“How do you feel, Valerie?” One held my hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss against my knuckles. I wanted to speak. But the only sound I could make was a moan. The one behind me chuckled. “She’s in heat.” His laughter was soft, and his body felt warm. “Let me...
Chapter 1
VALERIE
Heat surged in my belly. Bright lights wavered in and out of focus as I blinked through the haze of mist. I saw bare flesh, carnal muscles, and handsome faces. A trio of beasts tangled around me.
Their fingers trailed down my naked body, sending coarse chills down my spine.
“How do you feel, Valerie?” One held my hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss against my knuckles. I wanted to speak. But the only sound I could make was a moan.
The one behind me chuckled. “She’s in heat.” His laughter was soft, and his body felt warm. “Let me help you,” he purred in my ear. He tilted my head up and brushed a feather-light kiss against the corner of my mouth. “You want to play rough, or gentle?” he grinned, asking against my lips.
“Don’t be so selfish with her, Lucas.” said another. He towered over me. His fingers dented into my skin. He pulled my leg up as he bent down, his lips brushing kisses against my thigh.
I recoiled. But he gripped my ankle and nipped at my skin as a warn.
“There’s no way you can run, Valerie.” He bloodshot eyes met mine, blazing with hunger and lust.
“You belong to us.”
***
We were released from our cages the moment the sun crested the mountains.
I followed the other girls, heads bobbing and feet shuffling in the darkness. Our hands were cuffed, and our legs chained, making it difficult to keep in step with one another.
But we had grown used to this.
The corridor we traveled through was damp and cold. I could remember the sounds and smells of this place better than my own name.
It was our home.
I had only reached the fourth step when Aunt Louis gave me a shove.
“Hurry up!”
I scowled to the shadows and quickened my pace, avoiding eye-contact with the sour aunt.
Clearly, Aunt Louis wasn’t in a good mood today. No one was surprised by this; all of the aunts had been terribly moody over the past dew days.
It was a dry season and slave business had been lacking. This was not unusual during the werewolf’s mating season, but it cast a dark cloud over the shop.
The aunts hadn’t sold a single slave in two weeks.
No wonder they were so riled up.
They weren’t really our aunts. We called them by the name because they were the closest things we had to guardians. A handful of old she-wolves who made their living by ensuring we were properly trained and sold for slave-hood.
By all rights, they owned us until we were sold to masters. Then those masters could do whatever they saw fit to us.
We quickly gathered in the lobby, expanding our line into a half-circle around Aunt Rita. She held up a sheet of paper and a pen and began her usual roll call.
“114.”
“Present.”
“115.”
“Present.”
“118.”
For each number called, a small voice responded present.
We did not have names in this place. Numbers were all they gave us. Names were too difficult for the wolves to remember. And what was the point in remembering the name of someone who would soon be sold off and never heard from again?
“120,” Aunt Rita went on.
Our eyes stayed low; our heads bowed. We watched the cracks on the floor as we listened to each of our sisters call out in their tiny voices, “Present.”
This was a daily measure to insure we were all accounted for—but I had a theory that it was more than that.
It was a reminder of who we were and what our place in this world was.
We were Slaves. We were among the lowest class in this hell world. The beasts took our world and grabbed our lives in their hands.
When roll call came to an end, the aunts gathered to discuss the arrangements for the day. Who would be placed in the display cases, and who would be “shelved” in the back. To spotlight certain slaves on just the right day was the key to reeling in a desperate buyer.
It was all business—something wolves were terrible at. If they really wanted a sale during the slow seasons, they should’ve put the more appealing slaves on display. But rather, the aunts did the opposite, saving the highest quality slaves for the busy season.
Humans used to say that werewolves were all brawns and no brains. And the more I learned about werewolves, the more I found myself agreeing.
Somehow, despite that…they were still victorious when the war ended.
I supposed brawns were just as valuable.
“127,” called Aunt Rita. My head snapped up. “You’ll be on display today.”
I cleared my throat uncomfortably and nodded.
I despised the display cases. They always made me so claustrophobic, and it didn’t help to feel the hungry eyes of dozens of potential masters passing by in a day.
Of course, none of them were very interested. Not in someone like me.
I was always unwanted for my strangeness.
Another girl was called up to the display case, where we were painted in subtle makeup—a soft powder and a tint rubbed on our lips to turn them the shade of cherry juice.
They dressed us as well—though sparsely. We were stripped down to our drawers, and a long white cloth was wrapped once around our chests and twice around our hips. It was important that potential buyers could see our forms.
Then we were placed on chairs in front of large glass panes. We smiled at every soul that passed by, but no one seemed particularly interested in dropping in.
