003

VIVIENNE POV

"Tonight, we have a very special breed for auction, this one is one of a kind!" The loud, oily voice tore through the darkness and right into my skull and murmurs rose. I cussed under my breath, jaw clenching as I forced myself up from the fog, pain licking every nerve. I didn’t need the spotlight, I knew that tone. The sound of men with money, men who thought they owned the world, men who needed to die slowly.

"Ivy?" I called out for my wolf, desperate for that savage edge, but all I got was a flicker of pain, a whimper in the shadows of my mind. She was so weak I could barely sense her at all. Merda(shit). Not good. Goddess, what the fuck did that bastard Marcus do? Where the hell did he dump me?

"We will start with a little entertainment before the main event. These women are the finest stock, hand-picked for premium quality," the announcer boomed again, and my heart thudded, slow and cold. The reality was sinking in, and my mind, ruthless as always, started cataloguing everything.

I pried my eyes open and met nothing but suffocating darkness. I shifted, tried to move, only to feel cold steel bite into my wrists and ankles. Chains. The weight was heavy, the bite of metal familiar in the worst way. My skin was gooseflesh, naked, exposed, not a scrap of clothing or dignity left, stripped like a fucking lamb for slaughter.

"Fuck… where is this?" I hissed, the words barely more than a growl as I struggled to sit up, but my body was weak, muscles refusing to answer, every inch of me useless as a newborn. Bastardi(Bastard).

From outside, the sounds grew sharper, voices, applause, shuffling footsteps, muffled crying from other cages. I caught the barest outline of bars, thick and cold against my bare thigh. The cage was covered from the outside, a heavy tarp blocking out light, hiding us from the buyers’ eyes until they wanted a show. I could feel movement, shadows shifting, auctioneers working the crowd, guards dragging women from cage to stage.

Somewhere to my left, a girl started sobbing, her voice high and pitiful. Another whispered prayers, trembling in the dark and my lip curled. Useless, all of them.

“Save your breath, ragazze(girl),” I muttered, voice sharp but weak, “Gods are not bidding tonight. Only wolves and monsters.”

I pressed myself up, muscles shaking, forcing my head high even with nothing but rage and spite to prop me up. Information is survival. I listened to every syllable, every murmur, every fucking drop of evil in the air.

“…Alpha blood, Moreau line, rare find…” “…Main event, Shadowcrest might be here…” “…Volkov wants her first. Keep her caged tight…”

My jaw locked. The pieces snapped together with a cruel, surgical click. A breeding auction. The worst kind of underworld filth, the type of place I used to burn to the ground for fun and profit. Now I was the prize.

Pathetic. I almost laughed cause I never believed I’d be merchandise. Women like me, fertile, Alpha, high bloodline sold to the highest criminal bidder, bought by power-mad Alphas looking for strong heirs. The whole business is protected by cash, blackmail, and complicit packs who’d do anything for a new dynasty. My bloodline alone could start a bidding war.

My wolf wanted to snarl. I wanted to rip my own chains off and turn this place into a bloodbath. But all I could do was seethe and listen, waiting for the tiniest slip, the first crack.

Suddenly, the tarp over my cage was yanked open and harsh white light poured in. I blinked fast, vision burning, senses snapping to life. Five men, built like bouncers, and eyes cold stood in a semicircle with some hotshot prick in a thousand-dollar suit, all of them grinning at my nakedness. I didn’t bother covering myself, shame was for girls who thought they’d be rescued. I stared back, one brow lifted, chin up, making damn sure I memorized every face, every scar, every signet ring and tattoo. Information is currency.

On cue, two of them unlocked my cage. The bastard in the suit clicked his tongue, smirked, and nodded at the guards. “Process her.”

Hands that were rough, and practiced yanked me up, chains biting. I swung for the nearest nose out of pure rage, but I was still weak and they caught my wrist mid-swing. One cracked his knuckles against my jaw, another drove a fist into my gut until I doubled over. They didn’t bother being gentle. Livestock don't get treated gently. My skin burned from the blows, but I burned hotter inside. If I survived, they were all dead men.

They threw a cheap, see-through shawl over my shoulders, like that covered anything and then dragged me through the maze of cages toward a set of heavy velvet curtains. Backstage stank of bleach, fear, and expensive aftershave. Women sobbed or stared blankly, some already bloody, most just broken. The handlers moved with easy cruelty and familiarity with terror, numb to suffering.

The curtain parted and the noise hit hard, the auction hall was full of low golden light, marble floors, gleaming glasses, the stink of champagne and sweat and wolf musk. Every chair was occupied by Alphas in sharp suits and cruel eyes, paddles and fat bank accounts ready. This was the mafia’s version of a livestock market except every soul here could buy a city and bury the evidence.

The handler shoved me into the light. I rolled my shoulders, head high, staring right back at the wolves who’d come to buy flesh. They loved it...sick fuckers. Some licked their lips, others whispered prices. Their eyes were cold, hungry, some full of open hate, no shame here, it was just power games.

Another handler yanked the thin shawl from my shoulders, letting it flutter uselessly to the floor. I stood there, completely naked, every inch of skin under the harsh white lights, the chains cold around my wrists and ankles, and not a single drop of shame anywhere in my blood.

I stared them down, jaw set, chin lifted, meeting every stare with a look that promised violence. Every Alpha, every cartel heir, every underworld monster in those leather chairs got the same message written clear in my eyes... touch me and you’ll lose your hand. I’d spent twelve years building my name in a world where weakness gets you killed. Humiliation was nothing. Rage, though, that was currency. I let it fill me now, kept my glare as sharp as anything.

