Ravished By The Alphas

Valerie We were released from our cages the moment the sun crested the mountains. I followed the other girls—a single-file line of us, heads bobbing and feet shuffling in the darkness. Our hands were cuffed and our legs chained, making it difficult to keep in step with one another. But we had grown used to this. We knew better than to step too far or walk too quickly, or we’d bump into one another. The corridor we traveled through was damp and cold, but it was home. I could remember the sounds and smells of this place better than my own name. Thirty-two steps to the large staircase, eighteen stairs to the top. We began our ascent, and I had only reached the fourth step when Aunt Louis gave me a shove. “Hurry up!” I scowled to the shadows and quickened my pace, avoiding eye-contact with the sour aunt. Clearly, Aunt Louis wasn’t in a good mood today. But no one was surprised by this; all of the aunts had been terribly moody over the past dew days. It was a dry season and business had been lacking. This was not unusual for the mating season, but it cast a dark cloud over the shop until autumn, when business would pick up. It wasn’t just our shop; all slave shops suffered this time of the year. Our shop in particular hadn’t sold a single slave in two weeks. No wonder the aunties were so riled up. They weren’t really our aunts. We called them by the name because they were the closest things we had to guardians. They fed us and clothed us, and cared for us until adulthood, but realistically speaking, they were our masters. A handful of old she-wolves who made their living by ensuring we were properly trained and sold for slave-hood. By all rights, they owned us—and they could do to us what they saw fit…at least, until we were sold to new masters. Then those masters could do to us whatever they saw fit. That was why, as terrible as they were sometimes, I was grateful for the aunts. We gathered in the lobby, expanding our line into a half-circle around Aunt Rita. She held up a sheet of paper and a pen, and began her usual roll call. “One-one-four.” “Present.” “One-one-five.” “Present.” “One-one-eight.” For each number called, a small voice responded present. Numbers were all they gave us. We did not have names in this place. Names were too difficult for the Aunts to remember. And what was the point in remembering the name of someone who would soon be sold off and never heard from again? We were a flock of sheep, on our way to the slaughterhouse. We did not need names. “One-one-ten,” Aunt Rita went on. Our eyes stayed low, our heads bowed. We watched the cracks on the floor as we listened to each of our sisters call out in their tiny voices, “Present.” This was a daily measure to insure we were all accounted for—but I had a theory that it was more than that. It was a reminder of who we were and what our place in this world was. When roll call came to an end, the aunts gathered together to discuss the arrangements for the day. Who would be placed in the display cases, and who would be “shelved” in the back. To spotlight certain slaves on just the right day was the key to reeling in a desperate buyer. For instance, a vampire in search of a blood-bag might be more intrigued by a familiar with meat on her bones. Healthy blood was best, after all. Werewolves, however, seemed to prefer their slaves slimmer and weaker. It meant they were easy to oppress and manipulate. It was all business—something wolves were terrible at. If they really wanted a sale during the slow seasons, they should’ve put the more appealing slaves on display. But rather, the aunts did the opposite, saving the highest quality slaves for the busy season. Humans used to say that werewolves were all brawns and no brains. And the more I learned about werewolves, the more I found myself agreeing. Somehow, despite that…they were still victorious when the war ended. I supposed brawns were just as valuable. “One-two-seven,” called Aunt Rita. My head snapped up, the sound of my numbers like a bell ringing off in the back of my head. “You’ll be on display today.” I cleared my throat uncomfortably and nodded. I despised the display cases. They always made me so claustrophobic, and it didn’t help to feel the hungry eyes of dozens of potential masters passing by in a day. Of course, none of them were very interested. Not in someone like me. Another girl was called up to the display case, where we were painted in subtle makeup—a soft powder and a tint rubbed on our lips to turn them the shade of cherry juice. They dressed us as well—though sparsely. We were stripped down to our drawers, and a long white cloth was wrapped once around our chests and twice around our hips. It was important that potential buyers could see our forms—our blemishes, our scars, our strengths and weaknesses. The aunts knew better than to falsely market their products. Then we were placed on chairs in front of large glass panes. This, the Aunts said, gave buyers the opportunity to get a good look at us from the streets. We smiled at every soul that passed by, but no one seemed particularly interested in dropping in. In fact, the streets were barren today. The entire market looked a little drab. I felt a slight nudge and looked to the girl beside me. “Want to talk?” she asked. “I’m feeling very dull.” She spoke beneath her breath and didn’t look my way. We had all learned to speak to one another without making much of a sound. The aunts would be angry if they heard chatter coming from any of us. I chanced another glance at her before turning my attention back on the streets. I’d spoken to this particular girl once before. Her name was Ashley—she was new, just sent in a week ago. That explained why she was so perky and positive all the time. Dull. I wondered what Ashley meant by dull. Was she bored of this place? It wouldn’t stay that way for long. The mating festival would arrive soon, and after that, unmated wolves would be piling into every slave shop on the strip to seek out some poor girl who would be used to sate their excessive s****l hunger. Then, not long after that, the vampires would wake up from their annual sleep and seek out fresh blood. As much as I hated to be on display, being chosen for the display case during the slow season was a lucky draw. Girls did everything in their power to avoid this position during the busy seasons. Even if it meant harming themselves. Leaving scars on their bodies so they looked as imperfect as possible. If they could, they would knock out their own teeth, so they smiled with goofy black gaps in their mouths. None of it mattered. So many times before, I’d watched those same girls dragged off with fear and despair in their eyes. I didn’t answer Ashley. I didn’t want to be caught and punished for chatting, and there wasn’t much to talk about, anyway. But Ashley was new here, which meant she was still oblivious to how hopeless our world was. She nudged me again. “Hey, did you hear about what happened yesterday? Some of the girls overheard the Aunts talking—they said a wolf went crazy in the market and murdered a bunch of slaves. Injured a ton of masters, too. They said the Alpha’s pissed about it—that he’s coming to canvas the damage.” I was curious and none of the aunts seemed to be catching on to Ashley’s whispers, so I dared to ask, “Why did he do it?” “No one knows,” Ashley said. “Aunt Louis said he was drunk at the festival celebration, but Aunt Rita doubted it. Said he must’ve been possessed by evil spirits.” My stomach turned at the thought of all those poor slaves, ripped to ribbons by the claws of a frenzied wolf. But in the end, it had nothing to do with us. The incident in question happened on an entirely different street—somewhere on the other side of the market, surely. “How scary…” I muttered, mostly to myself. “You two at the front!” one of the Aunts shouted. “Stop your squawking and pay attention to our guests!” I wanted to argue that we hadn’t any guests yet, but arguing with the Aunts never ended well for anyone. Ashley and I went silent after that, forcing smiles at the empty streets. Then a disturbance swept over the shop. The aunts went stiff. I could see them in the reflection of the glass—their entire posture perked up as if they could hear a distant sound. One by one, they dropped everything they were doing and approached the front of the shop. When a knock came at the door, they pried it open hastily and stepped aside, their heads bowed in some strange submissive form. I wanted to look, but I would be disciplined if I took my eyes from the window. So I listened instead. A noise hit my ears. Something I’d never heard before—something that made my hair stand on end. A growl. Someone chanting. Whispers and murmurs. Then, among the culmination of noises, one word in particular reached my ears. A word that made my blood run cold. Alpha.