Sold To The Lycan king

The scent of blood, sweat, and desperation hung thick in the air.

Mia stood barefoot on the raised platform, a cold iron collar clasped tight around her neck, tethered to a rusted chain that rattled with every trembling breath. Her wrists were bound in front of her, raw from days of being dragged from cell to cell. The thin, grey cloth that clung to her body was damp from the rain that had soaked her hours ago-yet even soaked and scarred, she still looked... dangerous to the wrong kind of eyes.

A treasure disguised in chains.

That's what they always called omegas.

A soft hush swept through the room as the next number was called.

"Lot Number 23. Female. Werewolf. Omega class."

A pause. "Unbonded. Virgin. One prior owner-killed during extraction."

Laughter echoed from somewhere in the crowd. Mia didn't flinch.

She had learned not to give them that satisfaction.

From the shadows of the arena, high-ranking wolves and lycans leaned forward in their seats, eyes gleaming with hunger and curiosity. Some saw a servant. Others saw a bed warmer. But none of them saw her. Not really.

"Bidding starts at 800 silver."

The auctioneer's voice sliced through the murmurs like a whip.

"Do I hear 900?"

Hands rose.

"1,000."

"1,200."

"1,800."

"2,100."

The numbers climbed. The crowd grew more heated, the air thicker. Mia kept her head down, her blue eyes cold. She didn't care who bought her. Not anymore.

She had died long ago. The day her pack burned.

But then... a sudden silence fell. A pressure, ancient and cold, swept through the room like a winter storm.

Eyes turned upward. Even the guards stiffened.

The VIP box.

High above the crowd, behind silver mesh curtains, a tall figure sat motionless in his chair. He wore a black wolf-shaped mask over his face, his long coat draped regally across his shoulders. Power radiated from him like poison mist-undeniable, suffocating.

The Lycan King.

Darius Blackthorn.

He said nothing. Made no move. But with the slightest tilt of his head, one of his guards-a lean lycan with silver scars down his jaw-stood and raised a single black coin into the air.

The room froze.

Black coin. Royal currency.

The bid was final. Absolute. Unmatched.

The auctioneer stumbled over his words. "S-sold! To His Grace, the King of Blackthorn!"

Gasps. Whispers. Regret.

The other bidders sat back, defeated. Some cursed under their breath. Others stared at Mia with open envy. That beautiful, dark-haired omega with haunting blue eyes was no longer for sale. No longer theirs.

She was his now.

Mia's gaze lifted. Just for a moment. She couldn't see his eyes behind the mask. Couldn't feel anything through the bond. But something in her gut twisted. Like fate had just spun its wheel-and landed squarely on her chest.

Before she could dwell on it, two auction guards yanked her from the platform and shoved her through the back door.

"Remove her mark," one growled.

Another pulled out a hot iron blade, the kind laced with silver. Mia clenched her jaw, but didn't scream as the brand on her neck was sliced off-bleeding, searing pain tearing through her throat.

She was no longer auction material.

She was claimed.

They shoved her into a dimly lit hallway, then dragged her to a waiting black carriage with gleaming wheels and the unmistakable silver emblem etched into its door:

A roaring black Lycan over a crown of bones.

Blackthorn.

As the guards shoved her up into the carriage and slammed the doors, Mia leaned back against the padded seat. Her hands still throbbed. Her throat burned. Her body ached.

But for the first time in weeks, she wasn't in a cage.

She was in a carriage.

A prisoner, yes-but a different kind of one.

She glanced out the window as the auction house shrank into the distance.

Then, slowly, she smiled.

Not a sweet smile. Not relief.

Just a whisper of defiance. Of something beginning to stir.

And you-yes, you, the reader-might wonder...

What kind of girl smiles after being sold to the most feared lycan in the North?

The kind who plans to survive him.

Maybe even break him.