ELARA'S POV
The rope burns my wrists.
I don't pull against it anymore. I learned that lesson an hour ago when Elder Thomas yanked the binding tighter and told me to stop being difficult. My hands went numb twenty minutes after that.
Now I just stand here on the auction platform in Greyhaven's town square, staring at the wolves who've come to buy me.
Pure human stock! Elder Thomas's voice booms across the crowd. Twenty-two years old, healthy, obedient, and untouched!
My cheeks burn. I keep my eyes down, counting the wooden planks beneath my bare feet. One. Two. Three. Anything to avoid looking at the creatures circling the platform like I'm meat at the market.
Because that's exactly what I am.
A wolf in expensive furs steps closer, sniffing the air near me. I freeze. His eyes, bright amber and completely inhuman—scan me head to toe.
She's scrawny, he announces. What use is a human bride who can't even bear strong pups?
She eats little and works hard, Thomas counters smoothly. Perfect for a household servant. The bride contract is just formality—do with her what you wish after.
Something cold settles in my stomach. I knew this was coming. I've known since Thomas pulled me from the textile shop this morning and told me Greyhaven's debt to the packs was due. I've known since he looked at me—the orphan with no family, no protection, no value—and smiled.
You'll finally be useful, girl, he'd said.
I dig my nails into my palms. The pain keeps me present. Keeps me from disappearing into the numbness that's been my survival for fourteen years.
Fifty gold, a female wolf calls out. Her voice is bored.
Sixty, counters another.
I'm worth sixty gold pieces. That's barely enough to cover two months of Greyhaven's protection fees.
The bidding stalls. Thomas's face reddens. Come now! A human bride is a status symbol! The northern packs are paying triple for
Two thousand gold.
The square goes silent.
Even I lift my head, searching for whoever just spoke. The crowd parts, and three wolves stride forward. They're different from the others, bigger, harder, wearing black leather marked with a silver wolf insignia I recognize from whispered stories.
Blackridge Pack.
The lead wolf is a woman with sharp features and eyes like ice chips. She doesn't look at me. She looks at Thomas like he's an insect she's deciding whether to crush.
Two thousand gold, she repeats. For the human. Treaty bride contract. Non-negotiable.
Thomas's mouth opens and closes. That's... the Blackridge Pack doesn't participate in the bride markets. Your Alpha doesn't
Our Alpha requires a human wife to seal the new border accords. The woman's tone could freeze fire. You have a human. We have gold. Do we have an agreement, or should I tell Alpha Kael that Greyhaven refused his offer?
The name sends ice down my spine. Even I've heard of Kael Blackridge. The Alpha who killed his own father. The beast the other packs whisper about in fear.
Thomas nearly falls over himself nodding. Yes! Absolutely! The girl is yours!
Everything happens fast after that. The woman—she never gives her name—tosses a heavy pouch at Thomas's feet. Gold coins spill across the platform. Thomas scrambles to collect them while two male wolves grab my arms.
Wait I finally find my voice. Where are you taking me?
North. The woman doesn't slow down as they drag me toward a waiting wagon. You're marrying the Alpha in three days.
My heart stops. Three days? I don't, I can't
You can and you will. She finally looks at me, and her expression holds zero sympathy. Treaty bride. You'll live in comfort, want for nothing, and die peacefully of old age if you behave. Better than you deserve, human.
They throw me into the wagon. My bound hands can't catch my fall. I land hard on the wooden floor, pain shooting through my shoulder.
Through the bars, I watch Greyhaven disappear. The town that barely kept me fed. The orphanage that taught me to stay small and quiet. The people who should have protected me but sold me instead.
I should feel something. Anger. Grief. Fear.
But I just feel... numb.
The wagon jolts over rough road. I pull myself up to sitting, testing the ropes again. Still tight. Still burning.
Don't bother. One of the male wolves riding beside the wagon glances at me. You try to run, we'll break your legs. Alpha's orders are to deliver you intact, but he didn't specify how intact.
I believe him.
So I settle against the wagon wall and close my eyes, doing what I've always done—surviving. I can survive three days. I can survive a political marriage to a monster. I've survived worse.
I'll give them six months. Long enough to learn the territory, save some coins, plan an escape route. Then I'll run south to the human kingdoms where wolves don't rule.
I can survive six months.
I repeat it like a prayer as the wagon climbs higher into the mountains. As the air grows colder. As the trees grow darker and the howls in the distance grow closer.
Six months. Then freedom.
The wagon stops suddenly. I jolt forward, catching myself against the bars.
What I start.
Then I smell it.
Blood. Fresh. Recent.
The wolves riding with us tense. The woman wolf stands in her saddle, scanning the tree line. Stay alert, she commands quietly. Something's not right.
A howl splits the air—too close, too wild.
And then I see them.
Eyes in the darkness. Dozens of them. Glowing. Circling.
The woman wolf curses. Rogues. MOVE!
The wagon explodes forward. I'm thrown backward, slamming into the wall. Through the chaos of shouting and snarling, I hear fighting, claws tearing flesh, bone crunching.
Something massive hits the wagon's side. The whole thing tilts. I scream as we tip, falling, crashing
Everything goes dark.
When I wake, the wagon is on its side. My head throbs. Blood trickles down my temple. The ropes around my wrists have loosened in the crash.
I could run.
I should run.
But when I look through the broken wagon bars, I freeze.
A wolf stands in the road ahead. Not the Blackridge wolves. Not the rogues.
This one is different.
Massive. Black as midnight. Eyes that glow like blue fire.
And it's staring directly at me.
The wolf's lips pull back, revealing fangs. But it doesn't growl.
It speaks.
Mine.
The word echoes in my head—not heard, but felt, and something inside my chest cracks open like a door I didn't know existed.
The wolf takes one step toward me.
Then my vision explodes with silver light.