Chapter 2 - Fisher

Beneath the moon’s watchful eye, I tread silently through foreign territory, taking in the sights and sounds of a section of the woods between my home and where I”ve just left. My paws ache from the miles traveled, but pride swells within me. I’ve carried out my alpha’s order and delivered a message to a neighboring pack”s alpha, one that required a face-to-face meeting to leave no room for misinterpretation. Stardust Hollow will not be undermined by any other pack, allies or otherwise. This was a new pack that recently formed, and while threats may not be necessary yet, it never hurts to establish those types of boundaries right from the start.

Facing new terrain will never scare me. I love a challenge, and running new routes gives me a sense of satisfaction. The idea of being lost never bothers me, as I”m confident in my ability to find my way. Nature is my strongest ally, and I always follow my instincts, for they never lead me astray. Sure, it”s a long walk, but I”m not afraid of hard work. As a laborer in the lumber yards, I spend most of my days hauling logs and other heavy objects. At times, the work is tedious, but my physical strength has never left me wanting. I work beside humans and shifters alike, and despite the obvious differences, I get along with just about everyone.

Only a few hours from home, my wandering has led me to unfamiliar territory and, to my delight, an unfamiliar path. I breathe in the scent of the air, drinking in the sights of untouched forests and secret trails. After all the traveling I”ve done over the last few days, this is what I really needed. A day with nowhere to go but through nature”s playground and beautiful lands. Because of my job, I work in a confined space most of the time, and while I wouldn’t trade my job for anything else, there”s a comfort that comes from allowing my wolf to roam free. It feels good to stretch my legs.

My brown fur looks just like the surroundings, helping me blend in seamlessly with the scenery. I slow my pace, lifting my nose into the air to get a sense of where I am and where I should go. I find hints of a different scent on the wind, tantalizing and foreign, though it lacks the potency of a shifter. Curiosity rises in me as I make my way toward the promise of something fresh and new. The closer I get, the more some primal urge—some unspoken sense of guidance—calls to me, beckoning me to follow. I heed this feeling, as it”s gotten me out of danger before.

I sniff around the foot of a mountain, noting an eerie sensation that fills my chest. The path I”m on gradually leads me downhill, and as I descend further, the trees give way to a clearing, revealing a concrete structure partially hidden by overgrown vines and foliage. Unlike the natural surroundings, this structure is modern and out of place. The moonlight reflects off the weathered stones, lending enough illumination for me to make out an old rickety door with no knob. Intrigued and wary, I approach the entrance, noting the absence of any markings or signage to indicate its purpose. The door stands slightly ajar, as if inviting me in.

Shifting back to human, I take a set of clothes out of the bag I”ve been carrying around my neck. I dress myself before I brush aside a snarl of vines and take a few careful steps inside the structure. The place is dark, and the concrete floor leads straight to a staircase that winds downward. The air is stale and tinged with the scent of disinfectant and something unpleasant that I can”t quite make out. Flickering fluorescent lights hang from the ceiling, most of the bulbs shattered or dim. My pulse quickens as I silently make my way down the stairs and into what is clearly a hidden underground bunker of some sort.

As I venture deeper into the dungeon, the sterile surroundings give way to rows of prison cells lining the corridor. Each cell is equipped with a reinforced steel door and a small observation window that”s too filthy to see through.

Suspicion and dread wind tightly through my core, and my anxiety rises. Whatever this place is meant for can”t be good. It doesn”t feel right in here.

Slowly, I approach one of the cells and use the back of my hand to wipe away enough of the filth caked onto the window. Inside is a single concrete room devoid of any furnishings or accommodations for basic needs and comfort.

What the hell is this place?

The dungeon is unsettling and has the coppery scent of old blood, but I push on, determined to find out what lies beyond the cells and down the long, dark hallway. I have a sickening sense of foreboding in the pit of my stomach, but there”s an unexplainable sense of duty pulling me forward, pushing me deeper into the underground prison. My hackles are raised as I continue deeper into the maze. I can smell things, unsettling and foul things, and they set my body on edge.