In fact, the streets were barren today. The entire market looked a little drab.
Then I felt a slight nudge and looked to the girl beside me. “Want to talk?” she asked. “I’m feeling very dull.”
She spoke beneath her breath and didn’t look my way. We had all learned to speak without making much sound. The aunts would be angry if they heard chatter coming from us.
I chanced another glance at her before turning my attention back on the streets.
I didn’t reply.
I’d spoken to this girl once before. Her name was Ashley—she was new, just sent in a week ago. That explained why she was so perky and positive all the time.
Dull.
I wondered what Ashley meant by dull. Was she bored of this place?
It wouldn’t stay that way for long. The mating festival would arrive soon, and after that, unmated wolves would be piling into every slave shop on the strip to seek out some poor girl to sate their excessive sexual hunger. Then, not long after that, the vampires would wake up from their annual sleep and look for fresh blood.
But Ashley was new here, which meant she was still oblivious to how hopeless our world was.
She nudged me again. “Hey, did you hear about what happened yesterday? Some of the girls overheard the Aunts talking—they said a wolf went crazy in the market and murdered a bunch of slaves. Injured a ton of masters, too. They said the Alpha’s pissed about it—that he’s coming to canvas the damage.”
I was curious and none of the aunts seemed to be catching on to Ashley’s whispers, so I dared to ask, “Why did he do it?”
“No one knows,” Ashley said. “Aunt Louis said he was drunk at the festival celebration, but Aunt Rita doubted it and said he must’ve been possessed by evil spirits.”
My stomach turned at the thought of all those poor slaves, ripped to ribbons by the claws of a frenzied wolf. But in the end, it had nothing to do with us. The incident in question happened on an entirely different street—somewhere on the other side of the market, surely.
“How scary…” I muttered, mostly to myself.
“You two at the front!” one of the Aunts shouted. “Stop your squawking and pay attention to our guests!”
I wanted to argue that we hadn’t any guests yet, but arguing with the Aunts never ended well for anyone.
Ashley and I went silent after that, forcing smiles at the empty streets.
Suddenly, a disturbance swept over the shop. The aunts went stiff.
I could see them in the reflection of the glass—their entire posture perked up as if they could hear a distant sound. One by one, they dropped everything they were doing and approached the front of the shop.
When a knock came at the door, they pried it open hastily and stepped aside, their heads bowed in some strange submissive form.
I wanted to look, but I would be disciplined if I took my eyes from the window. So I listened instead.
A noise hit my ears. Something I’d never heard before—something that made my hair stand on end. A growl. Someone chanting. Whispers and murmurs. Then, among the culmination of noises, one word reached my ears.
A word that made my blood run cold.
Alpha.
Chapter 2
VALERIE
None of us had seen the Alpha. His name was one that was tossed around constantly, almost like a fictional character from a fairytale, or a celebrity always causing waves.
The Aunts spoke about him often—but their stories and gossip about the Alpha were flung around for the sake of entertainment and nothing more. No one ever seriously expected to meet him.
They said he was young. They said he was smart and handsome. They said that he would be mated this year. Last I’d heard them speak of the Alpha, the aunts mentioned that he was betrothed to the princess of the northern Eclipse pack.
Thinking about it, their engagement should have been just on the horizon.
The Alpha wasn’t only a celebrity to the Aunts, but also a tool they used to keep us in line. “You should be happy to live such comfortable lives,” they would remind us. “Be grateful to the Alpha for his generosity.”
It was a silly thing, to be grateful for the lives we had been fated with. But the aunts had a point; the Alpha was far more benevolent than his predecessor.
Two years ago, he took the throne from his father and made a decree that changed the way slave shops operated. Slaves were given meat and milk every week, physical abuse from our shop masters was prohibited, and female slaves were separated by males and managed strictly by she-wolves.
It was grim to think of life before the new Alpha. I couldn’t imagine what slaves went through before the decree. Some slaves thought of the new Alpha as a hero, but it was difficult to tell if his decisions were made out of mercy or convenience. After all, the turnover rate had improved. It was a huge improvement to his economy.
Occasionally, slaves also spoke of the Alpha, but we knew only what we had been told. Gossip between us was mostly imaginative. He had become known as a savior to some—foolish girls who dreamed silly little fantasies about a white-knighted Alpha king stealing them away.
Ashley craned forward, her long blonde hair sweeping her crossed knees. “Did you hear them?” she asked, her whispers elevated in excitement. “It’s the Alpha!”
Too loud. She was too loud.
I grimaced as a shout came from the back, “You two! Keep your head down!”
