Grayson’s eyes scanned the faces around him, cataloging reactions. Most were predictable—hungry stares and greedy smirks—but a few stood out. There were buyers here with real power, the kind who didn’t need to be in this cesspool but came anyway for the sport of it.
Grayson forced himself to look back at the stage. The girl—Cora, his mind supplied somehow—had gone still. Her shoulders were squared, and her chin was tilted, but her hands trembled where they were bound. Fresh blood trickled down her forearms, staining her pale skin.
Something inside Grayson snapped. He hadn’t come here to save anyone. He was here for intel, to find the cracks in the dark shifter organization running this operation and exploit them. He’d been working this case for months, playing the long game, and couldn’t afford distractions.
But his wolf didn’t care about plans. It surged forward, a snarl on the edge of his consciousness, and for once, Grayson didn’t shove it down.
The girl’s lavender eyes swept over the crowd, and they locked on him for the briefest moment. Grayson swore he felt something click into place in that instant. Recognition, maybe. Or something more primal. It didn’t matter. What mattered was the way her lips parted, and her breath hitched as if she felt it, too.
“Shall we begin the bidding?” the announcer offered, interrupting the moment.
The crowd erupted in a mix of cheers and shouted numbers, but Grayson barely registered the noise. His wolf was on edge, pacing within him like it was waiting for his move. It didn’t often react this strongly to anything, and that only made the pull toward her more troubling.
Grayson didn’t intend to move. He should’ve stayed rooted where he was, observing, letting the chaos of the auction go on around him while he calculated his next move. But his hand lifted before the thought even fully formed. The action was instinctive, as if his body had already decided for him.
“Two hundred thousand,” he called out, his voice cutting through the frenzy of numbers being shouted across the room.
The crowd fell into a stunned hush. The announcer’s eyes found him with the satisfaction of a predator that had just cornered its prey. “Two hundred thousand from the gentleman in black. Do I hear two-fifty?”
Grayson kept his posture relaxed, though his mind was anything but. Two hundred thousand was more than most shifters here would throw down for a single purchase. He needed it to look convincing, not reckless. Not personal.
“Two-fifty,” came a growl from across the room.
Grayson turned his head slightly, keeping his movements diluted as he sought out the bidder. His line of sight landed on a broad-shouldered wolf shifter whose presence screamed dominance. The man’s eyes were locked on Cora with a possessiveness that made Grayson’s blood simmer. His wolf reacted instantly, snapping at the invisible challenge.
“Three hundred,” Grayson said coolly, not bothering to glance back at the auctioneer. His focus stayed on the rival bidder, watching for a tell.
The wolf’s lip curled, and for a moment, Grayson thought he might charge the stage. But the man hesitated, glancing toward a smaller figure standing beside him. A subordinate, no doubt, whispering caution. With a frustrated snarl, the bidder stepped back into the crowd.
“Three hundred thousand, going once…” The auctioneer’s voice rose with excitement, eager to capitalize on the tension. “Going twice…”
The silence dragged, and Grayson’s pulse ticked up despite himself. The room was waiting for something—an eruption, a challenge, anything—but it never came.
“Sold!” The announcer clapped his hands together. “To the gentleman with impeccable taste.”
Grayson ignored the stares that followed as he strode toward the stage. He wasn’t supposed to intervene. He’d built his cover carefully over months, slipping in and out of dark shifter circles, feeding information back to Bellefleur without drawing attention. Now, he’d thrown it all into jeopardy—for her.
Cora was still bound, and she still wore that defiant glare. As he approached, their eyes met, and for a fraction of a second, something passed between them. Recognition? Relief? He couldn’t tell, and it didn’t matter. What mattered was that she was still standing, still glaring like she wasn’t afraid of anyone or anything—not even him.
The announcer stepped aside, gesturing grandly to the stage’s center. “Now, ladies and gentlemen, we all know the rules. Before our buyer claims his prize, the bond must be sealed.”
Grayson stilled. “The what?”
The announcer turned to him. “Ah, of course. You must be new to our little traditions. Allow me to introduce myself—Theodore Voss, at your service.” He extended a hand with exaggerated flair, clearly enjoying the spectacle.
Grayson didn’t move to take it. “And this bond?”
Voss let his hand drop, unbothered by the lack of reciprocation. “A formality, really,” he said, waving a hand like it was nothing. “But an important one. A purchase like this carries…expectations. The bond ensures she’s loyal. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”
Grayson worked his jaw, but he didn’t respond. He had a choice: back out now and risk blowing his cover entirely, or play along and figure out what the hell he’d just walked into. The wolf in him left no room for debate. It wanted her safe, and that meant he had to see this through.
“Fine,” he bit out.
The announcer clapped his hands again, and the crowd went wild with barely contained anticipation. Grayson caught snippets of words—” lucky bastard,” “risky play,” “Bellefleur witch”—but he tuned them out as a figure stepped onto the stage.
The witch conducting the ritual looked to be in her mid-twenties, and her dark hair was pulled into a sleek braid that trailed down her back. Her simple, dark robes gave her an air of quiet authority, but Grayson’s gut told him she didn’t belong here. What kind of witch would participate in something like this? Who the hell was she?
The witch approached Cora first, murmuring something Grayson couldn’t make out as she placed her hands on thebindings. They glowed, then unraveled, falling to the floor in a lifeless heap. Cora’s hands dropped to her sides, and she flexed her fingers gingerly before her eyes snapped between the witch and Grayson. She looked ready to bolt.
