Chapter 3 - Liz

Bound and blindfolded, I’m paraded before a crowd that sees me not as a person but as a prize to be won. Angry tears stream down my cheeks. Fury floods through me, wild and hot and primal. How have these men found the audacity to buy and sell people? Disgust roils through me. There has to be someone to punish for this. Someone has to pay.

I”ve been held... wherever this is for a week now. At least, I think it”s been a week. They”ve kept me in a locked room with no window or natural light to tell the passage of time. I”ve been forced to sleep on a concrete floor in the corner of the barren room, naked and always guarded. No one speaks to me. The only contact I”ve had is with the guards or the female attendants who bring food and water once a day. And I use the word “food” loosely. It”s hard to stomach day after day of half a bowl of leftover broth and stale bread. I”m a wolf. We need meat to stay strong and healthy.

No matter how many times I”ve demanded to know where I am or why I”m being held prisoner, I don”t get any answers. I”ve kicked and clawed at the guards, but it”s pointless. I”m alone and at the mercy of my captors. I even tried to escape once. It wasn’t difficult. Having lived on my own for so long, picking locks and finding a quick way out is something I had to get good at to survive, but it only led me to beatings once they caught me. I haven’t gotten a good enough lay of this place to find the best route out without being seen, but I’m keeping my eyes peeled.

There’s one man who seems to run this place, and nobody ever says his name. He’s short and spindly, and he’s always wearing some ridiculously eccentric outfit that’s better suited for a circus. Maybe that’s what this is, at the end of the day. An absurd show where the humans try to tame the deadly beasts they’ve captured from the wild.

In all the time I’ve been here, I’ve never once seen one of his lackeys talk back to him, no matter how much bigger they are. He reminds me of one of those old gangers in the movies. He doesn’t need to be massive to be terrifying. My guess is he’s spent a lifetime proving just how far he’s willing to go to get what he wants, and now his reputation is all he needs to keep people in line.

Still, it’s difficult not to get disheartened. My cheeks are wet with rage-tinged tears. I”ve been starved for too long, and I”m weakened. I despise weakness.

When they finally hauled me into another room and slapped some makeup on my bruises, I was too exhausted to fight. They eventually gave me clothes, and although they”re tiny jean shorts and a barely-there white crop top, it”s better than letting my tender parts swing in the open air.

When the auctioneer carts me onto a stage, I hear mumbles and murmurs from people congregating somewhere nearby. I can”t see anything, but the noises tell me this is a crowded room. All male voices. These men take great delight in reducing me to nothing. I feel like livestock. A piece of meat or property to be bargained.

As the bidding picks up, I listen closely to the voices in the hope of distinguishing how many men I”m up against. Ten, maybe twelve? If only I were bigger, stronger. But I”ve already been weakened by malnourishment and lack of movement. Every inch of me hurts. My swollen eyes throb with every bump, and my legs ache beneath my weight.

”Just look at the hips on this one,” the announcer declares, lifting the short hem of my shorts to display the curve of my hip. His fingers graze the bottom of my ass as he whirls me around to face the crowd once more. ”Any one of you men would be lucky to breed with such fine stock.”

A man in the crowd shouts, ”Let”s have a look at those tits!”

Red-hot flames lick through my body, followed by chills. Then anger, mortification, sickness. This is all too much. I try to move my hands, to wiggle out of the restraints, but the friction only makes my wrists sting.

The seller flips me around again and pulls my crop top up to my neck, exposing my breasts. ”You like ”em, boys? ”Cause there”s plenty to go around,” he continues, grabbing my chest, jiggling it up and down. I sob, even as the wolf in me has been feral, ready to bite and kill. My mouth hangs open in shock, and I tremble in rage, too stunned and too tired to shift.

He runs a hand down my neck and along my shoulder. ”This specimen is a real pretty gal. Tan skin, fiery spirit, and gorgeous tits, just the way you men like it.”

The competition grows heated and chaotic, and the number keeps rising. I don”t want to fall into the hands of any one of these men. At this point, I”m more likely to just kill myself if I”m captured. These men disgust me.

After a few minutes, the bidding slows as the auctioneer scans the room, seeming to sense the waning interest among the bidders. ”Let”s see what makes this one truly special, shall we?” he purrs.

