SYMPHONY OF THE MOON:A breeder for the Lycan king

“Sold! To the King of Nightmares!” The gavel cracked like thunder against the dais. Silence fell. A girl in chains didn’t flinch. She didn’t cry. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Just stood there…barefoot, bruised, silver hair matted with dried blood, violet eyes staring into the smoke-clogged crowd like she was seeing ghosts. “Come,” the handler snarled, jerking the chain around her neck. “Your new master waits.” Caelira Nocturne did not move. The chain yanked again, sharp against her collarbone, drawing her forward with the grace of a puppet pulled by broken strings. Gasps erupted as she passed. Not because she was naked beneath the sheer veil..every girl here was…but because of the name that had just echoed off those auction walls. “Did he really bid?” “Gods. He hasn’t bought anyone in years…” “Thought he’d had his fill..” “She’s doomed.” Serenya kept her eyes down. The floor beneath her feet was black stone, slick with old blood. Girls had screamed here. Some never made it out alive. But death wasn’t the fear. Not anymore. She’d been trained not to fear it. She’d been trained for worse. Two guards pushed open the iron doors at the end of the auction hall. And there, framed in silver moonlight and shadows, he stood. Lycan King Therion Nyctraeus . The Hybrid King. The Beast of the Blood Wars. Half Lycan. Half Vampire. Entirely untouchable. He didn’t move. Didn’t smile. Didn’t blink. He just stared at her with eyes like storms. Pale gray. Empty. Then he spoke. Voice like smoke over a fire. “Bring her to me.” The handler swallowed hard. “Y-Yes, my King.” Caelira was dragged forward. Closer. Closer. Her steps were silent. Her pulse wasn’t. She met his eyes. Didn’t lower hers. Didn’t dare. “Name?” Therion asked. The handler opened his mouth to answer. Therion didn’t look at him. “I wasn’t asking you.” Caelira’s voice was low. Calm. “Caelira.” Therion ’s jaw twitched. His gaze dropped briefly to the thin chain around her throat. “Take it off.” The handler hesitated. “She’s... disobedient, Sire. Not like the others. We usually keep her..” Therion ’s hand rose. One finger. The handler went quiet. Therion stepped forward and with one hand..gloved in black leather..ripped the chain from her neck like it was paper. Caelira didn’t flinch. Not when his fingers brushed her skin. Not when his power wrapped around her like a second collar. Therion leaned in. Close. Too close. “Do you know what I am?” he asked, voice low enough that only she could hear. Her answer came without hesitation. “A monster.” A beat. And then.. Therion smiled. Not with amusement. Not with pleasure. It was the kind of smile wolves gave before they tore your throat out. “Good,” he murmured. “Then we understand each other.” He turned on his heel. “Bring her.” “No cart?” the handler asked. Therion didn’t look back. “She walks.” She walks with the King of Nightmares, they whispered behind her. And she did. Through the market square now hushed in reverent fear. Past stalls that once smelled of spices, now reeking of silence and ash. All eyes on them. But no one dared speak. His guards followed like shadows. But it was him she watched. Therion Nyctraeus moved like a storm. Cold. Controlled. The kind of man whose presence was a weapon, and every step said I do not bleed like you. “Why me?” Caelira asked, quietly. He didn’t answer. “Was it because I’m the last silver breeder? Because I didn’t cry on the stage?” He stopped. Turned. Faced her. “No,” Therion said. “It’s because I want your father to rot in hell. And I’m going to use you to get him there.” The air left her lungs. And still, she didn’t flinch. Therion stepped closer again, voice softer now, dangerous. “You have his eyes, Caelira. I wonder if he’ll still look so smug when I carve them out of your skull and send them to him in a box.” She didn’t react. Didn’t speak. And that..that..made Therion ’s eyes narrow. “You’re not afraid of me,” he said. “I am,” she replied. “But I’m more afraid of what I’ll become if I survive you.” Therion blinked. Then… laughed. Low. Dark. The kind of laugh that promised nothing good. “I should’ve bought you sooner.” She didn’t ask what he meant. She knew. The palace loomed ahead. Black stone. Spires like claws. Walls draped in shadows that moved on their own. Therion led her through its gates. Past guards who bowed but did not speak. Past maids who trembled and a court that kept their eyes fixed on the floor. To a wing no one else entered. His. At the doors, he paused. Turned to her. “You will stay in this hall. You will not leave unless I say so. You will not speak unless I permit it. You do not run. You do not cry. You do not beg.” caelira tilted her head. “And if I do?” Therion ’s grin returned. “Then I’ll make you wish you hadn’t.” He pushed the doors open. Her room was large. Lavish. Too lavish. Feathers. Silk. Roses. A bath steaming in the corner. Dresses hung like ornaments. This was no prisoner’s cell. It was a bride’s chamber. Caelira stepped inside. Slowly. “Do you intend to bed me now?” she asked without looking at him. Therion leaned against the doorframe. “I don’t bed. I take.” She turned to face him. Still naked. Still unflinching. Therion ’s eyes lingered. But his hands stayed at his sides. “No,” he said finally. “Not tonight.” “Because you can’t?” she whispered. Therion moved. Fast. One second he was across the room. The next, he had her throat in his hand, lifting her clean off the floor. “I can do anything I want,” he said coldly. “Don’t mistake mercy for weakness.” Her toes dangled. Her pulse raced. But she only smiled. “Then kill me.” A flicker of something in his eyes. She wasn’t bluffing. Therion dropped her. She hit the floor hard, coughing, but still looked up at him like she wasn’t the one nearly choked out. “What are you?” he muttered, staring. Caelira sat up slowly. “The girl you’re going to regret not killing tonight.” Therion left without another word. The door slammed shut behind him. Outside, Therion ran a hand through his black hair, breathing hard. She wasn’t like the others. Not soft. Not broken. She was fire. He didn’t want that. He wanted her to suffer. To beg. To be a tool of vengeance…not someone who could burn him alive. “Iven,” he called. The commander appeared instantly. “Sire?” “Keep an eye on her. No one touches her. No one talks to her. If she escapes, I’ll hang your spine on the gates.” Iven bowed. But as Therion walked away, he didn’t see the flicker in Iven’s eyes. The grin. Nor did he see the raven watching from the tower. Eyes glowing. Voice whispering… “She’s here. The prophecy moves.” Inside the room, Caelira curled up on the bed…not from comfort, but survival. She stared at the moon through the window, whispering a prayer to a goddess who’d never listened. And as her fingers brushed the bruises on her throat, she did not cry. She smiled. Because he thought she was weak. And that? That would be his first mistake.