Sold To The Ruthless Lycan King

Lyra's POV

​"No! Please… not my daughter!"

​The desperate scream shattered against the heavy, stagnant air, but it didn't move a single soul in the market. No one cared.

​Crack!

​The sound of the barbed whip slicing through the heat made me flinch. Beside me, a middle-aged woman collapsed onto the splintered wooden platform. A dark crimson stain instantly bloomed across the back of her torn burlap dress, soaking into the fabric.

​"One more word," the slave trader snarled, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, "and I’ll cut out your tongue."

​Amused laughter rippled through the gathered crowd of nobles, their fine silk clothes glinting in the harsh sun.

​I stood frozen, the heavy iron shackles biting mercilessly into my raw wrists and ankles. I didn’t cry. I had learned years ago that in a world like this, tears were useless. They were just free entertainment for cruel people, and I refused to give them the satisfaction.

​Around me, dozens of captives knelt with their heads bowed, waiting to be traded like livestock. Some prayed to silent gods. Others trembled so violently their chains rattled against the floor. The air hung thick and suffocating, reeking of sweat, rust, and absolute terror.

​"Next!"

​A guard brutally yanked the chain looped around my neck. I stumbled forward, my bare knees scraping violently against the rough, splintered wood of the auction stage. White-hot pain flared up my legs, but I forced myself to swallow the cry before it could leave my throat.

​Weakness invites punishment, I reminded myself, staring straight ahead. Keep it hidden.

​Suddenly, the auctioneer’s greasy fingers dug into my jaw, forcing my face up for the crowd to inspect. I hated the way his yellow-toothed grin felt so close to my face.

​"Nineteen years old!" he announced to the crowd, his voice booming. "Healthy. Obedient. Wolfless. She has no pack, no family—no one will ever come looking for her."

​Mocking whispers immediately traveled through the front rows.

​"A wolfless slave?"

"What a waste of space."

"I wouldn't take her if she were free. She’d break within a week."

​I lowered my eyes, staring at a knot in the wood beneath my feet. The insults didn't hurt anymore. I had heard far worse every single day of my life.

​The auctioneer’s smile faltered slightly as he realized the crowd wasn't biting. "Shall we start the bidding at fifty gold coins?"

​Silence. Not a single hand rose.

​I could feel his grip on my jaw tighten in frustration. "Forty?"

​Nothing.

​"Thirty?"

​Someone scoffed from the shade of a canopy. "She’s too skinny."

Another voice sneered, "Look at her. She’ll die before the first winter frost."

​A wave of humiliation burned hotter than the blinding afternoon sun, coloring my cheeks. I clenched my fists so hard my fingernails bit into my palms, drawing tiny beads of blood. But underneath the shame, a dark, cynical spark of hope ignited in my chest. Maybe today is the day no one buys me. Maybe they’ll just give up and throw me out.

​I wasn't sure which fate was kinder, but anything was better than this stage.

​Then, the world shifted.

​Boom.

​The wooden platform beneath my knees shuddered.

​Boom.

​Boom.

​Every whisper died instantly. The mocking laughter vanished, replaced by a sudden, suffocating stillness. I turned my head toward the towering iron gates of the auction house.

​With a deafening screech of grinding metal, the massive doors burst inward. A sudden, ice-cold gale swept through the market, instantly freezing the humid air. It carried the scent of crisp pine, dying embers… and a heavy, terrifying aura that made my lungs seize.

​The guards around the stage straightened, their faces draining of color as they gripped their weapons with trembling hands.

​A terrified whisper rippled through the nobles like wildfire.

​"He’s here…"

"The Lycan King."

"The Blood King."

"The Monster of the North."

​Heavy, steel-toed boots echoed against the stone floor. Slow. Deliberate. Lethal.

​I couldn't breathe. The air felt too thick, crushed under the sheer weight of his presence as the most feared ruler on the continent stepped into the market. It was clear he hadn't come to buy a slave. He moved with a chilling, apex-predator indifference, his crimson eyes sweeping over the crowd as if we were all beneath his notice.

​I tried to shrink back, to make myself as invisible as possible.

​But then, his gaze cut through the shadows and landed directly on me.

​For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the ruthless Lycan King stopped dead in his tracks.

​The cold crimson in his eyes suddenly flared into a predatory, glowing gold. The sheer intensity of his stare locked onto me, pinning me to the spot. Deep within the shadows of his chest, I heard it—a low, feral roar that vibrated through the floorboards, shaking the very foundations of my soul.

​And in the silence of my mind, a single, possessive word echoed with terrifying absolute certainty:

​Mine.