Chapter 1 Slave shop in dry season

VALERIE

Heat surged in my belly. Bright lights wavered in and out of focus as I blinked through the haze of mist. I saw bare flesh, carnal muscles, and handsome faces. A trio of beasts tangled around me.

Their fingers trailed down my naked body, sending coarse chills down my spine.

“How do you feel, Valerie?” One held my hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss against my knuckles. I wanted to speak. But the only sound I could make was a moan.

The one behind me chuckled. “She’s in heat.” His laughter was soft, and his body felt warm. “Let me help you,” he purred in my ear. He tilted my head up and brushed a feather-light kiss against the corner of my mouth. “You want to play rough, or gentle?” he grinned, asking against my lips.

“Don’t be so selfish with her, Lucas.” said another. He towered over me. His fingers dented into my skin. He pulled my leg up as he bent down, his lips brushing kisses against my thigh.

I recoiled. But he gripped my ankle and nipped at my skin as a warn.

“There’s no way you can run, Valerie.” He bloodshot eyes met mine, blazing with hunger and lust.

“You belong to us.”

***

We were released from our cages the moment the sun crested the mountains.

I followed the other girls, heads bobbing and feet shuffling in the darkness. Our hands were cuffed, and our legs chained, making it difficult to keep in step with one another.

But we had grown used to this.

The corridor we traveled through was damp and cold. I could remember the sounds and smells of this place better than my own name.

It was our home.

I had only reached the fourth step when Aunt Louis gave me a shove.

“Hurry up!”

I scowled to the shadows and quickened my pace, avoiding eye-contact with the sour aunt.

Clearly, Aunt Louis wasn’t in a good mood today. No one was surprised by this; all of the aunts had been terribly moody over the past dew days.

It was a dry season and slave business had been lacking. This was not unusual during the werewolf’s mating season, but it cast a dark cloud over the shop.

The aunts hadn’t sold a single slave in two weeks.

No wonder they were so riled up.

They weren’t really our aunts. We called them by the name because they were the closest things we had to guardians. A handful of old she-wolves who made their living by ensuring we were properly trained and sold for slave-hood.

By all rights, they owned us until we were sold to masters. Then those masters could do whatever they saw fit to us.

We quickly gathered in the lobby, expanding our line into a half-circle around Aunt Rita. She held up a sheet of paper and a pen and began her usual roll call.

“114.”

“Present.”

“115.”

“Present.”

“118.”

For each number called, a small voice responded present.

We did not have names in this place. Numbers were all they gave us. Names were too difficult for the wolves to remember. And what was the point in remembering the name of someone who would soon be sold off and never heard from again?

“120,” Aunt Rita went on.

Our eyes stayed low; our heads bowed. We watched the cracks on the floor as we listened to each of our sisters call out in their tiny voices, “Present.” 

This was a daily measure to insure we were all accounted for—but I had a theory that it was more than that.

It was a reminder of who we were and what our place in this world was.

We were Slaves. We were among the lowest class in this hell world. The beasts took our world and grabbed our lives in their hands.

When roll call came to an end, the aunts gathered to discuss the arrangements for the day. Who would be placed in the display cases, and who would be “shelved” in the back. To spotlight certain slaves on just the right day was the key to reeling in a desperate buyer.

It was all business—something wolves were terrible at. If they really wanted a sale during the slow seasons, they should’ve put the more appealing slaves on display. But rather, the aunts did the opposite, saving the highest quality slaves for the busy season.

Humans used to say that werewolves were all brawns and no brains. And the more I learned about werewolves, the more I found myself agreeing.

Somehow, despite that…they were still victorious when the war ended.

I supposed brawns were just as valuable.

“127,” called Aunt Rita. My head snapped up. “You’ll be on display today.”

I cleared my throat uncomfortably and nodded.

I despised the display cases. They always made me so claustrophobic, and it didn’t help to feel the hungry eyes of dozens of potential masters passing by in a day.

Of course, none of them were very interested. Not in someone like me.

I was always unwanted for my strangeness.

Another girl was called up to the display case, where we were painted in subtle makeup—a soft powder and a tint rubbed on our lips to turn them the shade of cherry juice.

They dressed us as well—though sparsely. We were stripped down to our drawers, and a long white cloth was wrapped once around our chests and twice around our hips. It was important that potential buyers could see our forms.

Then we were placed on chairs in front of large glass panes. We smiled at every soul that passed by, but no one seemed particularly interested in dropping in.

In fact, the streets were barren today. The entire market looked a little drab.

Then I felt a slight nudge and looked to the girl beside me. “Want to talk?” she asked. “I’m feeling very dull.”

She spoke beneath her breath and didn’t look my way. We had all learned to speak without making much sound. The aunts would be angry if they heard chatter coming from us.

I chanced another glance at her before turning my attention back on the streets.

I didn’t reply.

I’d spoken to this girl once before. Her name was Ashley—she was new, just sent in a week ago. That explained why she was so perky and positive all the time.

Dull.

I wondered what Ashley meant by dull. Was she bored of this place?

It wouldn’t stay that way for long. The mating festival would arrive soon, and after that, unmated wolves would be piling into every slave shop on the strip to seek out some poor girl to sate their excessive sexual hunger. Then, not long after that, the vampires would wake up from their annual sleep and look for fresh blood.

But Ashley was new here, which meant she was still oblivious to how hopeless our world was.

She nudged me again. “Hey, did you hear about what happened yesterday? Some of the girls overheard the Aunts talking—they said a wolf went crazy in the market and murdered a bunch of slaves. Injured a ton of masters, too. They said the Alpha’s pissed about it—that he’s coming to canvas the damage.”

I was curious and none of the aunts seemed to be catching on to Ashley’s whispers, so I dared to ask, “Why did he do it?”

“No one knows,” Ashley said. “Aunt Louis said he was drunk at the festival celebration, but Aunt Rita doubted it and said he must’ve been possessed by evil spirits.”

My stomach turned at the thought of all those poor slaves, ripped to ribbons by the claws of a frenzied wolf. But in the end, it had nothing to do with us. The incident in question happened on an entirely different street—somewhere on the other side of the market, surely.

“How scary…” I muttered, mostly to myself.

“You two at the front!” one of the Aunts shouted. “Stop your squawking and pay attention to our guests!”

I wanted to argue that we hadn’t any guests yet, but arguing with the Aunts never ended well for anyone.

Ashley and I went silent after that, forcing smiles at the empty streets.

Suddenly, a disturbance swept over the shop. The aunts went stiff.

I could see them in the reflection of the glass—their entire posture perked up as if they could hear a distant sound. One by one, they dropped everything they were doing and approached the front of the shop.

When a knock came at the door, they pried it open hastily and stepped aside, their heads bowed in some strange submissive form.

I wanted to look, but I would be disciplined if I took my eyes from the window. So I listened instead.

A noise hit my ears. Something I’d never heard before—something that made my hair stand on end. A growl. Someone chanting. Whispers and murmurs. Then, among the culmination of noises, one word reached my ears.

A word that made my blood run cold.

Alpha.