I feel something tugging on the blindfold around my face, and the cloth falls away from my eyes. The sudden rush of light blinds me momentarily, and I blink, adjusting to the brightness. When my vision clears, I hear a collective gasp from the crowd.

”Look at her eyes, gentlemen,” the auctioneer boasts, a smirk evident in his voice. ”A mesmerizing shade of silver. Truly unique. And, I”m told when she shifts, her fur is the same shade as well.” He offers a condescending pat on the head. ”That”s no low-budget shifter for you, sirs.”

The focus on my eyes seems to ignite a renewed interest among the men. Their voices rise again, the bidding escalating with fervor.

”I”ll bid five million,” a voice calls out from the back, full of eagerness.

”Six million,” another man counters, his voice laced with greed.

The numbers continue to climb, each bid bringing me closer to a fate I dread more than anything. Nothing would please me more than to shed the shackles and tear these men apart with my teeth. I”m still trying to wiggle my fingers so I can wrench the bracelets off my wrists when a voice joins the fray, one I”ve heard shout several sums toward the stage. I turn to the right, wondering who owns such a deep, authoritative voice.

”Ten million dollars,” he says in a solid tone, his broad, towering form immediately capturing my attention.

The room falls silent. This man doesn”t just hold an air of confidence—he exudes it with ease. Some of the other buyers drop their bids and leave the room, presumably because they can”t beat his sum. Or maybe it”s because he”s the biggest, scariest-looking person in the room.

My captor nods his head, confirming this stranger”s bid. When no one else speaks, he says, ”Sold, for ten million dollars!”

Something tightens around my windpipe as reality sinks in. I”m sold. I”m no longer a person. Just an object—a trophy to be owned and used. The ground feels like it”s falling out from underneath me. This isn”t real. It can”t be real. It must be some kind of fucked-up nightmare. Any minute now, I”ll wake up, safe and tucked into my bed in my tiny run-down apartment. The one my stupid boss kicked me out of.

But as I blink and blink and blink, the cruel reality remains. This is actually happening, and all I can do is watch it unfold. My stomach does backflips as I”m yanked off the stage, my feet barely touching the ground as the burly guards pull me along. I kick and scream, thrashing my entire body from side to side, but it”s no use. My fury might make me a hellion, but it”s nothing compared to a whole heap of built-up testosterone and muscle mass.

Still, I spit and curse and threaten them, hissing as loud as my voice will carry. Any words, foul or kind, are ignored as they drag me down a shadowy stairwell that leads upward. At the top, one of them kicks open a door, and we step out into the night. The ground beneath my feet changes from concrete to soft earth as they lead me toward a large, pale-colored tent at the rear of the auction venue.

Inside, six other female shifters are lined up at the far end of the room. They”re all chained and restrained, just the same as me, and I realize they must be other prisoners. I”m dragged to the end of the row and forced to sit on the floor. Someone, presumably one of the guards, tells me, ”Wait here until your master comes to collect you.”

Master? Oh, hell no. I”ll chew his eyes out before I let him call himself my master.

Despite the chains, I leap to my feet and charge toward the exit, not giving a shit about the cries and warnings behind me. The guards can”t keep me caged forever. There has to be an escape. I launch myself forward with all the strength I have.

Something crashes into my head from behind, and the blow sends me reeling. I land flat on my face, groaning in pain. Rough hands flip me over, and someone hooks their arm under mine, yanking me upright with startling strength.

Fists crunch into my jaw, sending me backwards and leaving me seeing stars. Another strike lands squarely in the center of my chest, and I feel my bones crack as I topple back onto the ground.

”That”s enough!” I hear a man shout, and I recognize it as the man who gave the winning bid. ”I don”t want my new shifter in pieces, you idiots,” he adds.

The guard raises his fist to hit me once more, and I flinch away, but the mysterious man intervenes, grabbing him by the wrist. ”I said that”s enough,” he repeats, giving the man”s hand a crushing squeeze that elicits a yelp.

I don”t have a chance to look at the man before the announcer scurries into the tent and bows obsequiously, ”I apologize for the trouble, sir. Please, right this way. We”ll settle up, and you can bring your prize home to enjoy.”

