Bound to the Beast

CHAPTER 2

Freya

The air was thick with sweat, fear, and the faint, metallic scent of old blood.

I had been locked in this hellhole for four hours.

Four hours of muffled sobs, shivering bodies pressed too close together, and the steady, stomach-turning sound of someone throwing up in the corner. Four hours of watching girls being dragged through the heavy iron doors—none of them returning.

I counted. Thirty-four girls were here when I first woke up. Now, only seventeen remained.

My wrists ached from the tight zip ties digging into my skin, the cheap plastic biting deep enough that I knew there would be bruises. My throat was dry, my lips cracked. I hadn’t had a drop of water since I was taken, and whoever was running this operation had no intention of treating us like anything other than cattle.

They had drugged us.

Lined us up, one by one, and forced needles into our arms with hands that didn’t care about trembling or protests. Some of the girls had collapsed immediately, their bodies slack, their eyes glassy. Others had fought, weakly, but the moment the drugs kicked in, their resistance crumbled.

Me?

The drugs didn’t work.

At first, my heartbeat had spiked, a frantic rhythm hammering against my ribs. My limbs had felt heavy, a strange fog creeping around the edges of my mind. But it didn’t last. My body burned through it faster than they expected, leaving only a lingering warmth in my veins.

So I did the only thing I could—I played along.

I let my head loll forward, my breaths slow, my body sag against the cold, filthy floor. I let them believe I was just as defenseless as the rest. That I had already given up.

But inside, I was waiting. Calculating.

I didn’t know where I was, or who had taken me, but two things were clear.

One—I would run the second I was sold. The moment my so-called buyer relaxed, the moment they thought I was weak, I’d strike.

Two—if I couldn’t run, I’d kill whoever bought me.

I wasn’t meant to be here. I was Freya Sinclair. The biggest name in fashion. My empire was built from blood, sweat, and a mind that never took no for an answer. I worked for this life. The long nights, the cutthroat business deals, the hours spent sketching until my fingers cramped.

Love? Relationships? I never had time for them. My only love was my work.

Now, that life felt a world away.

The room was small, windowless, the only light coming from a single flickering bulb overhead. The walls were stained, the floor covered in a thin layer of grime that clung to my skin like a second layer.

Most of the girls were silent now, exhausted from crying or too broken to fight anymore. I wasn’t one of them.

A girl beside me shifted, her ribs poking out from beneath her thin dress. She couldn’t have been more than twenty. Her lips trembled as she whispered, “Do you think they’ll hurt us?”

I didn’t answer.

I knew the truth. They already had.

The door groaned open again.

A girl whimpered, shrinking back as two guards stepped inside. They scanned the room like they were picking livestock, their gazes skimming over the trembling bodies pressed against the walls.

Then, one of them stopped.

I felt it before I saw it—that slow, crawling sensation of being watched.

His gaze locked onto me.

Something ugly twisted in his smirk. “Look at this one,” he murmured to his partner, stepping forward. He crouched in front of me, his breath reeking of cheap cigars and decay. “Still got a little fire in her eyes, huh?”

I kept my face slack, my body still. Dumb prey. That’s what he needed to see.

A rough hand grabbed my chin, tilting my face up. The man studied me like I was a thing.

His fingers squeezed just a little too hard. Testing me.

I swallowed my rage. The moment would come. Not yet.

Behind him, the second man chuckled. “She’ll make the bidders go crazy.”

The first one let go of my chin with a rough shove, standing to his full height. “Yeah. This one’s special.”

He reached down, grabbing my wrist in a bruising grip.

The smirk widened. “You’re next.”

ALARIC

Viktor was still speaking, but I wasn’t listening.

His voice faded, dissolving into nothing more than a dull hum in the background. My senses sharpened, every instinct snapping to attention as the heavy doors at the far end of the chamber groaned open.

And then, I saw her.

She was led into the room by two guards, her wrists bound, her chin lifted in a way that should have looked fragile—defenseless, even. But it didn’t.

She wasn’t like the others.

The other women that had been dragged onto this stage before her had entered with vacant eyes, their bodies weak, resigned to their fate. But not this one.

This one burned.

The defiance in her gaze was like a blade, sharp enough to cut through the thick, suffocating air of the auction house. She wasn’t broken. Not yet.

And that intrigued me.

The lights overhead cast a soft glow against her skin—smooth, sun-kissed, untouched by the filth of this place. Her hair, long, wild, cascading past her waist, gleamed like the richest silk. It wasn’t tied back, wasn’t tamed. It was free. And something about that made something dark curl deep in my gut.

My eyes traced the curve of her jaw, the way her full lips pressed together in defiance. Lips made for sin, but twisted in stubborn resolve.

My hand curled into a fist at my side. f**k.

She was fighting this. Even now. Even as she stood before a room filled with men who saw her as nothing more than a purchase waiting to be claimed.

