Betelgeuse let her wander the store by herself. He was confident that no one was going to try anything in here, not with him right there. As she slowly walked and looked at the cases, he cast a cursory glance around, and a particular piece caught his attention.

As the girl spoke up, he tapped the case and told the attendant to wrap it up before turning to where she stood.

Fuck. Of fucking course. He looked away for a moment and the worst bastard possible had her in his clutches. He was beside her in an instant, his hand securely around Vince's wrist, giving her slack as he removed the leash from the other man.

"N' here, yer Dicklessness, I was expectin' ya t'be more respectful of another man's property."

Tone dry and nasty as he spoke, the handle for the girl's leash was pressed into his pocket. Essentially ignoring the Prince, he turned to the attendant who had been following the girl from case to case anxiously.

"Whatever it was she wanted, wrap it up." Flicking his card in the shopkeep's general direction, his gaze attention returned to the Prince.

"Is there somethin' ya needed?" A dark sneer pulled at his mouth, the look in his eyes extremely unfriendly.

From the moment the Prince addressed her, the mortal kept his gaze, and that was something that excited Vincent a lot. So. He hadn't tamed her at all.

"Oh Betel," he tutted, still holding eye contact with the furious little thing, "you haven't even fucked her yet. You're going to spoil her."

The girl's confidence wavered at his cool, flippant way of addressing her Master. His gaze was cold. Merciless. She had heard stories of what happened to slaves at the palace. Their tongues were cut off as a rule. The royals were said to have particular tastes. Stories of their desires churned her gut and kept her up late at night‒ especially after she saw evidence of the truth of them. Discarded goods, living, breathing human beings sold at a discounted price for their missing limbs and pieces, eyeballs and fingers and toes, usually put out of their misery when no one bought them.

"How much?"

The light died in the mortal's eyes and Vincent was pleased to watch it go, barely paying a mind to Betelgeuse through the negotiations.

"Name your price, poltergeist. You can buy a dozen of her if you'd like. Or one really nice one."

In truth, the Prince was downplaying how very badly he wanted her. Terrified as she clearly was, she still hadn't backed down, still wasn't aiming her gaze to the floor. How badly she must have desired death. Beautiful.

"She ain't fer sale."

Betelgeuse moved the girl to stand behind him out of sight of the Prince, calmly collecting the packages and his card from the clerk before directing his attention to the man before him.

"See, Vinny, I really like this one… n'even if I ever got it m'head that I wanted t'sell her, it wouldn't be t'you. N'thats simply 'cause I don't think you'd be able t'handle her."

He winked and made the leash jingle more than he actually pulled it as he made to step past him and guide her out the door. Creepy fuck. He didn't want the girl in the same room as that son of a bitch, let alone him touching her. His stomach rolled as the smell of her fear hit him, angry that the royal fuck had to ruin what had been turning into a wonderful day.

He was walking a bit fast for her, and she had to jog to catch up to him when he was still holding the leash. This paired with lingering anxiety from their run-in with the Prince forced her to speak up.

"I want to go home!"

It came out louder and more demanding than she meant it to. They had roles to play. She was breaking the rules, talking to him like that. People were looking at them. He was going to be mad at her. Fuck. Her eyes screwed shut and she boxed her ears in with her palms, blocking out the world around them.

"I just want to go home…"

Wind rushed out from under her feet and around her skirts, and when she dared a peek, they were back in his domain. Had she called it her home just now? Her heart was beating too fast, blood rushing too quickly to remember. Betelgeuse still looked mad. He was probably regretting not selling her off to the Prince while he had the chance. What was she doing getting so comfortable with that fucking leash on her neck?

As soon as she remembered it was there, she was clawing at it, struggling with the clasp until it disappeared altogether with his magical influence.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, backing far away, until her back hit the wall hard and something glass fell to the floor with a damning crash that made her cringe and sob out, reminded her of the time she broke that expensive vase that earned her a week sleeping outside, chained up like a dog.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered out again, unable to look at him, hands clasped over her mouth.