What I stumble upon nearly has my heart leaping into my throat.

After rounding a corner, a wide doorway leads into a large, crowded room with wooden floors and bright lighting. Rows and rows of foldout chairs sit parallel to a wall of windows, which look into what appears to be an arena, reminding me of a cage fight club. A bar separates the spectating chairs from the rest of the area, and a long table is set up near the opposite end. There”s even a stage, or maybe “altar” is a more accurate word for it since it looks like something important should be put on display there.

I shuffle cautiously into the room, my senses assaulted by the mixture of colognes and expensive cigars, the stench blocking out any other smells. The crowd is a sea of high-profile men—politicians, industrialists, business moguls, even some movie stars and musicians. The wealthy and powerful all gathered together. I recognize almost every one of them, and the ones I don”t know still give off the impression that they belong here. Every one of them is in a tailored suit, their faces polished, and they”re flanked by more men dressed the same who escort them through the front doors and to their seats. I tug at my shirt, realizing I stick out like a sore thumb in my t-shirt and jeans, and sink back into the corner to observe.

Plush velvet curtains drape the walls, and ornate rugs cushion the footsteps of the attendees. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling, and a fleet of servers wait at the ready. Waiters in bow ties and suspenders carry trays of drinks and appetizers.

Heading into the place is a man in a black tuxedo. His face is clean-shaven, and he wears sunglasses with rose-colored lenses. He moves with the subtle swagger of a distinguished gentleman, his hands relaxed and at his sides, his posture relaxed and confident. I remember seeing him on the cover of Forbes. He’s an arrogant, eccentric billionaire with an unsavory history of dealings and shady practices.

He steps to the front of the pack and stops just in front of the stage. Everyone must sense some shift in the room as they all grow quiet and give the man their attention. It’s pretty clear he runs this show, and even if he isn’t the biggest man in the room, the way everyone watches him tells me he’s dangerous.

He lifts one hand, and a hush falls across the crowd. The stage is silent and still. ”Ladies and gentlemen, gather ”round! We have a special treat for you tonight,” he announces with a sinister grin. ”A rare find. A beauty with a spirit as wild as the wind!”

The crowd leans forward, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. The presenter gestures to his assistant, and she wheels out a metal cart with a tarp thrown over the top. As she removes the covering, my mouth runs dry. A woman is inside, naked with leather straps keeping her arms and legs tied down. It”s hard to make out through the smell of cigars and cologne, but I could swear I smell...

She”s a shifter! I”d bet my life on it.

I”ve stumbled upon something vile, something that reeks of exploitation and cruelty. But what can I do? I”m just one wolf against a roomful of predators.

”This little vixen is young, feisty, and oh so delicious,” the presenter continues, and the crowd of onlookers presses closer, their faces hungry as they stare at the poor girl. ”Fresh from the forest and caught just yesterday.”

The presenter gives the girl a proprietary pat on the head. With her dark, matted curls and livid expression, she looks feral, savage, and cornered. The stage resembles a ring, the announcer reminds me of a ringmaster, and the captive a dejected beast. My stomach feels full of cold, hard rocks.

My first thought is to bust in and pummel the owner and the assholes for taking advantage of my kind in such a horrendous way, but my good judgment prevails. I”m alone and without backup. I”m in unfamiliar territory and don”t know the game and how far these people might go to cover their tracks. I can”t put myself in danger or risk my life if I can”t guarantee the safety of the captives, I know that. I hate it, but I know it.

”Let’s start the bidding at ten thousand.”

As the bidding starts, the crowd”s excitement reaches a fever pitch. The men call out their offers, and in the center of the room, the woman is thrashing, kicking, and struggling with all her might. Her eyes meet mine for a fleeting moment, a silent plea that cuts through me like a blade. I hate that I can”t do anything to help her. A chain squeezes around my heart as fury swells and churns in my gut.

The bidding quickly climbs, surpassing seventy thousand dollars, and as the seconds tick by, someone waves, jumping up the stakes. I hang back, aghast to see this spectacle.