The auctioneer grinned, oblivious to the sudden tension in the air.

"Ah, gentlemen," he drawled, stepping forward. "Now this one—this one is special."

The murmurs started immediately. Voices, hungry and intrigued, swelled around me, but I barely heard them.

My senses were locked on her—on the way her chest rose and fell, measured but tight. On the way her fingers twitched slightly against the restraints, like she was still calculating her escape.

I should have ignored it. I should have looked away, let her be just another face, another transaction.

But I couldn’t.

Because in that moment, as her gaze flicked up, scanning the room with something almost daring, something almost reckless—her eyes found mine.

And the air around us f*****g changed.

Her stare slammed into me like a challenge, dark and burning, like she was daring me to look away first.

My pulse surged. Heat pooled low in my gut.

No one looked at me like that. No one.

And yet, here she was. Bound, outnumbered, utterly at my mercy. And she still wanted to fight.

A slow smirk curled at the corner of my lips.

Oh, little thing.

You have no idea what you’ve just started.

Alaric

The auctioneer’s voice was a distant hum, an annoying buzz against my ears.

“She’s untouched, unbroken—a rare find. A fighter, as you can see. But we can assure you, gentlemen, she’ll learn obedience.”

The men around me chuckled. I did not.

I wasn’t listening to him. My focus was on her.

She stood in the center of the stage, bathed in golden light that did nothing to soften the coldness in her gaze. There was no fear in her stance, no trembling in her fingers. She stood like a woman who had already decided her fate—one that didn’t involve bowing to anyone in this f*****g room.

The sight of it… unsettled me.

I’d seen humans broken before. I’d seen them crawl on their knees, pleading for mercy that never came. It was what they did best—submit.

But she?

Her back was straight. Chin high. Those full lips pressed into something just shy of a sneer.

And her eyes—f**k.

A defiant, fiery gold, gleaming under the light like she’d swallowed the sun itself.

Dangerous.

She should have been terrified. The moment she stepped onto this stage, her fate was sealed. She belonged to someone now, whether she wanted to or not. And yet, she wasn’t cowering.

No.

She was waiting. Calculating.

I could see it in the way she flexed her fingers against the bindings, the way her weight shifted just slightly onto the balls of her feet.

She was looking for an opening. She was looking for a way to run.

And for some godforsaken reason, that knowledge sent a sharp, unwanted thrill down my spine.

The bidding started.

"One million!"

Lightweights.

"Three million!"

"Five million!"

The numbers climbed, and I barely registered them. My senses had narrowed, tunneling in on her, only her. The longer I watched her, the tighter my muscles coiled, something dark and unfamiliar gnawing at the edge of my mind.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

I had never given a f**k about these auctions. I had never cared who lived or died, who got sold or slaughtered. Humans were nothing more than animals, and I had spent my entire life treating them as such.

So why the f**k did I care now?

"Ten million!"

The auctioneer grinned. "Now we’re getting somewhere—"

"Twenty million!"

The tension in the room thickened. Some men backed off, recognizing the inevitable. Others grew more determined.

She didn’t react to the rising numbers, but I caught the flicker of awareness in her eyes. She knew she was being bought and sold like cattle. She knew none of this was real, that the money didn’t matter.

That no one in this room saw her as a person.

Something sharp curled in my chest.

"Thirty million!"

The bidding war intensified. Voices rose, egos clashed, but none of it mattered.

Because I was done.

I exhaled slowly, rolling my shoulders back as I loosened my cuffs. My voice, when I finally spoke, was quiet. Absolute.

"One hundred million."

Silence.

A thick, stunned silence that swallowed the entire room.

The auctioneer nearly choked on his own breath. A ripple of disbelief spread through the bidders, a few men openly gaping.

No one had expected that.

No one would challenge it.

Because no one was that f*****g stupid.

I didn’t realize I had spoken until Viktor turned to me, expression unreadable.

But it didn’t matter.

The girl was mine.

He recovered quickly, leaning in slightly. “That’s an unnecessary amount, Alaric. I could—”

“No,” I cut him off smoothly. “She is to be delivered to my mansion. Tonight.”

Viktor frowned. “But—”

I turned my head slowly, letting my gaze meet his.

He stilled.

I didn’t need to say anything. He knew better.

With a quiet nod, he backed down, speaking into his earpiece to make arrangements.

I straightened my suit, adjusting the cuffs as if I hadn’t just brought the entire room to a standstill.

"Send my private helicopter to pick her up," I added coolly. "And I’ll be on it."

A few murmurs echoed through the hall, a mixture of curiosity and unease. The wolves in the room—those who knew who I was—watched me with something close to fear.

I smirked, just slightly.

Then, without another glance at the stage, I turned and strode toward the exit, moving with the kind of confidence that made men step aside without being told.

I could feel their eyes on me.

Let them watch.