He missed when she spoke the first time. Well, not completely but it definitely didn't register until he was forced to stop and saw her with her hands pressed to her ears, on the verge of a panic attack.

"Fuck…" There were too many eyes on them here on the street, and as his fingers lit on her shoulder, they appeared back home.

Their feet hit solid ground and he dropped the leash, stepping carefully closer as she started clawing at the chain and the hoop around her neck. The leash dissolved away at his behest but he stopped trying to get closer, not sure if he was making this better or worse.

"Kitten, just breath…" The scent of her fear and panic slapped him in the face, and he took a slow, deep breath. This much fear in the air was going to wake up darker things inside him if he didn't calm her down.

Betelgeuse moved in close enough that he was able to snag her wrist and pull her in against his chest, cool fingers lacing through her hair so he could press her face against his shoulder. Rocking her softly, his fingers pet along her arm and the edge of her back.

"Shhhhhh, Kitten, yer safe here. You got nothin' t'be sorry fer."

It took a bit longer like that to calm her, claws raking against her scalp and through her hair, his larger form rocking hers like she was much younger than she was. She didn't wrap her arms around him and return the embrace, but her hands did come to nestle in his suit jacket, clutching at his shirt for something to cling to while he rocked her. When her breathing calmed and she thought she could speak coherently, she did.

"Why didn't you sell me?"

Name your price. That's what the Prince said. He wanted her, and he was bound and determined to get her. Had she belonged to anyone else, he would have her. She pushed away, wiping at the still-drying tears on her cheek in shame at her behavior. Letting him hold her like that wasn't okay. She couldn't get used to… to liking him.

"Why would I?" His fingers kept stroking through her hair. "I like yer company. I've put a lot o' time n'energy inta ya, n'if I was gonna sell ya it wouldn't be t'that creepy fucker."

As she pulled back from him, he rolled his shoulders, stretching out his neck.

"No one livin' or dead deserves to be forced inta spendin' time with that crazy shit, let alone what he likes a do to people."

He was still livid. Having to take the time to calm her down had helped take the immediate edge off his temper but it was still there simmering. Lighting a cigarette with a quivering hand, he crossed his arms and watched her move around the room like an abused animal. All the work of the last week for naught. Well, she wasn't telling him to 'go fuck himself' so maybe it wasn't all useless. He blew out a stream of smoke, then motioned for her to come closer. Prince Dickwad wasn't delicate at the best of times and Betelgeuse thought he could see bruises forming.

"How's yer back?"

With a sniffle and big wet eyes with long, tear-clumped lashes, she dared a step closer, then another, until she was within touching distance again.

"It's okay."

It was stinging quite a bit from how hard she hit the wall. The back of her neck was red from how rough the Prince was with handling her leash. Other than that, she was fine. She was pliant and obedient when he motioned for her to turn around so he could unlace her dress and check her stitches more thoroughly. He cursed, mentioning something about a little bleeding, but the girl was off somewhere else mentally.

A very familiar name was playing at the tip of her tongue. L‒ something. It was hers and she wanted to share it with him. What was it…?

"Lydia."

His fingers stilled on her back. She stole a glance back over her shoulder, piercing him through with the intensity of her stare.

"I think my name is Lydia."

She hadn't popped any stitches this time, but he could tell where she hit the wall. The lash wounds were inflamed and a few of them were bleeding. Cool fingers ghosted over the tops of the stitches as he looked for the bad ones.

"Lydia."

"What was that Babe?" His fingers stilled so he could focus on what she was saying, eyes finding the nasty red welt on the back of her neck and seething further at its existence.

"I think my name is Lydia."

Those honey colored eyes had him pinned like the bug he was as she said it again. Lydia. His lips quirked up at the edges, his cigarette drooping dangerously.

"Lydia. I like that."