I dropped my head before Ashley did. I didn’t care about the Alphas. I didn’t care about the fantasies of romantic, loving masters. I had no place imagining myself like that.
I wouldn’t be bought by anyone.
I focused on my reflection in the glass, reminding myself of my strange indigo eyes, of the dark birthmark staining my neck.
The chatter from the front door wrenched me out of my thoughts. The Alpha had stepped inside, followed by three male wolves, large and muscled and attentive.
The Alpha’s footsteps were like thunder, striking the ground. One loud, heavy step and then another. It sounded the way I imagined monsters walked—with powerful, labored steps.
I couldn’t help but look.
I glanced over my shoulder, watching him stride, his black boots embroidered with the mark of the Silver Moon pack. He was a large figure, passing through a shop filled with much smaller beings.
I supposed that was why his footsteps sounded so heavy.
The aunts had not over-exaggerated when they gossiped about how handsome he was. I almost understood the slaves’ fascination with him. He was tall and muscled, young and sharp. His eyes swept the room with calculation and control.
He was very attractive.
I suppressed a shiver and turned my eyes away, forcing a smile at a stranger passing by. They paid me no mind and shuffled along with their head low.
I couldn’t grasp their conversation until they’d entered the room. Then the words became much more clear.
“Business has been…a bit slow,” one of the aunts was saying.
“I see,” replied the Alpha. His voice was coarse and smoky—but smooth. The voice of a man who knew his power. “Fortunately for you, that seems to be the general consensus around the market. But I haven’t come here to talk business. I’m investigating the incident that took place in the trade district yesterday evening.”
I glanced to Ashley, who met my eyes with a look of excitement and curiosity. He had come to investigate the attack.
“Oh,” replied a second aunt. “Well, that’s a good walk from here. We only heard word of that late last night. Terrible situation though, isn’t it?”
The Alpha hummed, a deep low sound from his chest. “I understand. Please keep an eye out for any…unusual guest activity.”
“Of course, my Alpha,” replied several of the aunts at once.
One complimented him on his health, then another congratulated him on his upcoming engagement to the Northern Princess.
Then he passed behind us.
I listened to his footsteps, one after another, floating past me like a ghost. Then…suddenly, they stopped.
I glanced up to the glass, catching his silhouette in the reflection. He was standing behind me, staring in my direction.
I swallowed, my heartbeat steadily elevating in my chest as he began to move again, coming closer. Closer. Suddenly, I was watching his boots sweep in front of me. I felt his eyes on me, pressing in on me with a curious gaze. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t utter a sound. Just stood there. But I could sense the strange emotion ebbing off of him, maybe a sudden flux of irritation or bloodlust at the sight of me.
I didn’t understand why he kept looking at me.
I kept my eyes on the floorboards, gripping the sides of my seat, too fearful to look up.
We were supposed to smile at all guests, but how was I to work up a grin with the great Alpha glowering at me from inches away?
My heart stammered.
Did I annoy him? Was it because I was too ugly and strange for the display box?
My breath quivered. I wanted to cry.
One of the aunts spoke up, “Oh, are you interested in a slave, my Alpha? I can assure you, we have a very nice selection of virgins.”
Chapter 3
VALERIE
Certified virgin slaves were a rare commodity, because it was difficult to ensure a girl was intact. Werewolves didn’t know much about human anatomy, and they didn’t care to invest the time into checking each and every one of us. But the girls at this particular shop were extracted from The Cell—a place where underage humans were imprisoned until they reached the ripe age of sixteen.
For most of us, there was no chance to ruin ourselves. In fact, for most of us, it had been a decade since we saw a human boy in person.
I was brought to The Cell at thirteen-years-old. They stuck me in that place for three years, before I was transported here, to Lockheart Botique—a small slave emporium in the market district. Sixteen was not the age of purchase for a slave, but rather, the age where we first began our lessons. We were taught how to provide for our masters, how to please them, and how to act as good service for the rest of our lives. The aunts wanted us well-prepared before we reached the proper selling age of eighteen. After all, a slave’s attitude toward their master was their most important attribute.
Since the new Alpha took reign, this practice had stopped. Now, slaves had to be eighteen before they were traded at all. The other slaves thought of this as a blessing. But I did not find much mercy in it.
At least in The Cell, we were safe from the potential masters who stalked our store front, hungrily eying girls like they were meat on hooks.
I tried not to meet the Alpha’s eyes as I felt his gaze boring into me. I was afraid if I glanced him in the face, my expression would be red-hot with anger.
If he was truly the blessed Alpha everyone thought him to be, he would have eliminated slavery altogether. He was no better than the others.
He was no hero to us.
The Alpha glanced past my shoulder to Aunt Louis. “What’s her background?” he asked.
