It was unpleasant. The ogling, the giggling… Nyell had to resist the urge to grimace and glare, reminding himself that he was supposed to be subservient, unable to resist the bastard's dominance. He had to stay a meek little thing until the time was ripe.
Still, Nyell could not resist peeking at the audience that had filled the vast room. It was crowded. They sat in a half-circular stadium that cupped the stage on which he stood. At the sight of their masked faces, Nyell had to pinch his lips not to snort. So, they were sensible enough to know they had to hide their identities from each other, aware that they were participating in something utterly disgusting and depraved. This kind of hobby was better left buried deep in the closet alongside their other skeletons.
Too bad their natural odors gave them away. A werewolf's nose was sensitive, even more so in Nyell's case. He had learned from a young age to track and distinguish between smells. It was a requisite for any warrior who roamed the jungle, lest they wanted to get lost or lose their prey. But even for him, Nyell had to admit that there were a bit too many people. His nose was assaulted by various scents and perfumes, making him feel like it was about to fall off. Everything mingled together to form a foul stench.
Still, Nyell kept on inhaling the air, searching for a familiar smell. Sadly, the crowd was too dense, and he could not find it, giving rise to a storm of frustration in the pit of his stomach.
'Fucking hell, I can't believe there were this many sick bastards hidden in plain sight,' Nyell silently scoffed, taking note of the crowd. It was packed. 'There must be over two hundred people, and that's being generous. I feel like there could have been more, hadn't it been for the restricted number of seats. So nauseating.'
"Thank you all for the numerous purchases you made this evening! Unfortunately, we're nearing the end of today's auction," the bastard announced as Filvya pushed Nyell further up the stage, Yohan in tow. He was holding onto Miell, whose ears and tail had gone down. Nyell couldn't tell if that was an act or if he was truly frightened, but his terrified appearance certainly helped entice the crowd and lower their guard. They were already in an exalted state, thanks to the previous goods that had been put up for bid this past hour.
After a theatrical pause, the bastard continued, "As promised, I have something special for you this evening. I sincerely hope you will enjoy our last goods for today!"
Applause and whistles resounded like thunder the moment Nyell and Miell took place in the center of the stage. Nyell kept his head lowered, not even glancing at Filvya, as he knew he wouldn't be able to resist headbutting her. She was at the perfect height, too.
"I believe you all know them, and they do not need an introduction!" The bastard seemed over the moon, relishing in the crowd's palpable excitement. "But even so, skipping the formalities is not our auction house's motto! So, let me give you a quick rundown, and we will start the bidding shortly afterward."
Chuckles and whispers echoed, making Nyell grit his teeth. How much longer did he have to endure this shitshow? He was starting to grow impatient.
"On the left, we have Miell, a sown-leopard beastman. I was a little curious and did some research on his species… Beastmen aren't that uncommon, but those who hail from the snow leopard sub-species? Well, ladies and gentlemen, they are a rarity! I was surprised to learn that only a few remain, and they usually stay hidden in their forgotten land on the treacherous mountains of the eastern continent. I can say with confidence he's a rare specimen that would greatly enhance your collection!"
Excited whispers spread across the audience, and Nyell caught a glimpse of Miell, who was biting his bottom lip in rage. His canine had pierced his skin, and bright-red blood beaded. Now, he appeared more angered than frightened, but no one paid attention to the fur standing on his tail. Or perhaps, they thought they were safe from the distance of their seats.
"And then, on our right, we have Nyell, the White Moon Lord's destined mate. I believe there is no need to prove this: most of us have assisted at the trial of the Fated Mates, and we have all seen the undeniable proof of their bond. And not only is he the fated mate of the most powerful shaman in the White Moon tribe, making him a perfect receptacle for spiritual energy, he also comes from the mysterious land of the jungle—a warrior from the Sun tribe. I believe his stamina should be more than satisfactory!"
Again, laughter resounded.
"Moreover, for you fellow werewolves, he has yet to be marked." At those words, the bastard slid his fingers under Nyell's hair, caressing the nape of his neck. "The skin is still smooth and unblemished. Very enticing, I must admit."
And then, Nyell smelled it. Allen's scent wafted to his nose, accompanied by a barely restrained fury. The farce had lasted long enough, and at this point, Myrven, Layla, Dangu and some hunters Allen trusted were most likely standing at their posts, ready to act. They all had a role to play to ensure no one would be able to escape when all hell broke loose inside the auction hall. They would not let anyone flee, for they all had to pay the price of their sins.
Nyell lifted his head, squinting to find Allen. He was sitting in the back row, a veil covering his face, concealing his mesmerizing eyes. He wore black robes, a stark contrast to his usual attire, and a wide straw hat, also dyed in black, in which he tugged his long hair. Still, Nyell recognized him at a glance. When the shaman noticed his gaze on him, he nodded. That was the signal. A relieved smirk lifted the corner of Nyell's lips. No more restraining his temper, and no more swallowing his pride. He was free to go on a rampage.
