you're really threatening me after just meeting?" You sneer at him, but his expression seems uninterested, which vexes you even more. "I've heard enough; I was going to say thank you, but I think I'll take my leave now, sir. The pleasure was truly all yours." Swiftly, you turn away, but he's faster. He draws you back into him, and you brace your hands on his firm chest, the scent of cedar and patchouli filling your senses once again. The sensation of his warm breath against your ear makes your heart pound behind your ribs.

"Now that's not a very good idea, kitten. I simply saw an opportunity and seized it. We're practically business partners now."

"Let me go, you psycho—" You interrupt, trying to unlatch yourself from his cage.

"Don't act innocent with me," he says sharply. "You have a bargaining chip right in front of you, and I know you need it. Unless you'd prefer me to march you back to the front to fend for yourself." His grip loosens, and you stumble back. As much as you hate to admit it, he has a point. You came here for intel on the underground market, hidden in this manor, but he isn't without his motives either. It's clear he's after something too— it's just a matter of what. Two can play at this game. After a beat, you clear your throat and neaten your damp dress before speaking.

"I see you enjoy making up rules for your own games. Fine, I'll bite, as long as I benefit from whatever it is you're playing at."

"That's more like it, sweetie. I was starting to think I'd have to get you a leash if you insisted on running away."

"Well, it's not my fault if you can't keep up with me," you jeer. He peers down at you, an unsettling grin growing on his lips. Your jaw tightens. Swallowing hard, you decide to play your part.

"So, what is it you're after, Mr...?"

"The people here refer to me as Master Sylus, but you can call me one or the other," he lets out a breathy chuckle. "And to whom do I have the pleasure?"

Is this guy serious? You shake your head. You don't want to lose it in front of the manor's apparent master right now.

"I'm afraid you didn't offer me enough for that information, Sylus."

His eyes narrow as he opens his mouth to speak, but a figure in black and white approaches earnestly, interrupting him.

"Excuse me, Master Sylus, your presence is requested."

Sylus closes his eyes and sighs before waving off the messenger.

"Come, kitten. It's time for the party to start."