Chapter 5 - High Alpha

𝐒𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐞

My eyes snapped open, panic surging through me like ice in my veins. I didn't need to look around to know something was very wrong. I tried to move, only to realize I couldn't. I was locked in a sitting position, completely restrained. My fingers twitched against the restraints, weak and trembling as fear sank deeper into my bones.

I raised my eyes when I caught visible hues in my periphery. I narrowed my eyes to catch something—anything—that would give me an idea of the hell I now found myself in. My eyes slowly adjusted, vision sharpening to take in the shapes in the darkness. Then my heart leapt into my throat.

I was not alone.

There were rows and rows of people sitting in front of me. All unmoving, faceless. But I would be a fool not to know they could see me and were staring right at me. My skin prickled with horror so acute, bile rose in my throat, but I was gagged.

A sudden burst of blinding light flooded the room, and my heart nearly launched out of my chest. I flinched instinctively, the searing brightness burning into my eyes after so long in the dark. But the restraints held fast, forcing me to absorb every agonizing second of exposure.

Now I could see all of them. Rows upon rows of people seated in a towering amphitheater. Strangely, their faces were obscured by masks of gold, ivory, and obsidian. All were clad in red hoods.

A voice crackled over the speakers, smooth and theatrical—the kind that slithered across your skin like something oily and cold. "Ladies and gentlemen," the voice boomed, cheerful and cruel all at once, "welcome to the Midnight Lycan Auction."

My stomach turned, but I sat still.

"Tonight, we are honored to present a specimen of rare pedigree."

Footsteps echoed as they circled behind me. Then a man stepped into view. Well-dressed. Smiling. His face was hidden behind a silver half-mask shaped like a wolf's snarl. His clothes were pristine and luxurious, pearl beads gleaming on every surface of his tuxedo.

He stopped beside me and placed a gloved hand gently on my arm. I recoiled, or tried to, but I couldn't move.

"This one," he said, loud enough for the crowd, "was a challenge to acquire. But you know how we pride ourselves on exclusivity."

He reached down. With a press of a button, one of my arms was released with a soft click. Before I could react, he yanked it upward, displaying my forearm like a trophy. I thrashed, but he held it firm.

"Ah. There it is..." he said, admiring my skin as though he were unveiling a masterpiece. He turned my arm slowly under the spotlight, revealing the faint, unmistakable glow of my tattoo.

Why the hell was it glowing now!

A collective gasp rippled through the room. "Yes, yes. I see you recognize it. It's been a while since one of these crossed the veil into Nocturna, our world," he purred, voice vibrating with greed. "A genuine Marked hybrid."

The crowd leaned forward, some clutching data pads, others whispering behind fans and veils.

"Let's start the bidding," he said, releasing my arm and patting my head mockingly. "Opening price: ten million dollars."

My blood ran cold. The room erupted into a frenzy of raised paddles, glowing numbers, and flashing signals. The amphitheater flickered with gold-lit bidding screens and silent gestures—predators in couture, cloaked in opulence, bidding on me like I was meat.

"Ten point five million," a deep voice announced from somewhere to my left.

"Eleven," another purred. Feminine. Laced with sadism.

"Twelve million. And I want it conditioned."

Conditioned? It?

My body trembled. My breathing turned shallow as the bidding climbed higher. I yanked against the restraints, frantic now, my freed hand trying to tear at the gag, at anything. But before I could even reach it, the masked man was behind me again, clicking the restraint back into place. I was locked down once more.

"Don't ruin the merchandise," he murmured, soft enough that only I could hear.

"One hundred million dollars."

The voice cut through the cacophony like a blade. A baritone that made my heart ram into my ribs. The room froze. Every masked head turned toward the source—a man seated in the lower VIP section, posture casual, like he hadn't just dropped an obscene amount of money without blinking.

If the moment weren't so vile, I might've laughed. Never thought I was worth that much.

The auctioneer chuckled excitedly. "It appears we may have our winner, ladies and gentlemen..."

But then...

"Two hundred million."

My breath caught. His voice slithered like silk pulled tight over tempered iron, carrying a thin, lethal cold. My pulse went feral beneath my skin. The masked crowd stirred again, murmurs rising like a brewing storm.

"Two hundred and fifty million," the first bidder snapped, suddenly tense. His voice wasn't so relaxed anymore. An edge had crept into it.

"Three hundred and fifty," the other replied calmly, untouched by the tension that saturated the air enough to choke.

"Half a billion," the first voice barked, his mask slipping for just a second. Arrogance laced with desperation.

