Chapter 1 - Cora
The cold bite of the ropes cut into her skin, pulling Cora from the fog of unconsciousness. Her wrists throbbed, and it took her a few agonizing seconds to realize they were tightly bound together, and her ankles burned where the same rough cord held her immobile. It wasn’t the discomfort that made her heart race, though. It was the sinking, terrifying realization that she couldn’t feel her magic.
Panic made her heart lurch as she reached for it, mentally grasping for the energy that always tingled beneath her skin. It wasn’t there. Instead, there was a hollow emptiness where her power should have been as if it had been ripped away entirely.
She sank inward, searching for the presence that had always been there, buried deep in her core. Her magic was part of her very essence. But now, as her spirit reached out, there was nothing.
Her heart clenched as she tried again, more desperately this time. “Come on,” she muttered. “Where are you?”
Silence.
It was like being alone in a vast, empty void. It was as though a limb had been severed. The ropes weren’t just keeping her bound—they were suppressing everything she was. Frustration burned through her fear. She couldn’t afford to lose herself to despair. Not here. Not now.
Her eyes snapped open. The room was dark and unfamiliar, and the faint smell of damp wood and metal pressed around her. Shadows stretched across the rough wooden walls. A faint glow of light seeping under the door was the only thing breaking the blackness.
The room was small—claustrophobic—and empty except for the chair she was bound to and a single table pushed against the far wall. The table’s surface was littered with ominous shapes she couldn’t make out in the low light. The floor beneath her was covered in old, uneven planks that were warped and splintered. A faint drip echoed from somewhere above, and each drop served as a cruel reminder of how trapped she was.
She inhaled deeply, and her nose twitched as she caught the scent of something else beneath the damp and metal—a faint trace of sweat and musk. Someone had been here recently.
Her pulse quickened as her gaze darted around the room, searching for anything, any detail she could use to her advantage. But there was nothing—just four walls and the creeping sense that she was entirely alone.
She tugged at the ropes experimentally, and it took her all but two seconds to realize they were enchanted. She didn’t need to see the faint shimmer woven through the fibers to know. It was like a cold snake coiled around her, keeping her powers firmly locked away.
Her mind tripped over itself for a second, trying to make sense of where she was and how she’d gotten here. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the memories to come. Laila’s bakery. She’d been working late—so late that she’d teased herself for being the last witch in Bellefleur to leave a light on. She’d locked up, stepped out into the quiet street…
And then?
Nothing.
Her chest burned as hysteria clawed its way up her throat.No. She wasn’t the kind of person who lost control—she’d survived too much for that. Cora convinced herself to breathe,to focus on the rhythmic scrape of her nails against the ropes, grounding herself in the tactile motion.
She squinted at the single iron door that was set into the far wall. The hinges were rusted, and faint voices carried through the gaps where the metal didn’t quite meet the frame. She strained to hear, angling her head toward the sound.
“…witch this time,” one voice grumbled, low and rough like gravel dragged across the stone. “Boss says they go for more.”
“She’s a scrawny thing,” a second voice shot back. This one was lighter, with a sneer audible even through the barrier. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”
“Doesn’t matter what you see,” the first replied. “She’s got the magic, and that’s all they care about. Better for us, anyway. Easier to handle.”
Cora’s stomach flipped. Her first instinct was to scream, to demand answers, and curse whoever had done this to her. But she clenched her jaw shut, holding back the rage boiling under her skin. If they thought she was weak, then she’d use that. Let them underestimate her.
The voices outside grew louder as if the men were moving closer.
“You think she’ll put up a fight?”
A boisterous laugh followed. “They always do at first. Don’t worry. The ropes will hold her until the auction. After that, she’s someone else’s problem.”
Auction.
The word landed right in her core, robbing her of air. Cora’s mind raced, piecing together fragments of their conversation. Bride auctions weren’t new—they were whisperedabout in the darkest corners of Bellefleur. She’d never paid attention, though. They were urban legends. Horror stories used to scare young witches and shifters into being careful.
But this was no story.
Her eyes remained fixed on the door as if sheer willpower could burn through the metal and reveal the monsters on the other side. She bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste blood, desperate to stop the tears threatening to spill. Crying wouldn’t help. Panic wouldn’t help.
Instead, she focused on the ropes again, testing their give. Her fingers flexed, searching for a knot she could try to loosen.
“Think the buyers will come through this time?”
