"Jacobi Velez. It's a pleasure to finally meet the man behind the name." His voice carried a warmth tinged with amusement, deep and resonant in a way that suggested power held in careful check.

  Momentarily caught off guard by his directness, my hand extended before I could think, surprise making me revert to formality. "I see my reputation precedes me." I tilted my head slightly to accommodate his height. "And you are?"

  His large, paw-like hand closed over mine with a firm grip. Power emanated from his grasp, overwhelming force held in careful restraint. My bones could shatter like twigs if he wanted. I fought the urge to either pull away or grip harder, my body caught between instinctive caution and fascination.

  "I am Wynford Darkwood. Perhaps you have heard of me? I reached out to the Grand Council in recent months regarding my plans for a demon combat guild."

  Recognition sparked immediately. The combat guild proposal had sparked considerable debate during the last session of the Grand Council, drawing varied opinions from its members. I hadn't attended personally, but the reports had been detailed. Not once had they mentioned Wynford was a demon himself.

  I worked to keep the shock from my face, schooling my features into practiced neutrality. "I'm familiar with the name. The fact you're a demon, however, was an unexpected detail."

  Leonard couldn't contain himself. A chuckle slipped free before he straightened his lapel with feigned seriousness. "Darkwood, you say? A rather suggestive surname for a person of your... impressive stature." His lips quirked upward in a barely-contained grin.

  Wynford's laughter rumbled deep from his chest, the sound rich and unoffensive. "Ah, it is a name chosen for me, not by me. But I suppose it does carry a certain... connotation."

  A slight smile played on his lips. "Indeed, my demonic heritage isn't the forefront of my professional identity; I prefer to be recognized for my ventures in entertainment and business."

  He casually gestured to the horns adorning his head, gold-tipped and gleaming in the market sunlight. "These, though authentic, are mostly decorative."

  I studied him with growing curiosity. A demon businessman. The concept itself was revolutionary. Most demons I'd encountered were barely permitted to speak, let alone negotiate business deals or address the Grand Council. Yet here stood Wynford, moving through human society with the easy confidence of someone who belonged.

  The people around us—merchants, nobles, even guards—gave him a wide berth, but their expressions held respect rather than fear. He had achieved something extraordinary: acceptance without submission.

  My gaze drifted to the heavy gold chains around his neck. What appeared at first glance as mere ornamentation now took on new significance. Were they a deliberate mockery of the chains that bound his kin? A reclamation of symbols that humans used to control his kind? The political implications were staggering, if intentional.

  "So, why were you looking for me?" I narrowed my eyes, studying his confident expression.

  "The Grand Council has been... resistant to fully embracing the value we could bring to sanctioned combat." His voice lowered slightly, becoming more intimate despite our public surroundings. "I thought perhaps having someone of your stature supporting the venture might sway some opinions."

  A hearty laugh burst from my chest, genuine and booming. "It's surprising to find you here, then, at a demon auction."

  Wynford narrowed his eyes. His arms crossed over his massive chest, fingertips drumming against an intricate tattoo of a large feline-like creature that covered much of his forearm. The design seemed to shift subtly with each movement of muscle beneath the skin.

  "I've come for a specific reason, or should I say, a specific demon, who is being auctioned today. The future face of my business."

  My eyebrow lifted, curiosity piqued. "So, you know what they're selling?"

  Wynford's gaze drifted past me toward the main stage, something fierce flickering in those black depths. "I know who is on offer today." His attention returned to me, studying my face with new intensity. "I hope there aren't many others like you here."

  "Was that meant to be an insult?" The corners of my mouth twitched upward.

  His massive shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. "I mean men with money and a desire to own demons. Unfortunately, I'm aware of far too many who use them as nothing more than trophies for their homes."

  The statement hung between us, a veiled challenge wrapped in casual observation. I found myself wondering, not for the first time, how I appeared to outsiders. Did they see only the Velez name, the wealth, the history as slavers? Or could they discern the difference in my approach, the methods my brother and I had developed that set us apart from men like Lord Corvinus?

  Leonard's elbow found my ribs, a firm, deliberate nudge. This familiar signal—his way of drawing my focus without words. His body angled closer to mine, but his eyes never left Wynford.

  "Sir."

  Just one word, but Leonard's tone transformed it into a performance—exaggerated solemnity that bordered on comedic, loud enough to cut through the marketplace hum.

  His gaze lingered on Wynford, drinking in the demon's imposing figure and undeniable charisma. A flush crept up from beneath his collar. With a flourish more suited to the capital's stages than this dusty marketplace, Leonard's hand flew to his heart. His body swayed slightly, as if struck by some invisible force.

  "Alas, I fear if I stay any longer, I'll be lost to Wynford's charm entirely. A fate most tempting, but I must protect my virtue."

