Chapter 4: Sold

Raven’s POV

I’m screaming for help.

At least, I think I am. My mouth is wide open, but there’s no sound. Just the muffled struggle of my lungs pushing against silence like my body’s moving in slow motion, but the world around me isn’t.

I can't feel anything, not the cold, not the van's hard floor beneath me. My nerves feel like they’ve been buried under wet cement. My head’s heavy. My arms become useless, and my legs become numb. I try to move and end up twitching.

They drugged me. The kind of drug that paralyses your ability to fight without knocking you out completely. It was smart and cruel.

I feel hands again, fingers brushing my collarbone, rough and unfamiliar. I tried to flinch away, but my effort was futile. He’s tying my wrists together now, then my ankles. I don’t even flinch when he shoves a cloth into my mouth and gags me with it. I should be thrashing, but I couldn’t. I’m too weak to move.

I’m trapped inside my own body, and my only anchor is the thought that if I give in, if I sleep, it might be the last time I ever open my eyes. So I keep them open.

My vision bounces as the van jerks forward from a stop sign. I'm swaying with the movement, barely registering how tight the ropes are. My breathing is shallow, sharp through my nose.

I’m starting to regain pieces of myself, first my eyes, then my hearing. Slowly.

I glance up and see him to the man who hit me and who dragged me off the street.

He’s sitting across from me, like this was casual, like I’m not gagged and tied like livestock. He watched me too closely, like I’m something he’s evaluating.

His eyes land on my neck.

“Your mate… he’s gonna be one pissed off son of a bitch when he finds out you’re missing,” he mutters, like it’s a joke. He shook his head, like he pitied River, like he was not the reason why I’m in this situation. “Bet he’s rough with you, huh? You look like you can take a lot.”

He smirked, and something inside me snapped. I growled through the gag, low and animalistic, my wolf’s trying to crawl out of my throat. If my hands weren’t tied, he’d be on the floor with his nose shattered and my claws through his ribs.

But all I can do is glare.

I want him to know I’m not broken yet

and not to mess with a woman who was recently cheated on. And that damn mark was temporary and it will fade eventually. 

As the time blurred, the van stopped, voice echoed like a death sentence.

Next thing I know, I’m being dragged out.

And when the lights hit my face, I realize I’m on a stage on a platform somewhere huge and silent and full of male wolves watching. My breath caught.

I’m not wearing what I left the club in.

I’m in a white dress, thin, long, and way too clean for something I don’t remember putting on. Someone had changed me, touched me while I was unconscious.

That violation burns more than anything else.

I try to fight, but my legs are jelly and the ropes around my ankles barely let me stand.

The room tilts slightly. I blink past the blinding lights, past the murmurs, the whispers, the eyes. I'm surrounded by shadows, glass booths, wolves with sharp smiles and full wallets.

A handler speaks, but I don’t hear the words.

My heart is beating too loudly.

I’m not Raven Knight anymore, I’ma product.

And someone out there was deciding if I’m worth bidding on.

“This one is the final bid of the night,” the announcer says smoothly, his voice carrying like smoke through the cold air. “Young, fertile, and had a medical background. She’s temporarily marked and came from a powerful Asian werewolf bloodline.”

I stagger forward when someone gives me a shove. My heels catch the edge of the platform, but I manage to stay upright, though barely.

There are lights, dim red ones blinking from all corners of the room. Behind those, I see shapes. Men. Their faces are mostly obscured by shadowed glass and distance, but their eyes… those glint.

Hungry.

I’m standing in the center of a small stage, exposed, vulnerable. I barely recognize myself. Someone had dressed me in a sheer set of white lingerie. The lace clings to my skin like a second betrayal.

I want to scream. I want to shift. But I’m floating in and out of lucidity. The drugs keep me drifting, slow and fogged, like I’m watching myself from somewhere else.

“The bidding will start at 300,000,” the announcer calls out.

Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz.

It starts fast, too fast. The sound of it claws at my ears, jarring me with each burst of red. I take a step to the left, then right, trying to find something solid in this chaos.

“350,000,” the announcer continues, undeterred. “Do I hear 375?”

Another buzz. Then another.

I feel their interest. The room vibrates with it. Like I’m some rare collector’s piece instead of a living, breathing person.

“400.”

Buzz.

“425.”

Buzz.

“450.”

The numbers keep climbing. My heart races even as my limbs feel like they belong to someone else. My wolf growls from deep inside, trapped. Muzzled.

The announcer lifts his chin. “Do I hear half a million? 500,000?”

A pause.

A longer one.

The red light flashes again. But this time, just one. From the far right booth. A heavier silence follows. No one else counters.

I lift my head.

The red light stays steady. It pulses.

“500,000 going once…” the announcer says. “Going twice…”

My pulse pounds in my ears.

“Five-twenty,” a voice calls from a different corner.

Buzz.

The crowd stirs.

“Five-fifty,” someone counters immediately.

“Five-eighty.”

“Six.”

My knees buckle slightly as the price escalates like fire. The air is hot with the tension of men fighting for a body. My body. I try to back up, but the stage handlers won’t let me move.

“Six-thirty!”

“Six-fifty!”

A pause. The crowd holds its breath.

“Seven.”

The voice is different. Lower. Calmer. Like it didn’t need to shout. The room shifts. Everyone feels it.

No more buzzers.

No more counters.

Just that one red light, burning steadily in the darkness.

“Seven hundred thousand,” the announcer says slowly, almost reverently. “Going once… going twice…”

I close my eyes, bracing for what comes next.

“Sold!”

The gavel hits wood. The word echoes like a death sentence.

“You can collect her in the back.”

Hands grab my arms again, leading me offstage like I’m a prize and not a person. The curtain swallows me whole.

I don’t know who bought me.

 I don’t know where I’m going.