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CHAPTER 1
~Rhiannon's POV~
I shouldn't have crossed the border.
I knew it the instant the wind shifted, the moment the warm, feral scent hit the back of my throat, thick with musk, blood, and something anciently different.
Wolves.
Not the ones whispered about in bedtime stories. Not the shapeshifters in romance novels or the cursed princes in old fairy tales.
These were real. Wild. Territorial. Pack wolves. The kind that didn't warn you twice. The kind that would rip out your throat just for stepping where you didn't belong.
I bolted.
My boots slipped on the damp moss, slick and treacherous beneath me as I crashed through the underbrush. Twigs snapped underfoot. Leaves slapped my face. My heart hammered louder than my footsteps, drowning out thought, fear, everything.
I clutched the satchel at my side. It slammed against my hip with every step, the weight of the moonlotus root inside pulling me off balance.
I'd risked everything for it—climbing past border wards, dodging patrols, weaving through shadowed trees—because my father needed it. And now I was paying the price.
A howl tore through the woods behind me, sharp and savage. It wasn't distant anymore.
It was closer.
Too close.
Panic crawled up my spine like fire ants. I pushed harder, lungs burning with every gasp. Branches clawed at my arms and tore at my shirt, leaving lines of blood in their wake. My legs screamed in protest, but I couldn't stop. Not now. Not here.
I wasn't a soldier. I wasn't trained for this. I had no business being in this place. I'd crossed into wolf territory for a flower, and now they were hunting me for it.
A flash of silver moved through the trees ahead, and a massive figure leapt out—silver-eyed, low to the ground, muscles coiled and ready.
I tried to stop, but my feet slid on the moss. Quickly, with adrenaline pumping, I turned to run, but another blur shot out from the other side. My scream caught in my throat as something hit me at the back of my head with full force.
I went down hard.
My body slammed into the forest floor, the impact stealing my breath. Pain exploded in my side as sharp claws raked across my ribs. I tried to fight, to kick, but my limbs didn't move fast enough.
Suddenly, a heavy weight pressed me into the dirt.
And then—nothing.
By the time I partly came to, flashes, blurs, cold iron clamped around my wrists.
My arms yanked upward, stretched too far as my feet were dragged across the ground. Pain pulsed in every limb while the copper tang of blood filled my mouth.
A sudden scream filled the air, followed by another splash of cold water on my face.
I choked, coughing, the sting of it yanking me into consciousness.
Stone walls surrounded me—rough, ancient. Shadows flickered along the surfaces, thrown by torches mounted in iron sconces.
Chains rattled around as I moved—my neck, wrists and ankles. My feet stumbled forward, and I noticed I wasn't wearing any shoes or boots. They were bare and bruised, scraping against uneven stone.
The smell hit next—overpowering and raw. Wet fur. Blood. Sweat. Leather. And underneath it all, something heady and dangerous.
Desire.
Where was I?
No sooner had that thought crossed my mind than my body was pushed forward. My footsteps shifted from stone to the dull creak of wooden boards.
A looming set of stairs rose before me. I was half-dragged, half-pushed upwards until I fell forward through a large, long, thick drapery onto what seemed to be a stage.
Then the assault of light, which I did not see until a brutal hand yanked the rough hood from my head, and the sudden, searing brightness stabbed at my eyes.
I blinked rapidly, fighting the blurring edges of my vision, and as the shapes sharpened into focus, I saw them.
I heard them before I saw them. Dozens of voices, layered and indistinct.
Instantly, I could feel my skin crawl with the unnerving intensity from the sheer number of eyes—hundreds of predatory eyes staring at me like I was meat on a spit, making my skin flush with sudden heat.
I stood on a raised platform, barely dressed, shackled at the wrists and neck, in the centre of what could only be a grand auction hall.
Tiered balconies ringed the vast space, overflowing with figures draped in dark coats, shimmering silks and furs.
A voice rose above the noise, sharply oozing confidence.
"A rare species indeed… a female wolf," the voice boomed, and I felt my heart thud so loudly I feared it'd jump out of my chest. "She's going to the highest bidder."
My stomach dropped.
But then, worse than the voices in the room were the ones in my head. Hundreds of thoughts—foreign, invasive thoughts—slammed into my mind like iron spikes.
I gasped, my hands flying to my head, as if I could claw the thoughts out. They weren't mine. They didn't belong. But they filled my skull, layered and jumbled—rage, hunger, longing, desperation.
But even in the chaos, five distinct voices stood out—clearer, louder, more focused.
Five obsessions. Five minds that pierced through the noise and zeroed in on me like prey.
"She's no ordinary wolf, a rare breed."
"She's an alpha werewolf."
"This changes everything."
"We must win her."
"She's just like I saw her in my vision."
I tried to spot them, to find the eyes that matched the voices, but my vision spun. Everything tilted.
"Ten thousand dollars!" someone barked.
"Ten thousand what?!" I thought, my mind scrambling. I didn't even have ten dollars to my name, yet I was worth ten thousand more.
"Ten-five!" another shouted.
"Eleven thousand!"
I blinked, trying to make sense of this outrage. "Thirteen!"
"Fourteen-five!"
The crowd was a wildfire now—growing, feeding on itself. But the five I felt the most hadn't spoken. Not aloud.
Not yet, which made me wonder; how the hell were they planning on winning me over if they weren't bidding?
"Fifty thousand!"
"One hundred!"
Gasps echoed. Even the auctioneer paused, eyes gleaming with greed.
My legs trembled. Sweat ran down my spine in icy trails. The walls were closing in. Every breath I took felt stolen.
Then, from above—from the third tier of the room—a calm, smooth voice said, "Five hundred thousand."
Silence rippled through the space like a breathless hush.
Then another voice, deeper and rougher, rang out from the second floor. "Six hundred thousand."
A low but sharp chuckle followed, like someone sharpening a blade behind their teeth.
And in my head, thoughts flared again.
"He can't have her."
"Stop him."
"Do something."
"Why aren't any of you bidding? This could change everything if we have her."
The thoughts continued, and I winced, trying so hard to block them as a trickle of blood rolled down my nostril.
"Seven hundred thousand!"
The bid came fast, almost desperate. My heart pounded so loudly I could barely hear.
"Seven hundred going once… going twice…"
"Seven-twenty," another voice cut in, almost bored on the second floor. That was the man who bid 600 before.
I staggered under the weight of it all—bidding wars and psychic voices and something worse, something ancient, curling beneath my skin like a second heartbeat.
I could feel her within me, overwhelming me.
"Seven-twenty, going once… going twice…"
The auctioneer raised his gavel. Then—
"One million," came a final voice.
It dropped like a guillotine.
Cold. Controlled. Velvet-wrapped steel. It came from above, high in the rafters, drenched in power.
Every breath in the room stopped. The silence was absolute.
Then came the psychic storm.
"Mine."
"She's mine."
"I'll kill to have her."
"She belongs to me."
"To us."
"To no one but me."
The pressure in my skull shattered. I cried out, or maybe whimpered, unable to tell as my legs gave out and I dropped to my knees.
The last thing I heard was the gavel falling and a single word, "Sold."
Then blackness.