SELENE'S POV
The chains around my wrists were cold.
Too cold.
I hated that more than the ache in my knees or the stale, metallic air pressing down on me.
Cold meant they didn't care if I froze.
Cold meant I was just an object.
The dim room behind the stage reeked of sweat, fear, and something sour, like damp wood left too long in the dark.
I wasn't alone, a few other "lots" huddled in the corners, shackled like me, eyes hollow and resigned.
I could hear the muffled voice of the auctioneer through the heavy curtains, rising and falling in smooth, rehearsed tones as he sold lives like livestock.
The sound of laughter followed each slam of the gavel.
My stomach turned, as every gavel strike meant another person was gone or taken.
Some of them went willingly, or at least pretended to, as for me I wouldn't pretend.
A man in a black coat stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the captives until it landed on me.
"Lot Twenty-Three. You're up."
My heart thudded, of course that's my number.
He yanked me up by the chain between my wrists, not caring that my skin scraped against the rough links.
The iron bit into me with each step, leaving small, angry welts.
The curtains loomed ahead, thick and red, blocking my view of the crowd, but I could hear them, their voices like vultures circling a carcass, greedy and impatient.
The man gave me a shove between the shoulder blades.
I stumbled forward, and the curtain parted.
Gold light flooded my vision.
The stage was awash in glow from enormous chandeliers, their crystal droplets catching and scattering light like tiny shards of ice.
Beyond the stage, the crowd stretched out in rows of velvet chairs, a sea of expensive suits and jeweled throats.
Their eyes fixed on me, glinting with hunger.
Predators.
I kept my chin high.
They could take my freedom.
They could strip me bare.
But they would not see me break.
The auctioneer stepped closer, his slick smile never wavering. He circled me slowly, looking me over like I was a prize mare.
"Lot Twenty-Three," he purred into the microphone. "Rare stock. Healthy. Strong. Untouched."
A ripple went through the crowd.
Someone whistled.
Another man murmured something to his neighbor, who smirked.
I locked my gaze straight ahead, refusing to give them more than that.
And then I saw him.
He was seated near the edge of the front row, half in shadow despite the light above.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
The kind of presence that didn't need to move to draw attention.
He leaned back in his chair like he owned the room , maybe he did.
Dark eyes watched me with unnerving stillness.
Sharp lines carved his face, his jaw tense, his mouth unsmiling.
Unlike the others, he wasn't grinning or leering.
He wasn't even pretending to be entertained.
He looked… dangerous.
But not in the loud, showy way of the other men here.
His danger was quieter, and calculated.
The auctioneer's voice pulled my focus back.
"Shall we start the bidding?"
Numbers flew through the air, called out in brisk, eager voices.
The rhythm was familiar now, low offers to start, higher ones piling up as men tried to outdo one another.
My pulse pounded harder with each shout.
My gaze kept slipping back to him.
He hadn't moved, hadn't spoken.
He just watched.
The bidding slowed.
The price was high now, too high for most of them.
I dared to hope it would end without his involvement.
And then, with a calmness that made my breath catch, he raised one gloved hand.
The room stilled.
The auctioneer's voice faltered for the first time all night.
"Ah… a generous offer."
It wasn't just generous, but it was final, I could feel it in the way the crowd shifted, in the quick glances exchanged between men who knew better than to challenge him.
The auctioneer looked around.
"Do we have any challengers?"
No one spoke.
No one dared.
And just like that, my life was his.
The gavel came down with a sharp crack that echoed through my bones.
"Sold to Alpha Kieran Gray."
The crowd erupted in whispers, but I barely heard them.
The hand on my shoulder pushed me forward, off the stage and into the shadows.
My feet dragged over the carpet, knees trembling, heart punching against my ribs.
I dared one last glance over my shoulder.
He was still in his seat, still watching me.
Not smiling.
Not looking away.
When our eyes met, something in my chest tightened, not fear exactly, but something colder, heavier.
The guard tugged me toward a side door, but I kept staring until the crowd swallowed him from view.
I didn't know his name, but I knew one thing with absolute certainty.
My freedom wasn't the only thing I'd just lost.