“Collectors,” Blackwood says simply, polishing another of his rings on his jacket. “People who appreciate unique, valuable things. Your offspring will be well cared for, I assure you. Fed, housed, trained...”

“Trained for what?”

“Entertainment. Protection. Companionship.” His oily grin widens. “Whatever their masters require.”

The full horror crashes over me like a tidal wave. They’re talking about slavery. About breeding me like a show dog and selling my children to be pets, toys for the wealthy and twisted.

“No!” The word rips from my throat. “Absolutely not! Andrew, how could you—”

“How could I what?” His gentle mask slips completely now, revealing the ugliness underneath. “Give you exactly what...