Chapter 4: The Dressing Room

Before we could even catch our breath or calm our racing nerves, the heavy back door of the transport was violently shoved open. Before I could blink, a pair of heavy hands grabbed me by the arms, dragging me roughly out into the harsh daylight.

"Move it, bitch," a guard barked.

A sharp, stinging slap hit my back, sending me stumbling hard against the gravel. Heat rushed to my face in a wave of burning humiliation as I scrambled to my feet, keeping my head down to avoid the sneering eyes of the surrounding pack enforcers.

The guard shoved us forward, leading us through a maze of sterile back hallways before pushing us into a brightly lit dressing room. The heavy door slammed shut behind us with a loud, metallic click. We stood frozen in confusion, our hearts pounding against our ribs.

That confusion vanished the instant the guard spoke.

"Strip," he spat, glaring at us with undisguised malice.

Beside me, I saw Maria start to tremble. Christopher instantly stepped in, pulling her protectively into his arms as a low, warning growl rumbled in his chest.

With a disgusted sneer, the guard tossed three small bundles of fabric at us. We scrambled to catch them. The moment the material landed in my arms, I shuddered in pure revulsion. It barely looked like clothing at all—just microscopic scraps of sheer fabric designed to leave nothing to the imagination.

For a split second, I looked around, wondering if my luck was just remarkably bad. But the moment I saw what Maria and Eleanore were holding, a hysterical bubble of laughter burst out of my chest.

Maria’s jaw was practically unhinged as she stared at the horrifying scrap in her hands—a web of transparent, paper-thin mesh designed to expose her entire chest, with only two tiny, pinprick embroidered dots to cover her nipples. Eleanore’s garment was even worse, a scandalous creation meant to leave her entire backside completely bare, supported entirely by a single, fragile string of gold thread.

Compared to their total exposure, the pale pink, lace-trimmed swimsuit lingerie I had caught looked almost decent. It featured a soft, pastel pink cup with a delicate white bow over the chest, a thick band of structured lace, and modest full-coverage bottoms that actually resembled a retro swimsuit.

Christopher’s face flushed an angry, burning crimson. I couldn't tell if it was from pure lust or blinding rage at seeing his mate half-naked. His amber eyes snapped over to my hands, taking in the fact that mine offered a significant amount of actual coverage compared to Maria's translucent nightmare. A cold knot of uneasiness formed in my stomach; I knew that look. I knew exactly where his protective, possessive instincts were heading.

"This is the least you can do. You caused this," Christopher said flatly, his voice devoid of warmth, glaring straight at my bundle.

Maria instantly spun around, striking his arm with a furious glare. "Say that one more time, I dare you," she hissed, her voice vibrating with raw anger.

Guilt clawed viciously at my throat. It was true—because of my mess, Maria was standing here humiliated, forced to wear something that stripped away her dignity. Christopher’s toxic loyalty was directed at protecting her, but watching them tear at each other broke my heart. Maria was already shaking, terrified of what the auction block would bring, and I couldn't bear the thought of her standing out there practically naked for hundreds of leering wolves to gawk at.

Before Christopher could demand it again, I stepped forward and thrust my pale pink set into Maria's hands.

"Take mine, Maria," I said firmly, blinking back tears. "You're already terrified, and I won't let you walk out there like that. I brought us into this nightmare—let me at least make sure you have some armor."

Maria stared at me in shock, her eyes swimming with emotion. "Seraphina, no, you can't—"

"I am," I interrupted, offering her a soft, reassuring smile. "Please."

Reluctantly, Maria swapped her transparent nightmare for my pale pink swimsuit. I looked down at the tiny, string-bound scraps of sheer, ice-blue lace I was now stuck with, a crushing weight of dread settling over my chest.

We all retreated to separate corners of the sterile room. Turning my back to the others, I quickly stripped off my rough tunic and slipped into the degrading outfit. When I pulled the baby-blue creation over my body, it settled high on my hips, stopping just beneath my buttocks. The cups were entirely see-through, save for dark blue lace that barely shadowed my nipples, held together by a web of thin, fragile strings. I had never felt so painfully, agonizingly naked in my entire life.

Minutes ticked by in heavy, suffocating silence. I curled into a tight ball on a small bench in the corner, desperately trying to cross my arms over my chest to hide my skin from the cold air. Eleanore didn't seem to mind her exposure nearly as much, standing tall with a look of fierce, unbothered defiance. Maria stood nearby, looking slightly more comfortable in the pink swimsuit set, safely tucked under Christopher's watchful, protective gaze while he murmured low, soothing comforts against her hair.

Truthfully, Eleanore and Maria looked striking, and Christopher cut an intimidating figure standing proudly in his crisp guard's uniform.

The heavy silence shattered when the door suddenly clicked open. A pack stylist and a burly guard marched into the room, the woman carrying a professional makeup box.

Without a word, the guard dragged Eleanore toward a chair, and the stylist immediately went to work, painting her face and pinning her hair into a sharp, submissive look designed to catch a buyer's eye.

One by one, we were cycled through the chair. When my turn finally came, the guard grabbed my arm, his eyes lingering on my exposed chest a second too long before shoving me down. As the stylist applied heavy makeup, her gaze kept darting up to my mismatched gray and blue-gray eyes in startled awe before she snapped herself back to work.

Finally, our transformations were complete.

The heavy steel door swung open once more, and a pair of enforcers barked at us to line up. With my heart hammering frantically against my ribs, I was shoved into a single-file line alongside Eleanore and Maria. We took our first agonizing steps out of the dressing room, marching down a long, dimly lit tunnel toward the deafening, beastly roar of the main amphitheater. The national wolf meeting was waiting on the other side, and our time had run out.