He slid a hand into his pocket out of habit, wanting to touch her more and knowing she wasn't stable enough to handle it. He found the two small packages from the jewelry store; the earrings she had chosen in the small bundle, and his own surprise gift for her.

The rest of the evening went smoothly and as planned but with a distinct difference. Lydia was talking to him. Not much, and she never released too many details about herself, but she made an effort to acknowledge his existence and sometimes answer questions.

She ate a dinner of caesar salad with fresh grilled chicken without being forced and immediately afterward was whisked to the bath where he could see to her stitches most easily. It went faster this time around because her hair wasn't in need of a wash and she wasn't tired enough to sleep afterward, nor was he. A nightgown with a dipping neckline and flimsy robe counterpart were chosen for her by him and she didn't protest‒ in fact, she enjoyed the way the fabric felt sliding over her freshly dried skin.

"What do you do for work?" She asked curiously, perched wide awake at the edge of his bed as he emerged from tidying up the bathroom after her bath. Lydia had no way of knowing that all this primping and pampering was all deeply out of character for him.

"Whadda I do?" He arched a brow at her and started to unroll the sleeves of his shirt, the head and neck of the snake tattooed on his left forearm looking like it was trying to crawl off his skin.

"Ima Bio-Exorcist. Newlydeads call me if they can't spook the breathers outta their parameters." Betelgeuse sat on the edge of the bed and started to unlace his boots by hand, glancing up at her in between feet.

"Got a license t'scare n'everything…" Long fingers flew along the buttons of his shirt and it was tossed off to the side, damp and smelling of the soaps and ointments he put on her back.

"Sometimes they call me up there and they want to learn how to scare themselves, do a proper haunt, ya know? So on those occasions I teach. Take fer instance, the job I jus' had." He leaned back on the bed, head pillowed on his arms. "They couldn't scare to save their souls. Called me in n' I showed 'em a better way to go about it. They did all the work basically, I just hung around to make sure th' job got done."

Lydia knelt by his side, watching his face unabashedly while he spoke. He was a professional ghost? Something about that was fucking hysterical.

"You help ghosts… be scary?!"

They didn't like being called "ghosts", Lydia had learned the hard way, but at the moment she didn't care. It's not like anyone had ever asked her opinion on "breathers". She laughed at him for a good long time, to the point where there was cause for concern for her stitches‒ they were fine.

"That's silly. That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. That's almost as bad as 'don't trust the living.'"

All she had ever tried to do was help the spirits that showed themselves to her. She couldn't control her parents or where they decided to plant their roots. The spirits that haunted that domain hadn't taken too kindly to her family or her efforts to help move them out. What could a little girl do to convince adults their house was haunted?

Not enough.

Her laughter was dead. She was watching him in that creepy, unceasing way of hers again.

"How old are you?"

"What's so funny? Not everyone has it in 'em t'be terrifyin'. Some learn over time but most are jus' normal people."

He was giving her a look but it was more out of shock for how hard she was laughing. Eventually, he just snorted and stretched back out atop the covers.

"Basically everythin' outta that stupid fuckin' book is ridiculous. Just enough information t'get frustrated, not enough t'do anything with."

Her giggles had died down, unfortunately. That was something he could get used to. He loved the sound of terror, but this girl's laughter made his chest feel all warm and fuzzy. What the fuck? He rolled his shoulders again, making horrible popping and grinding noises.

"How old are you?"

"What yea…" The way she was staring at him with those almost empty honey gold eyes stopped his teasing remark. "Eh… let's see… six hundred n'fifty… give or take a decade?"

Her eyes went big again in innocent amazement at his ancient soul.

"That's a long time."

It wasn't as though she got the opportunity to ask very often, but he was now the oldest soul she had ever met to her knowledge.

"I think… I'm sixteen. Maybe seventeen. I haven't seen a clock from my world in a long time…"

The last she saw was fancy and digital, the kind with the year and month, and dubious though it was, it confirmed she was sixteen. She was laid out on her side next to him, just watching, guard mostly down but still present in case she needed to build it back up again.

