The Auction

Asher’s POV

The stone platform was cold under my bare feet.

They had dragged us up onto the hard marble, even Damian, and forced us onto our knees in front of a sprawling, tiered amphitheater. Rich Alphas sat on velvet benches, casually drinking expensive whiskey from crystal glasses. Their eyes moved over us like we were cattle waiting to be slaughtered. Refined. Arrogant. Very specific about the kind of meat they wanted to buy.

The leader of the Zarithians stepped to the center of the stage and spread his dirty arms wide.

“Welcome, distinguished guests, to the seventieth Grand Auction of Athdal Haven!”

A low murmur ran through the crowd, but I barely heard it. My heart was slamming against my ribs. Almost immediately I felt the weight of dozens of Alpha gazes lock onto me. Their eyes dragged over my skin. I pressed my knees tighter against the marble, trying to make myself smaller, but the short iron chain on my collar kept my head forced up for them to look at.

The scavenger walked down the line and stopped in front of Damian. He grabbed the back of Damian’s shirt and yanked him forward.

“First up! A young, capable male from the Eastern border lands! Healthy, obedient, and built for labor!”

Silence settled over the amphitheater. The Alphas took slow sips of their drinks, completely unimpressed. No one raised a hand. Damian stood there with his jaw locked, shoulders stiff, breathing fast while the seconds dragged on.

“Do I hear fifty pieces of gold?” the Zarithian called.

Nothing.

“Going once…”

Damian squeezed his eyes shut.

“Going twice…”

“One hundred pieces of gold,” a rasping voice said from the second row.

Everyone turned. An old woman sat in a shadowed box, face lined with deep wrinkles, eyes milky with age, wrapped in velvet furs.

“One hundred pieces of gold to the Matriarch!” the scavenger barked. He didn’t even wait for a higher offer. He slammed his wooden mallet down with a loud crack.

“SOLD!”

Two guards lunged forward, grabbed Damian’s chains, and dragged him off the platform. As he passed me he caught my eye and gave a small, brief smile of pure relief. After three years rotting in a dark cell, he was finally getting out of Athdal Haven. I watched him disappear into the exit corridor and then I was alone on the cold stage.

The Zarithian stepped back and pointed his filthy finger straight at me.

“Next! A rare, high-blood Omega from the royal lines of the East!” His voice rose with excitement. “Look at the skin! Flawless! Look at those eyes! A prize fit for any master’s bed chambers!”

The energy in the room shifted instantly. A low, hungry hum moved through the crowd. Almost every hand went up at once.

“Two hundred gold coins!” an old Alpha in the front row shouted, slamming his glass on the railing.

“Two hundred and fifty!” another noble called from the upper balcony, leaning over the stone ledge to get a better look.

Panic flooded through me like hot poison. I thrashed against the chains locking my hands behind my back. The metal bit deep into my wrists and left fresh trails of blood. I was being sold like a prized animal in front of a room full of monsters who only wanted to break me.

“Going for two hundred and fifty pieces of gold…” the scavenger raised his mallet. “Do I hear three…”

“Five hundred pieces of gold,” a scarred Alpha said from the back. His voice was deep and rough. He stood up, adjusting a heavy mink cloak, and smirked down at me. “The boy is mine.”

The crowd went quiet for a second, surprised by the jump. The Zarithian smiled, showing yellow, rotten teeth, and lifted the mallet higher.

“Five hundred pieces of gold! Going once! Going…”

“Two thousand pieces of gold and one thousand pieces of silver for that Omega.”

The booming voice cut through the air like a war horn. The entire amphitheater went dead silent.

A towering man stepped out from the main arched entrance. He was massive, built like a mountain of pure muscle, wearing heavy obsidian iron armor and a bloodred cape that dragged across the marble. A long, ugly scar ran from his left eye down to his jaw, making him look like a wild beast forced into human skin.

Every noble in the room stood up at once. Chairs scraped. Glasses were set down. One by one the wealthy Alphas bowed their heads in deep, terrified respect.

“Welcome, Warlord Hoax of the West,” the lead Zarithian stuttered. His arrogance vanished as he dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead to the floor.

The West.

The words sank into my skin like ice. The land of shadows, blood, and dark magic.

Warlord Hoax paid no attention to the bowing crowd. His iron boots echoed against the marble as he walked straight onto the platform and stopped in front of me. His presence was suffocating.

He leaned down and inspected me without any softness. His gloved hand grabbed my jaw and tilted my face from side to side under the torchlight. His thumb dug into my cheek, forcing my mouth open so he could look at my teeth, my skin, my silver eyes with cold, precise interest.

I glared up at him through tears of pain and tried to pull away, but his grip was pure steel.

Hoax let out a low, satisfied grunt and released my jaw. He wiped his glove on his cloak like I was covered in dust, then looked down at me with a dark, cruel glint in his eye.

“You’re going to the palace,” he said flatly.

My heart dropped straight into my stomach and shattered. The palace. The dark, impenetrable fortress of the Western Kingdom.

I wasn’t just being sold into slavery.

I was being sent straight into the lion’s den… to live, serve, and rot in the exact same place as King Alpha Xorax, the monster who had ripped my wolf spirit out of my chest when I was only a baby and ruined my life forever.