Rescued by the Blackridge Alpha

Chapter 12

The registrar's pen stopped again.

“No?”

“I had other things on my mind.”

Her expression suggested sarcasm wasn't an accepted category on the form.

“Then the bond hasn't fully severed.”

Something inside me tightened.

“He rejected me.”

“That isn't what I asked.”

“He said the words.”

“And you didn't accept them.”

I stared at her. “So what does that mean?”

“It means exactly what I said. The bond remains incomplete until you accept his rejection or one of you forms a new recognized bond.”

My stomach turned.

I had spent every hour since the ceremony trying not to think about Caden.

Apparently fate hadn't received the message.

“Does that affect the transfer?”

“It can.”

“How?”

She glanced down at the paper. “Some packs won't purchase an incompletely rejected wolf.”

Purchase.

There it was.

Not transfer, nor placement. Purchase.

“And the other packs?”

“They don't care if you're incomplete.”

How reassuring.

The registrar moved on before I could decide whether that was good news. “Any known fertility issues?”

For a second, I thought I'd misheard her. “Excuse me?”

She finally looked up. “Any known fertility issues?”

Heat climbed my neck. “How the hell would I know?”

Her pen hovered above the page. “Any pregnancies or miscarriages?”

For a moment, I simply stared at her. “No.”

“Have you ever tried to conceive?”

Heat crept into my face. Of all the things I'd expected strangers to ask before selling me, my reproductive history hadn't made the list.

“No.”

She ticked a box. “Then fertility is unknown.”

“You could've just asked me that.”

“I did.”

“No, you conducted an investigation.”

The registrar looked at me over her spectacles, entirely unimpressed, and wrote unknown beside whatever part of the form apparently concerned my ability to produce children.

I watched the word appear.

Yesterday, I'd been a kitchen worker. A niece, a friend. For approximately one disastrous moment, someone's mate.

Today, even the things my body had never done were apparently worth documenting.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Potential buyers are entitled to relevant information.”

“About my uterus?”

The woman sighed and set down her pen. It was the first sign that she might possess emotions.

“Miss Vale, I don't write the regulations.”

“No. You just ask the questions.”

Her expression hardened.

I expected a reprimand.

Instead, someone spoke behind me.

"She doesn't have to.”

I turned.

Thomas stood in the doorway.

For half a second, relief hit me so quickly that I hated myself for it.

He'd changed clothes. The formal shirt was gone, replaced by a dark sweater beneath his coat. He looked almost ordinary.

Then I noticed the folder in his hand. My folder.

The registrar held out her hand. “Silvercrest authorization?”

Thomas crossed the room and gave it to her.

He looked at me. “I told you I'd come.”

“Tomorrow.”

“I left not long after the truck.”

I glanced toward the market outside. “Couldn't bear to miss the festivities?”

His jaw tightened.

The registrar opened the folder before either of us could say more. “Alpha authorization is complete.” She turned one page, then another. “Pack release signed. Transfer fee paid.”

Thomas stood beside me while she worked.

I watched his face.

He didn't look at me.

“What are you signing?”

His attention shifted to the paper the registrar had pushed toward him.

“Confirmation that Silvercrest releases responsibility for you upon completed transfer.” Thomas picked up the pen.

I watched him sign. Something about seeing his name appear beneath mine hurt more than Garrick telling me they would sell me.

This was real.

Thomas put the pen down.

The registrar checked his signature before turning the page. “Reserve is already approved.”

I frowned. “Reserve?”

Neither of them answered quickly enough.

My gaze moved to Thomas. “What reserve?”

He rubbed a hand across his jaw. “The minimum transfer amount.”

They had put a price on me. “How much?”

“Maren.”

“How much?”

The registrar glanced between us. “Eight hundred.”

I stared at her.

Eight hundred.

I had no idea whether that was high, low, insulting or even generous.

I hated that some part of me immediately wanted to know. “That's what I'm worth?”

Thomas's face tightened. “It isn't about what you're worth.”

“Then what is it about?”

“Rank, age, training, the circumstances of your—”

“Don't.”

He stopped.

I couldn't listen to him explain the mathematics of selling me.

The registrar seemed entirely unmoved by the fact that my life had just acquired a minimum bid. She pulled a narrow strip from the desk, wrote something on it and secured it around my wrist.

317.

I looked at the number.

“Maren Stone is registered,” she said.

Apparently that was that.

Thomas wasn't allowed into the transfer quarters. For once, I was grateful for a rule.

He walked me as far as the entrance before stopping beneath one of the lanterns. The market continued behind him, loud and bright and impossibly normal.

“I'll be here tomorrow.”

I looked at the number around my wrist. “So you've said.”

“Maren.”

I lifted my gaze.

There were a hundred things he might have said.

That he was sorry.

That he would stop this.

That he'd changed his mind and Silvercrest could find another way.

Instead, he reached into his coat and handed me a small wrapped parcel.

I recognized the cloth immediately.

Cook's.

My throat tightened.

“She made me bring it.”

I took it. The smell of bread escaped through the fabric.

“Is she angry?”

Thomas almost smiled. “Furious.”

“Good.”

“She threatened Garrick with a ladle.”

That did make me smile. Only for a second.

Thomas looked like he wanted to hug me.

I didn't know whether I wanted him to.

In the end, neither of us moved.

“I'll see you in the morning,” he said.

Then he left.

I watched until the crowd swallowed him. Then I walked over to the quarters.

To my surprise they were better than the truck. But that was the nicest thing I could say about them.

Ravenwood had converted a long storage building into temporary sleeping space. Thin mattresses covered the floor in neat rows. Blankets had been stacked near the entrance, and two guards stood outside.

Tessa had already claimed three mattresses together. She lifted one corner of the blanket beside her when she saw me. “I saved you the luxury suite.”

I sat down.

Maisie was already curled beneath her blanket, although her eyes remained open.

Tessa noticed the parcel in my hands. “Please tell me that's food.”

“Bread.”

“I always knew we'd become friends.”

I unwrapped it. Cook had packed half a loaf, cheese, two apples and three small pastries.

Of course she had.

There was also a folded piece of paper.

I opened it.

Two words.

Eat something.

I laughed before I could stop myself. Then my eyes burned. I folded the note again before either woman could see.

Tessa was already breaking the bread into pieces. “Your Cook seems sensible.”

“She'd hate you.”

“Most sensible people do.”

Maisie took the piece I offered her. She ate slowly, staring at the number around her wrist. “What happens if nobody buys us?”

Tessa stopped chewing.

That got my attention. “I assumed we go home.”

She looked at me. The expression was enough.

“We don't?”

“Not usually.”

Maisie went pale. “Then where?”

Tessa leaned back against the wall. “Depends. Sometimes you're registered for the next transfer. Sometimes Ravenwood places you in work service until another pack takes you.”

“And sometimes?” I asked.

She hesitated. “Sometimes packs take groups that don't sell individually.”

I looked around the room. Dozens of women lay beneath blankets.

For the first time all night, being unwanted sounded almost as frightening as being bought.