Their Broken Luna

Elara's POV “The next item—rare stock, a human–werewolf hybrid!” With a sharp click, the spotlight snapped to life, spilling its harsh glow over my naked form.Sweat on my light honey-colored body lit up in the brightness, turning into some silky glow that made me feel even more exposed. The glare was so harsh I had to close my eyes, my lashes trembling uselessly like a frightened rabbit. The scene was one of utter degradation. I tried to lower my head, an act rendered impossible by the perverse intricacy of my bonds. I could feel the ropes bite into the nape of my neck, forming a stark 'X' across my pallid collarbones before cinching each tomato-sized breast, thrusting them into obscene prominence. The cords trailed down my spine from beneath my breasts, past my buttocks, then wound around my thighs to the front. There, they yanked my bent calves hard against my thighs, forcing me to kneel on the ground—legs wrenched brutally apart. These beasts had stripped me of all dignity. The heavy iron collar around my neck gouged into my flesh, wrenching my chest upward into a groveling arch—a desperate, exposed posture that seemed crafted for some twisted male gaze. All I could do was contract my v****a with all my might to protect my secret. I turned my face away, letting my blonde hair fall forward to hide whatever it could. I didn’t want to look at any of it. Not the stage, not the crowd, not this disgusting sale of my body. But then a tall, broad werewolf male walked over, grabbed my chin, and forced my face forward again. He shoved my tangled hair aside like he was polishing a product. Another selling point as a s*x slave. My face. I know what I look like—deep-set eyes, full lips, a sharp nose bridge, warm honey skin. The kind of mixed-blood features people like to stare at.When I opened my eyes and revealed my gray-green pupils, I saw clearly that the people below drew a sharp breath, stunned by the purity in them—a purity so divine it was. But the moment I met their gazes, my whole body shook. Not from cold.From them. Greedy. Hungry. Cruel. Men’s eyes. Werewolves’ eyes. I knew exactly what they were imagining. They were dying to f**k my v****a right then. But before that, they had to pay to own me. The air was thick—cigar smoke, expensive cologne, and raw, unfiltered desire. This was the werewolves’ underground auction house. And I was the s*x slave up for sale. In the shadows, a pair of blood-red eyes stared straight at me. My father—Boris. Filth in human form. He’d finally found the perfect way to get rid of his “too-old” daughter and turn a profit while doing it, even though I was only seventeen But I knew the real reason. He was afraid. Afraid that when my birthday came and my wolf awakened, I’d tear him apart. For Leo. And for myself. Exactly what I’ve wanted to do for years. I glared at him, wishing I could rip his throat open right then—drink him dry, crush every bone in his body between my teeth. I hated him so deeply it felt like its own pulse. He was my demon. My personal hell— A burning jolt shot through my neck, snapping the thought in half. The inhibitor collar. It looked like a simple metal shackle, but it sensed even the slightest flicker of aggression and punished instantly.Jolted by the electric current, my whole body convulsed. Fluids gushed out of me as if fleeing for their lives—sweat, saliva, and slippery vaginal secretions. All was exposed under the spotlight, with droplets glistening on my golden pubic hair. They looked as pure as morning dew, yet paradoxically ignited the most intense desires in the werewolves below. “Female. Young. Healthy. Verified human and werewolf lineage. Unmarked. Elite training. Starting bid: fifty thousand.” The auctioneer gagged on his own spit before forcing the rest out, his voice scraping over my nerves like sandpaper. Elite training. That phrase made my stomach twist into a knot. It meant exactly what it sounded like. Since childhood, day and night, my brother Leo and I posed in shameful positions for the camera. Because it was constantly permeated with semen, blood, and saliva, the dirty mattress emitted a disgusting fishy stench. We were forced to pretend enjoyment on such garbage, licking each other's genitals, or else Boris would beat us with his fists and kicks. But that wasn’t even the worst part. It was the “fatherly love.” The milky, sticky, foul-smelling “fatherly love” we tried desperately to avoid by obeying every order he barked. Two innocent children entangled together, like two high-mountain flowers blooming in the mud. Boris made a fortune from that hell. Until… Until Leo broke. Leo. His eyes had once been ocean blue—clear and bright—but years of filming that filth drained every trace of color, leaving them gray, empty, dead. The night before he killed himself, Boris set up a twisted “Adam and Eve” scene. We wore nothing but flower crowns, forced to “mate like animals” while he adjusted the camera and pretended to “direct.” A “famous director,” after all—with half a million p**n-site followers and a god complex to match. As usual, we drank the semen Boris offered us as part of his unique "start-of-filming ceremony," all praying for a smooth shoot and a chance to rest early and savor a moment of freedom. Unfortunately, the day's shoot proved exceptionally grueling. When Leo couldn't get an erection, it sent Boris into a fury. To "teach" Leo how to film, Boris savagely r***d him in the most humiliating way possible. The shoot fell apart anyway. Boris got a tape, but not the one he wanted. So he made us redo it. Five times. Still not good enough. Leo threw up everywhere. Boris stepped on his face, grinding him into his own vomit until blood, tears, hair, and bile smeared together. Leo killed himself the next day. Before he died, he pressed the only thing he had left into my hands—a thin silver chain from our mother, with a tiny charm engraved with strange patterns. “Stay alive, Elara,” he whispered in my ear, voice already shattered. “No matter what happens… stay alive for me.” The chain is inside my v****a right now—that is my secret. It took me so long to lubricate myself enough to push it in, otherwise Boris, that greedy devil, would have snatched it away. Before sending me here, he gave me his last portion of "fatherly love," then stripped me of everything, down to the last piece of clothing. Thank God, in doing so, he only shoved the necklace deeper. The bidding roared around me, rising and crashing like a pack of starving beasts. Sixty thousand. Eighty thousand. A hundred thousand. Each number hit me like a hammer, smashing whatever scraps of hope I had left. Who would buy me? Some bloated old werewolf? Or a whole pack planning to pass me around? Then a voice sliced through the noise—low, calm, and impossible to ignore. “Two hundred thousand.”