Sold To The Alpha Kings

I bite the Alpha’s throat before he can get the word “reject” out of his mouth, because I’ve been sold, collared, and called a peace bride for the last time.

His blood hits my tongue hot and wrong. Copper, winter, and something electric that tastes like the air before a storm tears the sky open. I expect him to howl, to throw me to the ground, to show the whole arena what happens to girls who draw Alpha blood. He doesn’t.

His wolf just stops.

The entire auction arena goes silent so fast I can hear my own heartbeat. Three thousand shifters in the stands, four Kings on the dais, and not one of them dares to breathe. The only sound is the wet thud of Rook Castiel dropping to his knees in front of me, his hand coming up to the bite on his throat like he can’t compute why it hurts.

Silver bleeds out of his eyes as he stares at me. Then gray. Then nothing. He hits the marble stage, and for six seconds, the Alpha of Dead Wolves is dead.

Rook Castiel. Necro-wolf. He buried his whole pack three years ago when Blood Rot took them, and now he rules the graveyard territory alone. They say his wolf died with them and he’s been piloting the corpse ever since. I just proved them wrong. I killed him, and for six seconds, he stayed dead.

“Is he dead?” someone screams from the crowd, but the words sound like they’re coming through water.

I spit his blood onto the white marble at my feet and watch it sizzle against the stone, eating into it like acid. My lips are burning from it, but I don’t wipe my mouth. I’m Nyx Varrow, nineteen, hybrid, unranked. My blood is the reason I’ve been locked in labs since I could walk, and I’m done being their experiment. “I’m not your peace bride,” I tell every wolf in this arena, my voice shaking because I’ve been silent for nineteen years and I’m finished being quiet. “And I’m not ending any war for you.”

On the sixth second, Rook sucks in a breath that cracks the silence. He doesn’t crawl or gasp. He just rolls his shoulders, looks at me, and laughs. It’s a broken, rusted sound that says he hasn’t had a reason to use it since he dug his pack’s graves. Necro-wolves don’t heal. They endure. Except he just died on stage, and now he’s looking at me like I brought him back.

That’s when the other three move.

Kain Draevor clears the bidding rail without touching it. Biotech-wolf. Alpha of Iron Fang. His pack owns every city, every lab, every patent on the serums they pumped into my veins as a kid. He grabs my jaw, forces my face up, and studies me like I’m a formula he got wrong. “Do you know what you are?” His thumb digs into my cheek, and he smells like money, antiseptic, and control.

A knife slams into the marble between us. Silas Blackmane steps out of the shadow with blood on his hands that isn’t his. Witch-wolf. Alpha of Hollow Spires. His mother was the High Witch who cursed my bloodline a hundred years ago, and his territory is all bone towers and old magic. When he speaks, his voice has an echo. “She’s mine. My mother’s blood runs in her veins.” The echo is her. The High Witch doesn’t die. She just moves into her sons.

Theo Cael doesn’t look at me. Sun-wolf. Alpha of Sunscorched. His eyes are sewn shut with black thread and silver rings because he burned them out to keep his prophecies from being stolen. His pack reads the future in fire. He turns his face toward my breathing. “She kills me in twenty-nine days,” he tells the crowd. “I came anyway.”

The auctioneer starts screaming about the Fifth Law, but Rook is already on his feet. He drags his thumb through the black blood on his throat, puts it in his mouth, and swallows. “Mine.” That’s the first claim. Necro-wolves claim by consuming.

Kain copies him. Two fingers into Rook’s bite, into my blood on his skin. He tastes it, and his pupils blow wide. Biotech-wolves claim through blood analysis. Whatever my blood just told him makes him step closer. “Mine.” That’s the second claim.

Silas drops to a knee and licks my blood off the marble where I spit it. Witch-wolves claim through ritual and spilled blood. When he stands, the echo is gone. “Mine.” That’s the third claim.

Theo finds my wrist without looking. Sun-wolves claim by scent and taste. He drags his tongue across the bite marks Rook’s guards left on me when they dragged me in. “Mine,” he whispers against my skin. That’s the fourth claim.

Four Alphas. Four claims. And because my blood breaks every law the Moon Goddess ever wrote, four mating marks sear into my neck at once.

The pain drops me. It feels like four hot brands, like my wolf — hybrid, furious, caged — is being chained to four graves at once. The last thing I hear before I black out is the priest screaming into a microphone.

“By blood and bond, the Fifth Law is triggered. Four Alphas, one Luna. Thirty days. Only one crown. Only one lives.”

I wake up chained in a circle.

Black stone room. No windows. Four beds around me. Four Alphas watching.

Rook is to my north, on his side, propped on his elbow. Dead Wolf King. My bite stopped his heart twice. He should be terrified of me. He looks at me like I’m the first thing that’s made him feel in three years. “Welcome to the Shifter Wars, little bride.”

“My name is Nyx,” I snarl, yanking the chain. It cuts my wrists. I smell witch and wolf and whatever Kain made in a lab.

Theo is to my east, sitting up, sewn eyes aimed at my voice. Prophet. Sun-wolf. “No,” he says softly. “Your name is Deadline. You kill me in twenty-nine days.”

Kain is to my south, in his suit, tablet in hand. Biotech-wolf. He made me. He doesn’t look up. “Her vitals are stabilizing. All four marks took. Hybrid anomaly confirmed. She’s the key and the poison.”

Silas is to my west, pacing. Witch-wolf. His mother’s voice slips out when he’s angry. “You killed him,” he says, and the echo is back. “My son was dead for six seconds because of you.”

“Good,” I tell him. “He was going to reject me.”

Rook moves. Necro-wolves don’t hesitate. He’s in front of me before I can flinch, on his knees, caging me in. He smells like grave dirt and ash and something alive underneath that’s just him. “I wasn’t going to reject you, hybrid,” he says, voice low. “I was going to make you beg to be mine.”

His hand comes to my throat, to the four marks still burning there. When his thumb strokes them, my spine bows. The bonds are live current. My wolf surges, and she wants him. She wants all of them, and it makes me sick.

“You feel that?” Rook’s mouth is a breath from mine. “That’s your blood calling to mine. Necro to hybrid. You woke my wolf up, Nyx. Now he’s starving.”

“You’re insane,” I whisper, but my thighs press together and the chain is the only thing keeping me from climbing him.

“I’ve been dead for three years,” he says. “You just gave me a pulse.” Then he kisses me.

It’s not soft. It’s war. Cold, then fire, then his tongue is in my mouth and I taste grave dirt and Alpha. I moan before I can stop it, and the sound makes him groan. My hands fist in his shirt. The chain rattles. My nipples are hard, my core is wet, and I hate that my body is betraying me for him.

Rook tears his mouth away, panting, and his eyes go silver to gray to nothing. He drops.

Dead. Again.

Three seconds.

He hits the stone at my feet, and I killed him. Again.

Then his chest heaves and he’s back, gasping, laughing, alive, staring at my mouth like it’s the only thing he wants to die for.

“Fuck,” Kain says, voice flat. “Her blood really does kill.”

Rook pushes up, feral, grinning, his eyes locked on my lips. “Do it again, Luna. Kill me again. And this time, I’ll make you cum while I’m dead.”