”Do I hear ninety-five thousand?” the announcer asks, his voice dripping with excitement. ”My, my, this little lady has put on quite the show tonight, hasn”t she? Let”s go to ninety-six thousand? Do I hear ninety-six? You, there in the brown tux.”

The man in question strokes his beard, frowning thoughtfully before tapping his index finger against the bidding paddle. ”Ninety-eight thousand,” he says, his mouth quirking up into a frown.

To my horror, the auction continues until the price hits the 100K mark. When the announcer calls the bidding for this particular “specimen” to a close, the man who won comes around to feel the woman, assessing her curves and size, fondling her chest like a piece of meat and the like. The men onstage don”t move to stop him, nor do they seem to be paying him much attention.

The presenter’s assistant wheels the woman’s cage back behind stage, and the spotlight shifts. A hush falls over the room as a new woman emerges, escorted by two imposing men. She”s tall and curvy, with chestnut hair. There’s a black silk blindfold covering her eyes, but I”d place her in her mid-twenties, although it”s hard to tell from this distance. She”s dressed in torn, frayed denim shorts and a white crop top. Her bare feet are filthy.

Someone has applied some cosmetics to her face. Concealer to disguise the cuts and bruises, though it does a poor job. Mascara is smudged just below the fabric covering her eyes. She’s wearing bright red lipstick, and her hair has been brushed to a sheen.

She looks so helpless, so helpless, so...defeated. But even in this state, she”s stunning. My wolf perks up at the sight of her, and I straighten my posture. Every instinct is pushing me to save this woman.

She moves her head around as if she’s trying to get the lay of the land through the blindfold. These men are monsters looking to treat her like some form of property. They”re ruthless creatures with hearts made of ice. And there”s no way in hell I”m going to let them have her.

”Ladies and gentlemen, feast your eyes on our next prize,” the announcer declares, his voice tinged with a predatory glee. ”We even have a name for this one. Introducing Elizabeth Dane, a lone shifter without a pack to claim her. She”s a rare gem, untamed and unclaimed, which makes her incredibly valuable.”

Bidding commences, and even though some part of me realizes I should keep a low profile and avoid discovery, I can”t resist the urge to leap to the front of the crowd. Elizabeth Dane, an orphaned shifter. Something inside me stirs at her name, and I recognize the stirring as protectiveness. A gut feeling urges me to act.

”We”ll start the bidding for this exquisite specimen at fifty thousand dollars,” the announcer continues, a sly grin spreading across his face.

Before I can even think, my hand shoots up, signaling a bid of fifty-five thousand dollars. Everyone turns their attention toward me, including the woman. As the heat of the spotlight bears down on me, it takes every shred of self-restraint to remain calm and in control.

”Sixty thousand dollars,” a gentleman in the back calls out.

I”m not as wealthy as these men. I haul wood for a living, for crying out loud, but I do live comfortably. And since I live on my own, my expenses are low, which has given me the chance to put a good chunk of money aside. Up until now, I had no idea what I might use it for. This seems like a worthwhile cause.

Another man raises his paddle for seventy thousand.

Gritting my teeth, I raise my hand again, signaling a bid of eight thousand. The man stares back at me in a challenge, and a fire ignites inside my core. After holding his stare for a moment, he growls under his breath and averts his gaze. One down, at least. I turn my attention back to the presenter, hoping nobody else comes to raise it higher.

”I have an offer for eighty thousand!” he announces. There are a few disgruntled murmurs from the crowd.

”Do I hear eighty-one? Eighty-two? Come, gentlemen, don”t let your prize slip away!”

Finally, the man who originally bid against me steps forward. ”One hundred thousand!” he calls, a smug smirk plastered to his pudgy face. It takes everything inside of me not to punch him in the throat.

I’ve got 90k left at my disposal. Am I willing to spend all of my money to save a total stranger?

Fuck yes, I am.

”One hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars,” I say in a booming voice, effectively silencing the auction.

Murmurs pass between the onlookers. I might not be loaded, but what I have is all for this purpose. I”ve made a promise to my wolf, and I intend to keep it. I will protect Elizabeth Dane with my life.