4

“Same feelings,” Azzurra murmured beneath her breath but of course, the mistress heard her. Werewolves and their cursed, hyper-sharp senses.

The woman shot her a vicious glare, then turned away with a sneer of disgust.

“Chain them up,” she snapped.

The girls stood silently in their designated rows, heads bowed, but Azzurra had to be dragged into place. She was shoved into line with three other girls, standing toward the rear. Unlike the rest, who waited quietly, Azzurra was held in place by Giacinto himself. He loomed behind her like a predator, ready to pounce at her slightest misstep.

Their line was last. They would be the final group to walk out.

One by one, workers approached each row. Obediently, the pets lifted their shackled wrists. One chain was used to bind an entire line together like a string of condemned souls. When the woman reached Azzurra, she hesitated until Giacinto stepped forward, seizing her shackles and snapping them onto the chain with unnecessary force. He double-checked the locks, as if she might defy steel itself.

Azzurra nearly scoffed. On the outside, she was calm. Cold. But inside, terror had taken root. She didn’t want to be auctioned. She had never let herself believe it would come to this. For an entire year, she had clung to hope. Her escape plan was meticulous. Foolproof.

Until Teodora betrayed her and shattered everything.

Her eyes welled with tears as she stared at her bound hands. There would be no escaping now. The building would be crawling with elite werewolves the type that found entertainment in the suffering of humans, who treated auctions like decadent soirées.

Then came the sound of clapping sharp, deliberate. The Pet Mistress stepped forward, a cruel smile tugging her lips.

“Beyond those doors await the most powerful werewolves of the elite class,” she said sweetly, though poison laced every word. “I suggest you behave. Do not anger them. If you so much as hold eye contact for too long, they’ll rip your throats out no hesitation.”

Azzurra watched as a ripple of fear passed through the group. Some of the girls trembled outright. Boys paled. Even those who had long since accepted their fate visibly faltered.

They all knew the truth most of them would be dead long before thirty. Slaughtered. Broken. Or bred into oblivion in those godforsaken camps. Some didn’t even survive their first week after being bought.

Azzurra clenched her jaw, then let it relax on a slow exhale. Her heart beat like a war drum beneath her ribs.

“Get ready,” the mistress called. “We’re moving out in one minute.”

She could feel the tears threatening again but she refused to let them fall. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She had been meant to escape, not walk onto a stage like cattle. But she wouldn’t show weakness. She wouldn’t let them win. Not now.

The Pet Mistress had spent years making her life hell for her disobedience. She’d promised to select the cruelest, most sadistic buyer available one who would delight in crushing Azzurra’s spirit. And that threat echoed in her mind now like a drumbeat of dread.

Still, a sliver of hope clung to her ribs like a second skin. Perhaps another buyer would claim her instead. Someone less monstrous. Someone… survivable.

She glanced around and noticed the lines were formed according to body shape and height. Strategic presentation.

The first line began to move as the Pet Mistress stepped through the doors, and the girls followed her like prisoners to the gallows. Teodora was nowhere to be seen. Coward. Traitor.

Azzurra’s eyes lowered to the floor. She could see the tears brimming in others’ eyes glossy, unblinking. Every one of them fought to hold it in. Rumor had it that the masters preferred their pets broken. Those who cried were bought first. Desperate tears made them more appealing.

As her line was led out, Giacinto remained close, like a bloodhound. Azzurra, spiteful to the end, gave the shackles a small tug. The sudden pull jerked the chain, making the other girls stumble slightly and gasp.

Giacinto shot her a warning glare, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. She only rolled hers in return.

She caught the first girl in their line hastily wiping her tears. The girl glanced at Azzurra with something like gratitude those few seconds had given her just enough time to mask her fear before stepping onto the stage.

The moment they emerged, a flood of blinding light slammed into them. Azzurra hissed and shut her eyes. When she opened them again, her vision struggled to adjust. Beyond the stage was only blackness. The audience, hidden in shadows.

Were they truly there? Were those beasts watching in silence?

They stood in their preassigned spots, perfectly trained. The first boy, frail and wide-eyed, was led to center stage. He wore only boxers and kept his head bowed low.

The Pet Mistress stepped beside him. “Good evening, my lords,” she purred. “Tonight, I present to you the finest of our collection. This boy here is…” She droned on with rehearsed praise.

From the darkness, a woman’s voice rang out with a bid. Just like that, the boy was sold.

Panic crept across the remaining humans. The numbers thinned quickly. No one was sent backstage no one spared.

Some were bought in groups pairs and trios claimed at once by chuckling voices who joked that their pets never lasted long enough. That alone turned several faces bone white.

Azzurra felt eyes crawling over her skin. Dozens of them. Maybe more. Filthy. Starving. But she still couldn’t see them. Only darkness beyond the lights.

The girl beside her was next. As she was led away, Azzurra noticed the heavy doors at the far end creak open.

A tall figure entered. The air shifted instantly.

The temperature dropped.

Gasps echoed through the crowd.

The Pet Mistress’s face lit up. She whispered urgently to a worker, who quickly dragged the girl off stage. Then, with theatrical reverence, the mistress turned and strode straight toward Azzurra.

Before she could react, her shackles were seized, and she was yanked into the spotlight. The steel bit into her wrists, and she ripped herself free from the mistress’s grip with a scowl.

“My King,” the mistress intoned, dropping to her knees.

Azzurra froze.

All around her, werewolves bowed. So did the pets.

The realization hit her like a lightning bolt to the chest.

The Lycan King… was here.