"I had a good time messing with those shop clerks with you… fuck them."

A tiny smirk curled the corner of her lips, hopeful he would join in her amusement.

"Jesus, they grabbed you young didn't they..."

A low rolling chuckle crawled up from his chest, shifting so he could look over at her easier.

"Not just the clerks. People on the street actin' like someone had turned a werewolf loose on the shopping plaza… I usually get looks and gasps but not like that." His grin kept growing the more he thought about it. When he spoke again it was with a snooty old woman's voice; "Master not holding his slave's leash, how scandalous…"

Betelgeuse chuckled again and cleared his throat, getting rid of the last of the other voice with a chest rattling cough.

"That was real fun. We'll have t'pick another more populated area for our next outing. One of the parks or the zoo; traumatize some kids."

The prospect of going out like that with him again, traumatic as the end of their trip had been, was surprisingly not an offensive thought. Remembering their day shopping, she shot up in bed suddenly, re-energized.

"Where's the stuff we got?"

She vaguely remembered seeing the bags downstairs. Without waiting for him or asking permission‒ she never did‒ she was off, floating down the hall and stairs to look again at the things she picked out for herself that pissed all those other dead people off so much. There were several dresses, each she would have to try on in her own time because the shops wouldn't let her use the dressing rooms, but the Neitherworldian Venus Fly Trap had most of her attention.

When she pet it, it shuddered and closed dramatically, affecting her enough to whisper an apology and promise never to do that again.

"I can't find my earrings," she frowned when he followed her into the room, looking through the bags a third time. "I think… I might have forgotten to grab them from the clerk…"

Lydia was up and gone before he even had the time to tell her they were stacked on the couch. He lay there a few more moments before heaving himself up and following after her. When he found her, he was amused by how the few bags had exploded over most of the floor.

"No, ya didn't forget 'em…" His hand found an empty pocket but then he remembered moving the small bundles to his jacket before her bath. "I got 'em up in the bedroom."

Offering her a hand up, he waited while she gathered up her plant before pulling just a little harder than necessary so that she stumbled into his chest.

"I picked ya out somethin' too…"

Clearing his throat, he started to back up to the bedroom, her warm little hand still caught up in his large cold one. Once back up in his chambers, he pressed her down onto the edge of the bed by her shoulders and moved to retrieve the two small bundles from his jacket, handing her off the smaller package of her earrings.

Kneeling down, he caught one of her feet and started to rub at it gently, trying to remove any leftover tension she might have been holding onto. Once her leg felt relaxed enough, he pulled the ribbon holding the second package together, plucking the delicate silver and moonstone piece out and carefully clipping it into place on her ankle.

No one had ever touched her the way he was now. No one had ever talked to her the way he did, or looked at her as tenderly. While he massaged her legs, making her face burn all the while, she stumbled through putting her pretty new earrings in. Eventually, her calf stopped trembling and went limp in his large palm, making it easier to hook the clasp on the glimmering anklet he put on her.

Lydia leaned forward, mouth parted, to get a closer look, not thinking about how this brought her further into his space. It was gorgeous, one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen, if not the most. The gems gleamed lavender and periwinkle and other unicorn-tear colors with every tilt of her leg.

"Thank you…"

It was the first time she had said anything marking gratitude regarding his service and favors for her. Legally, she was property after all. He didn't have to treat her well or make her comfortable. He could have sold her to the Prince for a small fortune and never thought of her again.

"It's beautiful."

His hands slid further up her legs as she leaned forward to look down at jewelry. It brought her so close. She was so fucking warm. He didn't even finish the thought before sliding his hands up her thighs, his mouth catching hers. His tongue traced the edge of her full bottom lip, cool fingers kneading at the new plushness of her thighs. A small growl crawled out of his throat as he nipped her lip and pulled back.

"Yes, ya are…"

He snorted and shook his head, rocking back on his heels.

"...beautiful that is…"