  His voice dripped with feigned distress. His free hand fluttered to his forehead in a mock swoon. The corners of my mouth twitched, holding back laughter that threatened to escape. Wynford's head tilted, a curious glint in his eyes.

  Leonard's gaze, alight with mischief and something that looked remarkably like genuine interest, met Wynford's for a lingering moment. A dramatic sigh escaped his lips before he straightened, shoulders squaring with theatrical precision.

  "Sir, I trust you will handle our enthralling friend here with care."

  His composure returned with practiced ease, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward in a sly smile. The look we exchanged spoke volumes—caution mingled with opportunity.

  "Your butler is quite the character," Wynford observed after Leonard had moved a discreet distance away, his attention ostensibly focused on examining the crowd but his ears undoubtedly straining to catch every word.

  "He's been with me since childhood," I replied. "Sometimes I think he raised me more than my father did."

  "Loyal servants are rare treasures," Wynford remarked. "Especially when they're permitted to develop personalities of their own."

  The observation carried a subtle barb, but I let it pass without comment. In this, at least, Wynford and I seemed to share common ground. The Velez method had always emphasized developing individual talents rather than crushing them. Leonard was the living embodiment of that philosophy—capable, confident, and utterly himself despite the constraints of his position.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  My eyes scanned the crowd, calculating. Within this diverse throng, Wynford stood as my only true rival for what I sought—a demon fighter of exceptional quality. An idea sparked, sudden and bright. My hand clamped over Wynford's forearm before I could second-guess myself. His skin burned hot beneath my palm, like touching sun-baked stone.

  "I have an offer that could benefit us both."

  Curiosity flickered across his face, reshaping his features. "What kind of offer?"

  "A joint venture. I get a prizefighter, and you get someone to represent your fighting establishment and brand."

  His head tilted slightly. "A partnership?"

  A nod was all the confirmation needed. "Yes. Beneficial for both of us."

  I watched his face carefully, noting the minute shifts in his expression as he considered my proposal. His eyes narrowed slightly, calculating potential gains and risks. Then a smirk spread across his face, revealing the edges of teeth, too white and sharp.

  "Let's discuss this further."

  We navigated through the pressing bodies, seeking shade and respite from the sweltering heat. Sweat trickled down my spine, dampening my fine shirt. The crowd parted for Wynford's imposing form more readily than they had for me, another detail I filed away for future consideration.

  In a secluded, cooler corner, sheltered by a canvas awning, Wynford's massive hand settled on my shoulder. He leaned down, forcing me to look up into eyes that absorbed light rather than reflected it.

  "You have a keen eye for business, Mr. Velez." His voice lowered, a rumble I felt more than heard. "But are you certain our gamble will pay off?"

  "You know this fighter. He can bring money to us both." My voice remained steady despite the intimidating proximity.

  The pressure of his hand increased slightly, a reminder of the strength coiled within his massive frame. This close, I could smell the faint scent that clung to him—not the sweat and musk I might have expected, but something sweeter, like incense or exotic spices. Another reminder that demons were not simply humans with horns, but truly otherworldly beings.

  His fingers stroked his chin, contemplative. Then he released my shoulder and straightened to his full, impressive height. Something shifted in his expression.

  "She." His gaze bored into mine, intensity burning away any ambiguity. "She is my first choice to represent the company."

  Surprise jolted through me. "She?"

  Wynford's face beamed. "A beautiful figurehead is great for business."

  My eyes drifted across the surrounding bustle, buying time to process this unexpected turn. A female fighter. The thought hadn't crossed my mind, not even fleetingly. Having a woman represent any business typically brought positive results, that much I knew. But would an otherworldly female draw the same advantages? The buzz of the crowd faded as my mind raced through possibilities.

  Women in combat sports were not unheard of, but they typically performed for female audiences or in exhibition matches rather than competitive bouts. The novelty of a female demon fighter could draw considerable attention, but would it translate to revenue?

  More importantly, how would this affect the dynamics at the estate? The training facilities were separate, but close enough that introducing a female fighter could disrupt the careful balance I'd established among my male combat staff.

  I narrowed my eyes, studying his confident expression. "How can you be sure this demon is a skilled fighter?"

  "Ah, I know this woman." Laughter rumbled from deep in his chest, a sound that vibrated through the air between us. "To succeed in the ring would only use a fraction of her potential. The challenge will be to control her."

  A chuckle escaped me before I could stop it. "My women have never been hard to handle before." The confidence in my own voice surprised me. "Having a female fighter rather than male would be much more convenient for my household."

  "Don't make that assumption until you meet her. She can be intimidating."

  There was something in his tone—a note of respect, perhaps even admiration—that gave me pause. Wynford spoke of this female demon not as property or commodity, but as a formidable individual. She was, it seemed, someone even he approached with caution.