"…Why are you smiling?" The bastard asked, seemingly sensing something was amiss. If there was one thing Nyell had to concede, it was that the man had good instincts.
"Why?" Nyell straightened his back, now holding his head high and no longer slouching. The subservient attitude was gone in an instant, replaced by confidence. When he stood up straight, he was a little taller than the bastard, allowing him to stare deep into the man's eyes, which weren't covered by his mask. "Because my scoundrel of a mate has finally given me the go-ahead."
Before the bastard could process Nyell's words, he snapped the shackles in half and gripped the man's head to bring him down and knee him in the face, breaking his mask in a web-like pattern. In a split second, Nyell then whirled on his heel and round-kicked Filvya, sending her flying through the hall until her body crashed into a wall. She limply fell onto the floor, unmoving. Everything went too fast, and the audience was left too shocked to react. What the hell happened? Their brains refused to accept what their eyes saw.
"Weren't the shackles supposed to weaken you…?" Yohan couldn't help but ask, staring at the sturdy chain flapping under his wrists, still attached to the cuffs. It had snapped nicely in half.
"So?"
"Yeah, that was a stupid question," Yohan scoffed. Knowing Nyell's strength, the wall should have crumbled after Filvya crashed onto it, but it only shook a little as the impact wasn't violent enough to break it. It didn't make sense, as he was sure Nyell wasn't holding back at the moment. The only explanation was that the shackles were sapping his strength. Alphas are goddamn scary.
"Now, where was I?" Nyell smiled sinisterly, his cold gaze scanning the crowd before falling back on the bastard, who was holding his bloody nose while still trying to figure out what was going on. Nyell crouched before the man, and he did something he rarely did: he let out his dominance, which he usually kept subdued. Whatever people said, he was the son of his mother, a luna, and his father, an alpha. Unlike his sister, he inherited both of their dominant genes. It showed in his innate physical abilities, but also in the presence he gave off. His dominant trait became more apparent as he grew up, attaining its peak after he reached adulthood. It wasn't something the average werewolves could resist, for their hierarchical instinct submitted to the strongest as a form of preservation.
"Don't kill him," a languid voice echoed throughout the auction hall, a voice that was familiar to everyone present. Finally, the severity of the situation started to dawn upon them, and their faces grew livid under their half-masks. "I need him alive. For now."
Tilting his head, Nyell glanced at Allen, who had used the distraction to climb down the stadium and up onto the stage. He grabbed his veil and hat, removing them. His hair fell freely on his shoulders, and his mesmerizing eyes, which had turned cold and unfeeling, landed on the bastard. His gentle manners were gone, and only a murderous aura remained.
Slowly, panic started to swell in the crowd, spreading like the plague. Some people stood up, trying to flee. But the moment they reached the main double door, they realized Layla and Myrven guarded it. The ones who sought to bypass them were quickly subdued. Most ended up with either broken legs or broken arms, as neither Myrven nor Layla was in the mood to take it easy. To those who asked if they even knew who they were, they responded with a blood-curdling smile.
"It's kind of getting messy," Nyell clicked his tongue as he watched hysteria render the crowd dumb. Those who realized they couldn't escape through the main door tried to use the back doors behind the stage instead, unaware Dangu was waiting for them. As for the staff that had been waiting outside the auction hall, they were hunted down by the hunters. It was pretty noisy.
"Don't worry, everything is going to be over in no time," Allen shrugged, taking off his outer robe to hand it to Nyell. "How about covering yourself a little?"
"What?" Nyell grinned as he took the offered robe. "You don't like the sight?"
"I'd like it better if we were in our bedroom."
"Fair enough."
Despite Nyell and Allen appearing distracted, the bastard surprisingly didn't try to flee, nor did he try to fight back. It might be due to Nyell's dominance, which was shoved right into his face, or it might be because he knew perfectly well just how cooked he was. Attempting to escape would only result in more pain for him. He could see from the corner of his eyes how Allen's aides treated the foreigners, and he didn't doubt his fate wouldn't be any better.
"Oh, right," Nyell exclaimed, as if remembering something. His smile grew vicious, his eyes showing no pity as he slowly and very carefully enunciated his following words, "I'd like to correct your little presentation of me from earlier. I'm indeed a warrior, but not from the Sun tribe. I'm from the Black Moon tribe."
The bastard's face, which was already livid, turned as white as a sheet. He glanced at Yohan, who responded with a scoff. The idiot asked if he recognized him, not from where he knew him. Yohan hadn't lied and hadn't gone against the curse of obedience the collar forced onto him. It was on the man for asking the wrong question and making assumptions from there on. He had always been cautious, but the success of his illegal trade had gone over his head, and he grew bolder, just as much as he grew careless. Now, no elder would be able to help him, much less cover his heinous deeds.