The auctioneer strutted across the stage. “Lot 17, gentlemen, Vivienne Moreau. Unclaimed. Pure Alpha bloodline. Daughter of the infamous Moreau syndicate. Undefeated. Untouched. Tonight, you have the opportunity to own the rarest female on the market.” He paused, letting his words settle, eyes dancing over the crowd. “Before bidding commences, per tradition, you may inspect the merchandise. Please, those interested, step forward.”

I almost laughed.

Merchandise?

Cute.

There was a low murmur as a handful of men Alphas with thick necks, gold rings, and the air of power rose from their seats and approached, moving with the easy arrogance of men who’d paid for this privilege before. Two handlers grabbed my arms and pulled them outward, making a show of turning me slowly for all to see, as if I were a prize horse on display.

The first Alpha, a brute with silver-streaked hair and a jagged scar across his cheek, ran his eyes down my body, pausing at the muscle over my hips and thighs, inspecting scars from old battles, even running his thumb along the line of my jaw as if checking teeth. Another leaned in close, breathing in the scent of my skin, searching for any hint of fear, of weakness, as if he might smell it on me like perfume. When he brushed the hair from my neck to look for bite marks, I turned my head just enough to lock eyes with him, and whatever he saw there made him step back, all bravado gone. One grabbed my boobs, his eyes burning with pure lust and I growled at him causing him to let go.

"Idiot." I huffed weakly. 

Through all of it, I memorized every face, every seat, every crest on a cufflink, every nervous tic, every calculating glance traded between rivals, every voice, deep, nasal, clipped, or slurred. Crescent cartel, Redwater mafia, Silverclaw pack, Volkov’s men with their gold chains and bitter, greedy eyes. Even the seating patterns spoke volumes about alliances and grudges, who sat up front and who lingered at the back, who kept hands folded and who fidgeted with their paddles, itching to claim a prize. I burned it all into memory. Every detail was a weapon.

Finally, the handlers forced me to turn again so the crowd could see everything they were bidding for. The auctioneer, loving every second, raised a gloved hand. “Let’s begin at five hundred thousand dollars. Do I hear five hundred?”

For a breath, there was silence, but was broken by the first paddle rising from the front row, a gruff Alpha with gold wolf rings calling out, “Five hundred.” It was almost polite, like the opening volley at a bloodsport.

Another followed, a voice with a foreign accent...“Six hundred.”

Then a third...“Eight hundred thousand.” As the numbers rose, so did the tension, the air electric with testosterone, hunger, and greed.

Paddles lifted higher, some bidding with just a twitch of their wrists, others snapping their numbers up like it was a blood sport, each daring the next bastard to go higher. One point two million. One point five. Two million.

The auctioneer’s grin just got wider, voice slick and fast, working the room like a hustler. I stood there, cold and unreadable, not about to flinch or give them any show they could savor.

"Three million dollars." The room stilled. I turned my head, and there he was, Alpha Kai, sitting with that lazy, calculated air, already looking at me like he’d won. My lip curled. I knew him. He played at being dangerous, but underneath, he was just easy to use, always eager to prove something. If anyone here could be twisted to my advantage, it was him. Part of me almost smirked...almost.

The auctioneer called, “Three million from Alpha Kai! Do I hear more?” The tension spiked, everyone glancing, calculating, the other Alphas growing restless. For a second, I thought this would be easy until the room fell dead silent, like someone had killed the lights with a thought.

A voice from the door announced, “The Shadowcrest brothers have arrived.”

Everything paused, like the whole damn room inhaled and forgot how to exhale.

Shit shifted instantly, the air thickening, stretching, snapping into something sharp enough to cut skin. I looked up, heart stuttering once before slamming back with enough adrenaline to wake the dead.

I’d heard of them... the infamous four.

Dante. Kane. Ryker. Asher.

Monsters in suits. Wolves that didn’t hunt for sport, they hunted for purpose. The kind of men who didn’t need to prove their dominance because the world bent for them by instinct alone.

Dante walked in first and the atmosphere bowed.

Authority radiated off him in crushing waves, the kind that warned even the bravest Alphas to shut their mouths and keep their eyes down. He didn’t scan the room, he assessed it, coldly, detached and yet calculating.

Then his gaze landed on me, and it wasn’t hunger or interest or curiosity.

It was dismissal, evaluation and it was the look a man gives a weapon he’s deciding whether to buy… or destroy.

His scent hit me next, dark, metallic, something ancient and my weak wolf flinched, reacting with a pathetic tremor I couldn’t stop. The shiver that tore through me pissed me off instantly. I hated that reaction. I hated him already. I hated the way my instincts recoiled like I’d just encountered something bigger than my nightmares.

The other three brothers stepped in behind him, each one carved like violence with a pulse, every gaze cold, unbothered, detached like I was just another item on tonight’s inventory list. Not impressive, not interesting and definitely not worth their time unless necessary.

They didn’t look at me like men.

They looked at me like a problem, one they were already estimating the cost of removing.

These weren’t the kind of men you played, not the type you seduced for leverage and not the idiots you misled with a smile.

No.

They weren’t prey and they weren’t predators.

They were forces, walking disasters and nightmares that didn’t need shadows to spread.

And as all four of them stood there, the entire auction hall dropping into an unnatural silence around them, it hit me with a cold, crawling certainty that scraped down my spine...

They weren’t my kind of trouble, they were the kind that didn’t end, the kind that changed th

e whole damn game and from the way Dante’s eyes sharpened and glowed, it feels as if I was already on their board.