  "If she's your friend, why is she being put up for sale?"

  A shadow crossed his face, darkening his features like a cloud passing over the sun. The jovial businessman vanished, replaced by something older and grimmer.

  "She gained passage to this world with a contract of ten years' servitude. I wish to redeem the rest of this transaction by signing her up with my company." His voice lowered, taking on a rougher edge. "I can't fathom what ordeals she has experienced since her arrival here last year. I didn't even hear about her being here until last month. She is quite secretive."

  My brow furrowed as concern washed through me. Something about his tone made my skin prickle with unease. "She'll be trouble, won't she?"

  A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, not reaching his eyes. "Almost certainly. Yet I am sure it will be worth it." His gaze held mine, unflinching. "If you want someone who can win fights and provide profit to your company, then Joy is the one you should choose."

  "Joy." The name rolled off my tongue, unexpectedly mundane. "Unusual name for a demon."

  Wynford nodded, a slight movement that sent the gold chains at his horns swaying. "Indeed, that is the name she has adopted while living among humans."

  My eyes dropped to the ground as I struggled to keep my expression neutral. Part of me wanted to trust this demon businessman, strange as the concept seemed. If this female demon needed a firm hand, my trainers at the estate would ensure her compliance. As a last resort, I could leverage her connection to Wynford to force obedience.

  A smile spread across my face as the pieces fell into place. "Alright, what do you say? Do we have a deal? We go halves—I get my fighter and you get someone worth representing your business?"

  "Before we get too far," Wynford said casually, "just be aware—the league will require formal trainer registration. Not yet, but soon."

  I narrowed my eyes. "That wasn't part of the council's last discussion."

  "It will be," he said smoothly. "Or it should be. You know how quickly they'll demand oversight once a noble gets injured or outmatched in the ring." He tilted his head, watching me closely. "You could help push it through, actually. Your voice carries weight."

  "And what does that get you?"

  Behind his casual demeanor, I sensed a careful strategy unfolding. Wynford hadn't approached me by accident. He had identified me specifically as someone whose interests might align with his own—someone with the social standing to legitimize his venture in ways he could not, despite his evident wealth and connections.

  His grin returned. "Structure. Sanction. Legitimacy. All good for business. And if you're serious about using her, you'll want your house compliant. Before the first blood hits the sand."

  I nodded once, appreciating his directness. He was forthright about his ambitions, which I found refreshing compared to the circuitous conversations that dominated Council meetings.

  Wynford's massive hand engulfed mine again. The pressure increased slightly—just enough to remind me he could crush my bones to powder with minimal effort. If this demon woman possessed even half his strength, she would be extraordinary in the ring. Our handshake held a moment of tension, a test of wills between predator and supposed equal.

  Then a wide grin split Wynford's face, transforming his features.

  "We have a deal, Jacobi."

  I stepped back, folding my arms across my chest with a satisfied smile. Victory tasted sweet, having secured what I wanted before the auction had even begun. The day stretched before me, bright with promise and possibility.

  Joy. The name echoed in my mind. Simple. Mundane. Yet somehow wrong for a creature from another world. I wondered what her real name might be, in whatever language demons spoke among themselves.

  I wondered what other secrets she might hold.

  The auctioneer's bell rang out across the square, summoning buyers to the platform. Excitement rippled through the crowd. The spectacle was about to begin.

  Leonard materialized at my side, his eyes alight with curiosity. "Well, sir? Did you and the charming Mr. Darkwood reach an agreement?"

  "We did." I kept my voice low, though I doubted anyone in the surging crowd would overhear us. "We're going to purchase a fighter. Together."

  Leonard's eyebrows shot up. "A partnership with a demon? That's... unexpected."

  "The world is changing, Leonard." I began moving toward the auction platform, Leonard falling into step beside me. "Best to be ahead of the curve than trampled beneath it."

  "And this fighter? Do they have a name?"

  I glanced over my shoulder to where Wynford stood watching us, his imposing figure a dark silhouette against the bright canvas awning.

  "Joy," I said, tasting the name again. Still strange on my tongue, still incongruous with what I imagined a demon warrior might be called. "She's female."

  Leonard's step faltered slightly, the only indication of his surprise. "A female fighter? That's not what I expected."

  "Nor I," I admitted. "But Wynford speaks highly of her abilities."

  "And you trust him?" Leonard's tone held no judgment, merely curiosity.

  I considered the question as we approached the growing crowd around the auction platform. Did I trust Wynford Darkwood? Not entirely. But I recognized in him a calculated pragmatism that mirrored my own. He wouldn't sabotage a venture that benefited him, and that was, perhaps, more reliable than trust.

  "I trust his self-interest," I replied finally. "And for now, that aligns with mine."