Bought by Lycan Kings

The damp concrete of the basement floor bit through my thin cotton dress. Cold moisture seeped into my skin, making my bones ache with a slow, dull throb. I huddled closer to the rough stone wall, pulling my knees tight against my chest. My hand rested flat against my lower stomach. Beneath my palm, my pulse threshed wildly, a rapid, frantic tapping that had nothing to do with my own heartbeat. I was pregnant. There was no joy in the realization, only a cold, suffocating terror that made my tongue stick to the dry roof of my mouth. I was an unawakened wolf. In a pack that valued raw physical strength and silver-blonde royalty, I was the auburn-haired mistake. I was the disappointing twin with a voluptuous hourglass figure that my mother always claimed was too soft, too wide, and too distracting for a proper pack female. *Great. Just what the world needs. Another useless mouth to feed, wrapped in a body that apparently screams 'easy target' to every passing predator.* Through the thick wooden floorboards above my head, a sharp burst of laughter drifted down. It was a sound I recognized instantly. Eamon. My chest tightened so hard I couldn't draw a full breath. The scent of rotten pine needles and bitter charcoal ash filtered through the cracks in the ceiling, instantly overriding the smell of damp concrete and rust. It was his scent. Just three weeks ago, Eamon had pressed his lips against the faint, silver crescent-shaped scar on my left collarbone. He had held my curvier, heavy hips in the dark of the forest, whispering that my soft, warm body was his only sanctuary. *"You are my true mate, Morana,"* he had whispered, his hands warm against my skin. *"I don't care if you haven't shifted. I don't care what your father says. We will run away together."* It had been a beautiful lie. Now, his laughter upstairs was joined by another voice—high, sweet, and perfectly clear. My twin sister, Isolde. Isolde was the golden child. She was slender, silver-blonde, and had recently awakened as a rare, powerful elemental wolf. But yesterday, during a forbidden alchemical ritual to boost her power, she had made a terrible mistake. She had shattered a sacred silver-purifying cauldron belonging to the Vane Syndicate, invoking a dark, decaying curse on her own body and racking up a multi-million-dollar debt that our pack could never hope to pay. My family had found an immediate, cold solution. They would sell me. Footsteps thudded heavily on the stairs. The wooden steps groaned under a familiar, brutal weight. I fidgeted nervously, my fingers twisting the hem of my dress until my knuckles turned bone-white. My breathing came in short, shallow gasps. My father, Thomas Winterbourne, stepped into the dim light of the basement. He smelled of stale beer and wet fur, his massive Alpha posture instantly making the small cell feel even smaller. His thick jaw muscles bunched, the skin pale with a simmering fury. "Get up," he barked, his voice a low, gravelly scraping sound. I stood up slowly, pressing my back against the rough stone wall for support. My legs felt like lead. I avoided eye contact, staring instead at the thick mud caked on his heavy leather boots. "Father, please," my voice trembles slightly. "You can't do this. The Vane Syndicate... they are Lycans. They are monsters." "You will watch your tongue," Thomas snarled, stepping closer. The air in the cellar instantly stung with his dominant Alpha pressure, a heavy weight that forced me to my knees. "Your sister is the future of this pack. Her silver wolf cannot be allowed to rot from that curse. The Vane Alphas offered a trade. A blood-contract for her debt." Behind him, another figure appeared on the wooden stairs. Eamon. He stood on the bottom step, looking down at me with pale green eyes that shifted restlessly. He sneered defensively, avoiding my gaze as he pulled a flashy gold watch out of his pocket to check the time. He smelled heavily of cheap cologne, trying to mask the scent of his own fear. "Don't make this harder than it has to be, Morana," Eamon said, his voice flat and empty of any warmth. "It's a business transaction. You're an unawakened human, basically. You can't help the pack. This is the only way you'll ever be useful." My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I looked up at him, my eyes burning with unshed tears. "Eamon," I whispered, my voice cracking. "How can you say that? You... you know what we..." "What we had was a distraction," Eamon cut me off sharply, shifting his weight restlessly. He took a step back, closer to the stairs. "I would never soil my bloodline with an unawakened female. Isolde is my future. The pack needs strong, purebred Alphas. Not... whatever you are." *A distraction. That is what my soft body was to him. A temporary playground before he claimed my perfect sister.* My stomach rolled with a sudden wave of morning sickness. I pressed my arm tightly against my abdomen, terrified that they would see the slight, soft curve of my belly beneath the loose dress. If they realized I was carrying Eamon's child, my father would drag Eamon to the pack elders, and Eamon would surely kill me to hide his shame. "Sign the paper," Thomas demanded, tossing a thick, heavy parchment onto the wooden table in the center of the basement. Beside it, an alchemical silver pen gleamed coldly under the dim lightbulb. "If I go to the Vane Syndicate... what will they do to me?" I asked, my voice barely audible. "Ragnar Vane doesn't care about your feelings," Eamon sneered, crossing his arms. "He wants a host. A blood-tether to absorb the curse off Isolde. Once you sign, your body belongs to him and his brothers. You'll be their pet. Or their shield. It doesn't matter." *Their pet. Their shield.* My mind raced, trapped in a brutal Catch-22. If I signed this contract, I would be hand-delivered to the three massive, ruthless Lycan Alphas of the Vane Syndicate. They would lock me in their glass-and-steel fortress, and the moment they smelled my pregnancy, they would realize I was carrying another man's child. They would discard me, or worse, destroy the baby. But if I refused, my father would leave me in this freezing basement to starve, or throw me directly into the Dead Zone to die of exposure. Either way, my child would not survive. "I won't ask again, Morana," Thomas said, his hand descending onto my shoulder. His grip was bruising, his thick fingers digging into my soft skin, right beside the crescent scar on my collarbone. I shuddered, my knees shaking. I reached out, my fingers trembling as they wrapped around the cold alchemical pen. The metal felt like ice against my skin. *I have to survive. For the baby. Even if it means walking straight into a predator's den.* I pressed the tip of the pen to the paper. The silver ink glowed with a faint, threatening light as it absorbed a drop of my sweat, binding my life to the Vane Syndicate. The moment the signature was complete, the parchment dissolved into a wisp of black smoke, leaving a faint, burning sensation on the inside of my wrist. "Good," Thomas grunted, releasing his grip on my shoulder. "Now get up. They are waiting." He didn't give me a chance to stand on my own. My father's heavy, calloused hand gripped my auburn hair, pulling me toward the wooden stairs. I gasped from the sharp pain, my hands flying up to hold his wrist as he dragged me upward. Eamon stepped aside, refusing to look at me as I was dragged past him. His pale green eyes were fixed on the ceiling, his jaw tight as he muttered something under his breath. We burst through the back door of the pack house and into the freezing night air. Heavy rain pelted down, instantly soaking my thin dress and plastering my auburn hair to my face. The cold mountain wind stung my skin, making me shiver violently. At the end of the gravel driveway, a sleek, black sedan sat idling, its headlights cutting through the dark like the eyes of a waiting beast. The exhaust fumes mixed with the scent of wet pine, creating a suffocating, hostile atmosphere. "Father, please!" I cried out, the freezing water stinging my eyes as I slipped on the wet gravel. "Let me go!" He didn't slow down. My father's heavy, calloused hand grips my auburn hair, pulling me toward the black sedan waiting in the rain. "You're going to pay for your sister's mistake, you useless human," he growled, throwing open the heavy back door of the car and shoving me inside.