Of course, Aunt Louis thought he was referring to Ashley. Fair-haired, light-eyed slaves like her were best-sellers.
“Oh, you’re a fan of blondes? Well, this here is one of the new girls. The cell sent her here just a week ago,” said Aunt Louis. “She’s clean, I can assure you. But I do believe we have more suitable girls in the back of the store. We don’t put them on display until the busy seasons. Let me show you—“
“No,” said the Alpha. “This one.” His hard eyes slid over to me and stuck on my face like thorns. It was only then that I realized I was looking directly at him. My heart sank and I tore my gaze away, watching a grow whip past the window to snatch a worm up from a puddle.
Lucky worm, I thought. How I would give anything to be snatched up and eaten by a bird right now.
“O-oh,” said Aunt Louis. “Well, certainly I have more just like her. I’ll go fetch one of a more…acceptable breed.”
“No,” said the Alpha. “I want to know about her. What do you mean by ‘acceptable breed’?”
“W-well,” Aunt Louis stammered, “I’m afraid she’s not clean. Her parents were criminals.” She came closer and lifted my wrist with a jerk to show The Alpha the wristband I wore.
The mark of filth.
To be unclean meant I had been related to one of the various crimes committed against werewolves during the war.
This, however, was a lie.
Wolves accused my parents of heinous things and killed them without evidence and without hesitation. They were not criminals, and I was not the child of criminals, but I wore the band anyway. I could not take it off if I tried; it had wrapped around my wrist and melded at the metal chain. It was only to be broken by my future master.
To wolves, this wristband signified that I was unworthy of purchase—but it was also as good as a sales tag, announcing a lower price for my purchase than the other girls. Even still, no one wanted me.
“I asked you what her background was,” said the Alpha with a bite of impatience.
“I’ll go get her records,” Aunt Rita volunteered, scuttling to the back of the room.
“We keep records of all the girls,” Aunt Louis assured the Alpha. “Our policy is transparency.
Aunt Rita rushed to a locker in the back of the room and pried open a drawer full of organized files. Several of the other aunts fluttered over to help her. I had never seen them in such disarray before, but I supposed it was to be expected. Time was of the essence with all customers, but the Alpha was a special case. To keep the Alpha waiting would put them in very bad lighting.
And after all, this was the first time he had ever visited the shop. For the Aunts, it could be the only chance they had to make an impression on him, which seemed difficult given that they were all nervous wrecks.
It was all quite funny to me. I could have easily spit out my name, my background, what happened before I arrived in the Cell and who my family was. But slaves were not allowed to speak in front of buyers—and to do so in front of such a prestigious wolf would be the end of me.
“Number one-two-seven…number one-two-seven…” Rita was muttering in a panic. Then she drew a file from the drawer. “Found it! Number one-two-seven!” She crossed the store, splaying the file open in her hands. “Number one-hundred-and-twenty-seven. Valerie Davis. Her parents were executed during the second raid on the human town named Westshield, fifty miles from Orheroad.”
I felt myself flinch at the word executed. At the memories of my hometown. Of home. My eyes settled on the floorboards at my feet.
“What was the meaning of their execution?” asked the Alpha.
“According to this, they were accused of…” she hesitated, flipping to another page. “They were accused of…” There was a pause. Then Aunt Rita continued, “Missing.”
“Missing?” asked the Alpha. “What do you mean by missing?”
“It isn’t here,” said Rita, a bead of sweat suddenly forming on her brow. She flipped and flipped, then looked up with a lost expression. “The records don’t show the accusations on her parents.”
I let out a deep, aching breath. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to laugh or cry. How ridiculous. The court had yet to decide what crime my parents had committed, and yet…it had been years since their slaughter.
It made no sense. Each and every human found guilty of a crime had an accusation and a sentencing. There were so many ways to be sentenced for crimes against wolves; killing a werewolf, attacking one, engaging in a plot meant to harm wolves. No matter what the reason, wolves always made certain that humans faced the cruelest punishment available. They were ruthless in our sentencing.
But they were not the smartest of the races. Errors were made often in the judicial system.
It was nothing to werewolves—not even a mistake worth looking into. But to me, it was my entire life. It was my family.
The Alpha’s shadow swept over the floorboards at my feet. I realized he was moving closer. Trying to get a look at me.
But he remained silence.
So that’s the end, I thought.
Then, suddenly, I felt his fingers beneath my chin. Strong but gentle, he lifted my gaze from the floor and forced it upon his.
“Tell me. What had your parent’s done?”
أُوكَازيُون
أُوكَازيُون
أُوكَازيُون
أُوكَازيُون