A hush fell. Even the auctioneer hesitated this time. "Well... well," he said, eyes gleaming behind his mask. "We have ourselves a war, don't we?"

The tension hung thick, then a whisper shattered it all.

"One billion dollars," the man said simply.

The room went dead silent. The auctioneer gaped. For the first time, he faltered. He stared up toward the high balcony box where the man wearing the mask of an ivory wolf sat in shadow, one hand resting casually on the armrest.

Then he straightened, cleared his throat, and laughed. "Sold!" The gavel hit the podium like a gunshot. "To the High Alpha."

I had been bought by an Alpha?

The crowd erupted into polite applause, a slow, unsettling rhythm that echoed off the walls like the tolling of bells at a funeral. And I was the corpse.

I couldn't look away. Unlike the others, he wasn't clapping. He didn't rise, nor did he celebrate. He only watched me.

The overhead lights glared, but in the gaps of shifting shadow, I caught the faintest glint of ivory again—the curve of his mask. An elegant wolf carved from bone. His chin was set, lips unreadable. The rest of his face was hidden in dark velvet and impossible distance.

But I felt his eyes.

My skin prickled as my body was yanked backward. The restraints hissed and clicked as they released in sequence. My limbs collapsed under me like broken scaffolding, and I crumpled to the floor, only to be seized by the masked handlers in red hoods and dragged off the stage like a product removed from display.

The last thing I saw before the doors shut behind me was the man in the ivory mask finally rising to his feet.

Two men seized me by the arms, their grips like iron cuffs. My feet barely skimmed the floor as they hauled me down a narrow corridor. I thrashed, twisted, kicked—every ounce of panic fueling me—but it was like fighting against stone pillars.

"Let me go!" I tried to shout, but it came out muffled, strangled by the gag. The hallway stretched on forever, a silent tunnel of polished black marble and glowing veins of silver inlaid along the walls.

Then we stepped outside. The air hit me first—cool and metallic, with the faint tang of oil and ozone. Rows upon rows of vehicles sprawled across a private parking lot the size of a runway. Obsidian-black hoods gleamed under the pale moonlight. Chrome edges sparkled like knives.

And parked at the center of it all was the one they carried me towards. It wasn't just a car. It was an apex predator dressed in metal. Sleek, elongated, painted with midnight black that swallowed the light. Its insignia caught my eye: a wolf's head carved from silver.

The back doors were already open. One of the handlers adjusted his grip and muttered under his breath, "Don't make this harder than it has to be."

I glared, seething through the gag. When they stopped, my stomach twisted. Someone was standing there—tall, broad, still as a statue, just by the open door.

They didn't bother helping me in. They shoved me. I stumbled forward, crashing into plush leather and shadowed luxury. The door slammed shut behind me with a hiss, sealing me into silence.

For a moment, I didn't move. The air wrapped around me like a noose, heavy and suffocating. My skin prickled, every instinct screaming.

And then slowly, I turned. My eyes locked with his.

He sat in the far corner of the car, gloved hands resting lightly on his knees. The ivory mask was gone, discarded somewhere in the shadows. He didn't need it, because no mask could ever match the face beneath it.

He looked like he'd been carved from ice and war—every line sharp, every feature aristocratic and cruelly composed. His hair was platinum blond, slicked back with surgical precision, not a strand out of place. It caught the faint light in shards of silver and snow, gleaming like something forged.

And those eyes... they were glacial blue. Pale, piercing, and terrifyingly unreadable. They didn't just see you—they peeled you open.

He was beautiful in a way that hurt. Devastating in the way a winter storm buries entire cities.

I swallowed hard, my breath catching in my throat. The car was moving now. The world outside blurred, but I couldn't take my eyes off him.

His eyes did not stray from me. Like he was waiting for me to break.

My words came out in a croak, unsteady as I felt. "Where are you taking me?"

Nothing, even as those cold eyes held mine.

"What do you want with me?" I asked. "Please..."

He cut me off by turning away, my words dying in my throat. But the silence only made it worse. My heart was pounding now, louder than the engine.

I tried again. "You can't just ignore me. Look at me." I slammed my palm against the seat. "Say something. What do you want from me!"

But he acted like I wasn't even there.

Then the car turned, my stomach flipping. The smooth road fell away. The headlights cut through low fog curling along a narrow forest path.

I froze.

No. No, no, no... I knew this place.

I pressed a hand to the glass, eyes wide. "This is the North Vale Lunar Path. Why are we—?"