Free Spirit was my first try at a romance book. It has been rewritten at least 4 times. I still think it could be rewritten, as I continually find ways to improve my writing, but my publisher put her foot firmly down and said ENOUGH!

CHAPTER ONE - FREE SPIRIT

    Diesa de Tyronmen struggled angrily against the shackles, tipping her head back to take a breath. She had complained time and again to her captors that the neck shackle was too small--a complaint that had fallen on deaf ears.

   Oh well, Diesa thought grimly, it doesn't matter now.

    In a few short minutes she would go on the auction block and whoever bought her would have to provide their own shackles, iron being as expensive as it was.

    She closed her eyes against the glare of the winter sun and shivered in her thin tunic. The voices of the market crowd were loud in her throbbing head.
     A head that wouldn't be throbbing, she reminded herself sourly, if you could only learn to keep your mouth shut.   Eight days of her constant complaining had at last driven the slave keeper to blows. The evidence, however, was well concealed under her thick, waist-length black hair. It wouldn't do to sell damaged goods.
     "Up!" barked a heavy-set man, yanking her to her feet. He prodded her along past other slaves and up the three steps to the auction platform. Once there, he stripped off her tunic in one swift movement, leaving her nude on the platform. A gasp of surprise and embarrassment escaped her, but there was no escape, no place to go. She licked dry lips as her gaze traveled swiftly over those men seated at the buying table. She sized them up swiftly. A Kalaithen--he would be looking for boys. A human, big, ugly and old--he might be a problem. A brothel madam--she would want someone better endowed. A dwarf--he was already turning his eyes away in disinterest. A Diad--he was leering, obviously interested. Another human, younger, more pleasing to look at, but with a cold grin that sent shivers up Diesa's spine. And last, an elf--exquisitely beautiful, with fair skin, hair the color of summer sunshine and cold, gray eyes that appraised her thoughtfully.
     The auctioneer brought his gavel down hard, startling Diesa, and the bidding began. It started low and Diesa cringed. Not only was it a blow to her ego, but it meant she could be forced to stand naked for a longer time, shivering in the cold air.
     "Come now," the auctioneer whined. "Surely we can do better than fifty yemmocks! She's a fine young specimen with only seventeen years behind her, worthy of any brothel."
     "She'd have to grow some knobbies first!" a man's cry came.
     Laughter erupted and Diesa flamed red. She knew her breasts were small. But that's the way her body was--small, tight and wiry. Still, it did not give him the right to draw attention to it. She lifted her chin defiantly, suddenly determined not to let the men see how terrified she was, how close to tears, to defeat. But the auctioneer's next words nearly broke her willpower.
     "She's part dryad," the auctioneer admitted, "but the other half is all Crayoven. Crayoven! Think of it!"
     It was a bold lie, meant to raise the bids. Crayoven! The word stuck in Diesa's mind like poison. To even suggest she could be part of such a sexually deviant race of people brought the taste of bile to the back of her throat. She shuddered and forced herself to look at the buyers.
     "One hundred yemmocks!" the madam offered, her heavily painted eyes squinting at Diesa. "Based on trial."
     "One hundred fifty, no trial," the young human countered.
     "One hundred eighty." The elf's offer was not loud, though it rang clearly.
     Oh Gods, Diesa thought. Not the elf. Please, not the elf. She knew his kind. Her clan had told her all about them. How they cared for none but themselves, how they considered humans beneath them, how they could claim a heart with their words, a soul with their touch. But not mine! she thought wildly. She would lose her soul to no one, certainly not someone who was not even human. Nor would she be owned by anyone, least of all an arrogant, narcissistic elf. Her gaze settled on him and their eyes met. The corners of his perfectly formed lips turned up just slightly, although his gray eyes remained cold and aloof. Diesa could not look away, and felt her heart hammering against her ribs. He was beautiful! Painfully beautiful. You'll make me love you and give me nothing in return. Nothing but aching emptiness.
     ::And you know this?:: His voice came clearly in her mind, startling her.
     The Diad bid two hundred.
     Quickly, Diesa brought up her shields to keep the elf's magic out.
     The elf's smile grew, as if intrigued. "Two fifty," he called.
     No, she cried. Not him. Please, let someone else…
     "Two seventy five!" The young, attractive human was back in the bidding.
     ::You'd rather go to him?:: The elf broke through Diesa's shields easily.
     Diesa's gaze shifted momentarily to the human. It wasn't hard to imagine what he wanted with her. Anger snuffed out her fear. That was all men ever wanted. To use a woman for their own pleasure, to humiliate and torment them. The elf would be no better, but he would control her mind as well as her body. She glared at him. ::At least his pain would only be physical. That I could live with.::
     "Three hundred," the elf said.
     Diesa stared in disbelief. ::I hate you! You know that!::
     ::Why?:: His question was curious, as the human once more raised the bid.
     ::You come into my mind without asking. That's the way with your kind. With all men! They take what does not belong to them and then discard it like trash. Get out of my head!:: Diesa strained with all of her psychic power to reform her shields.
     The elf's smile grew. "Four hundred."
     ::No!:: Diesa shrieked mentally. ::You'll take my mind first, then my heart! I can't stand it!:: Her gaze went to the young human who had been countering the elf's bids. Please, she begged, willing her thoughts to him. Please.
     The young man shifted uncomfortably, his face wrinkling into a hard frown. "Four twenty five," he called hesitantly, as if the words had been forced from him.
     The elf smiled fully, his gray eyes sparkling with surprise. "Six hundred!"
     A gasp went up from the crowd, followed by a heavy, disbelieving silence. The auctioneer regained his senses quickly, slammed the gavel down upon the bidding block and jabbed a finger at the elf. "Sold!" he cried.