The Luna Mistress

ALESSIA'S POV

I always thought the worst thing that could happen was losing my father.

Turns out, I was wrong.

The worst thing is standing half-naked on a marble platform, wrists cuffed in silver, while wolves with fat purses and hungrier eyes circle me like I’m a piece of meat.

My feet are numb from the cold stone beneath me, but I won’t shiver. I won’t bow. I won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing fear crawl across my skin.

A low murmur ripples through the crowd when I lift my chin higher. Let them look. Let them wonder if the traitor’s daughter still has enough bite to scar a king.

“This one,” the auctioneer croons, voice dripping honey and poison, “is pure-blooded from the old Moonglade line. Untouched. Spirited. A Luna, if broken properly.”

A thick chuckle rumbles somewhere to my left. A wolf in a velvet coat runs his tongue along his teeth like he’s already tasted me.

Filth.

I don’t flinch when the auctioneer waves a hand at me. “Turn, girl.”

I stay perfectly still. My voice slices the air like a blade.

“Make me.”

Gasps scatter across the hall. The velvet wolf barks out a laugh.

“Defiant. She’ll be fun to tame.”

I want to leap off this platform and tear his throat out with my bare teeth. But the silver cuffs burn cold into my wrists every time I flex. They know how to bind my kind.

The auctioneer’s smile slips for half a second before he fixes it back in place. “Bidding starts at twenty gold bars.”

Silence.

Then the shuffle of wealth. The scent of greed. Pledges thrown like knives across the room.

Twenty. Twenty-five. Thirty.

I close my eyes and let their voices blur. I will not break. Not for this. Not for them.

But the air changes when a new presence slides through the hall — silent, massive, impossible to ignore.

A hush spreads behind my eyelids. I open them just in time to see him step out of the shadows.

Tall. Broad shoulders draped in black. Eyes like forged silver — not warm, not cold. Just sharp enough to cut through bone.

Damian Blackthorn.

I’ve heard his name in whispers since I was a pup. Stories of a wolf who razed a whole border clan to the ground for daring to betray him. A king without mercy.

But kings don’t come to filthy auctions for leftover daughters.

My pulse flickers when his gaze finds mine. He doesn’t leer like the others. Doesn’t even seem interested in my body.

He looks at me like I’m a riddle he already knows how to solve.

Then he lifts one hand lazily.

“I’ll take her.”

The entire hall falls into stunned silence. Even the velvet wolf stops licking his teeth.

The auctioneer stutters. “M-my Alpha, you haven’t—there are higher bids—”

“I don’t care.”

His voice is so calm it makes my skin crawl.

Someone protests behind him. “Blackthorn! You can’t just—”

His eyes flick toward the voice. A single flick.

And the protest dies with a whimper.

He turns back to me. Steps closer to the platform until I can taste the raw power rolling off him.

I bare my teeth. “I’m not yours.”

He lifts one dark brow. Slowly. “No?”

I want to spit in his face. I want to scratch those perfect eyes out. But my wolf betrays me — pressing warmth into my chest, whispering, This one. This one.

No. Not for him. Not for anyone.

I force the snarl into my voice instead. “I’d rather rot.”

His mouth curves, not quite a smile. Something darker.

“Then rot beside my throne.”

Before I can bite out another threat, rough hands close around my arms. The guards tug the chain between my wrists and drag me down the steps. I thrash, spit, curse — but the silver burns deeper, blurring my vision with white sparks.

I catch one last look at Damian Blackthorn as they pull me past him. He stands there like a monolith carved out of shadow and winter. Unmoved. Unbothered.

His voice drifts after me as the hall doors slam shut:

“You’ll thank me when you see what I saved you from.”

I hiss through my teeth as the iron gates close behind me, carriage waiting like a coffin on wheels.

Saved me?

If this is salvation, then damn him —

I’d rather burn.