The guard shoves me away from the men and leads me back to where the others are, though this time, I”m no longer seated with them. For whatever reason, I”ve been separated from the rest, set slightly to the side and nearer to the wall. Probably so they can keep a closer watch on me.

My ears are still ringing, and everything hurts, especially my face. With blood trickling from my mouth, I lean back against the tent wall and close my eyes. To call today the worst day of my life would be an understatement. Yet, the day isn”t over. I still have to go home with this brute who thinks it’s his right to own another person.

”I don”t have the ten million on me right now,” I overhear the man in the other corner of the room say. He”s too far away for me to see him clearly, but his deep voice rattles me to the core.

”We don”t take credit cards, sir,” the announcer says dismissively. ”As you can imagine, we prefer to leave no paper trail.”

”I”m well-aware of the measures you take to conceal your presence,” the winning bidder says. ”And I”m sure you understand that one doesn”t walk around with that sort of cash in their wallet. In truth, I wasn”t planning to purchase today. I can for the view, but, well, I couldn”t resist.”

The auctioneer starts to snap back, but the winning bidder interrupts. ”In two hours, the money will be in your account. With a sizeable tip, of course.”

”Two hours?” the auctioneer says, drumming his fingers impatiently. ”And what sort of collateral would you like to offer in the meantime? I hope you realize we can”t simply allow you to abscond with one of our premium shifters without assurances.”

”Naturally,” the man returns. From his coat pocket, he draws out a bulging white bag, presumably filled with cash. ”How about we start with this?”

My stomach twists into knots at the mere sight of the bag. This is how the wealthy throw their money around? Have a big stack of bills on hand so you can buy a person on a whim? A hundred thousand here, a million there. No big deal. That sort of casual affluence disgusts me.

”I’m not sure if this will suffice,” the announcer says with a frown, but he still stows the sack away. ”But I will certainly check with the man in charge.”

The auctioneer slides his phone out of his pocket and texts with one hand. With his other hand, he snaps his fingers at one of the guards and waves him away. The guard comes to me, still shackled to the ground, and clambers down to pry the steel cuffs off me. As the second lock clicks open, the guard starts to drag me by the elbow and forces me to follow him away from the other shifters and toward the stranger. I open my mouth to protest, but the pain is too much. I feel faint, my heart hammering against my sternum.

”We”ve limited her food and water intake for the past week,” the monster who has held me captive explains. ”She”s been sufficiently weakened to give you time to start her training before she can shift. We can recommend a fantastic man to help you break her.”

Every nerve in my body bursts into flames, and I feel a pang of hatred so intense, it renders me motionless. I never thought I could despise someone with every fiber of my being, but when I look at this smarmy piece of shit who”s done nothing but degrade me since my capture, I know I could choke the life out of him with my bare hands and feel no remorse.

”That won”t be necessary, thank you,” the stranger replies curtly, seemingly unconcerned with my trembling, unsteady posture. My knees buckle, but the guard hoists me back into position.

Now that I”m close, I get a good look at the winning bidder—the man who can afford to throw money at me like it”s a game. In that moment, I have never hated anything or anyone more.

His penetrating eyes are focused on the auctioneer, and I take a moment to scope out my buyer. He”s taller than the other men in the room, about six foot three, with a hard, sturdy frame. Square jaw, chiseled chin, the fullest lips I”ve ever seen on a man. His short, reddish-brown hair and flawless complexion remind me of a model—broad, perfect, and unattainable. Given how weak I am, my senses aren”t what they usually are, but there”s a faint musk coming from him that makes me think...

No. No way would one shifter buy another. I must just be picking up on the other girls in the corner.

Without warning, his mesmerizing pale green eyes shift to me as if he senses my gaze, and all the heat drains from my face. I rip my stare away, hoping my inspection wasn”t obvious, but I”m certain he knows the entire world is under his command. Nothing escapes his notice.

Two prominent dimples carve into his cheeks when his expression turns a shade warmer. There”s a sort of rugged, caveman quality to his dark veneer, and I suddenly feel self-conscious in my crop top and booty shorts, the stupid, skimpy outfit the auction house supplied. I look like a prostitute, and he”s drinking it in.

At that moment, I”ve never been more determined to get away from him. I won”t be his toy, no matter how rich and handsome he is. I don”t know how I”m going to escape, but I will. It might take months or even years, but I”ll find a way.