LYRA POV
The cold water hit my skin like a slap.
"Scrub harder," the beast woman barked, dumping another bucket over my head. "You smell like smoke and dirt. No one buys filthy merchandise."
Merchandise. That's what I was now.
I wanted to fight. Wanted to scream and claw and run. But iron chains bound my wrists, and guards with yellow wolf eyes watched from the doorway. Twenty other girls from my village huddled in the bath house, crying softly as beast servants scrubbed their skin raw.
Mrs. Chen sat beside me, her hands shaking. "Lyra, what's going to happen to us?"
I couldn't answer. The truth would break her.
They dressed us in white—simple, thin fabric that left nothing to imagination. Like lambs prepared for slaughter. My wet hair dripped down my back as they lined us up in a dark tunnel beneath the auction house.
Above us, I heard voices. Beast voices. Laughing, drinking, excited.
Excited to buy us.
"Move!" A guard shoved me forward into the line. "And remember—you smile, you obey, you don't speak unless spoken to. Cause trouble, and we'll make an example of you the others won't forget."
I bit my tongue until I tasted blood.
The first girl from our village—Sarah, who used to braid flowers into her hair—was pushed onto the stage. Through the tunnel opening, I watched her stumble into blinding lights. A beast man's voice boomed: "Healthy female, age sixteen, good for breeding or house work!"
Bidding started immediately. Numbers shouted from the darkness beyond the lights. Sarah's sobs echoed back to us.
"Sold! To Lord Vex for eight hundred gold marks!"
One by one, they took my friends. My neighbors. People I'd known my entire life.
Thomas, the blacksmith's son—sold to a wolf lord for labor.
Little Maya, only fourteen—a lion beast bought her, and the auctioneer's knowing laugh made my stomach turn.
Mrs. Chen gripped my hand as her turn came. "Tell my daughter I love her," she whispered. "If you ever see her again—"
"Don't talk like that—"
Guards yanked her away. I heard her sold within minutes. Four hundred gold marks. Like she was worth less than a horse.
Then there were only five of us left from Ashveil.
Four.
Three.
Two.
"Next!" the guard shouted, grabbing my arm. "You're up, grey-eyes."
My legs didn't want to move. The guard dragged me anyway, chains rattling, until I stumbled onto the stage.
The lights blinded me instantly. I couldn't see the audience, only felt hundreds of beast eyes on my skin like insects crawling. The air reeked of alcohol and expensive perfume and something worse—hunger.
"Gentlemen and ladies!" the auctioneer called out, his snake tongue flickering between his teeth. "A rare beauty for your consideration! Age twenty-two, virginal, excellent health, and—" He grabbed my chin roughly, forcing my face toward the lights. "Notice the eyes!"
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"Silver-grey," someone whispered.
"When was the last time—"
"Thought that bloodline was extinct—"
"Silence!" the auctioneer snapped, but he sounded excited. "Bidding starts at five hundred gold marks!"
"Five hundred!" a voice called immediately.
"Six hundred!"
"Eight!"
The numbers climbed faster than I could follow. My heart hammered against my ribs. What was happening? Why did my eyes matter?
Find the grey-eyed woman, Papa had said. You are more than you know.
Was this what he meant? Was I valuable because of my eyes?
"Two thousand gold marks!" someone shouted.
The crowd gasped. That was more than some beasts earned in a year.
I searched the darkness beyond the lights, trying to see who was bidding, trying to understand. But the stage lights turned everything into shadows and shapes.
"Three thousand!" another voice countered.
This was insane. They were fighting over me like I was treasure instead of a person. Fear clawed up my throat. Whoever won—whoever paid this much—they'd expect something from me. Something terrible.
"Five thousand gold marks!" The new voice was female, sharp as a knife. "And I'll take her eyes as trophies if anyone outbids me!"
Laughter erupted from the crowd. My knees almost gave out.
The auctioneer raised his gavel. "Five thousand going once—"
"Ten thousand."
The entire auction house went silent.
The voice came from the back—deep, cold, and carrying enough authority to make the auctioneer freeze mid-swing.
Every head turned.
Heavy footsteps echoed through the sudden quiet. Someone was walking down the center aisle, parting the crowd like a knife through water.
Then he stepped into the light.
My breath stopped.
He was massive—taller than any beast I'd seen, built like violence wrapped in dark clothes. Black hair touched with silver, a face that could've been carved from stone, and eyes—
Golden eyes that glowed like fire in the darkness.
The same eyes I'd seen watching my village burn.
That impossible pulling sensation slammed into my chest again, stronger than before. The golden rope that shouldn't exist, tying me to this stranger, this monster.
His gaze locked onto mine, and I saw something flicker across his face. Shock. Recognition. Something almost like... pain?
"General Nightfang," the auctioneer stammered, bowing so low his forehead nearly hit the stage. "We—we're honored by your presence. But surely you're not interested in—"
"Twenty thousand gold marks," the general said, never looking away from me. His voice sent shivers down my spine. "And if anyone else bids, I'll consider it a personal insult."
No one bid.
No one even breathed.
He climbed the steps to the stage, each footstep making my heart race faster. Up close, he was even more terrifying—power radiating off him like heat from a forge. He stopped inches from me, so close I could see golden flecks dancing in his eyes.
Those eyes studied my face like he was memorizing it. Or like he'd seen it before.
"Your eyes," he said quietly, just for me to hear. His voice was rough, almost... haunted. "Where did you get those eyes?"
I didn't understand the question. "I—I was born with them?"
Something changed in his expression. His hand reached toward my face, and I flinched back instinctively.
He froze. Then slowly, carefully, he lowered his hand.
"What's your name?" he asked.
I shouldn't answer. Shouldn't give him anything. But my mouth betrayed me: "Lyra. Lyra Thorne."
His entire body went rigid.
The color drained from his face like I'd stabbed him.
"Thorne," he repeated, the word barely a whisper. "Your family name is Thorne?"
"Yes. Why—"
"Sold!" the auctioneer shouted, clearly desperate to end whatever this was. "To General Nightfang for twenty thousand gold marks!"
Guards moved to unlock my chains from the stage post, preparing to transfer me to my new owner. The general—Nightfang—stood frozen, staring at me like I was a ghost.
"Sir?" one of his soldiers approached cautiously. "Should we take the girl to your carriage?"
Nightfang didn't answer. He just kept staring at me with those burning golden eyes, an expression on his face I couldn't read.
Horror? Guilt? Recognition?
Finally, he spoke, his voice raw: "Elira Thorne had no children. Our spies confirmed her daughter died as an infant."
"I don't know who that is—"
"Yes, you do." He stepped closer, and this time I had nowhere to run. "You're her daughter. You have her eyes. Her face. You're—" He stopped, shaking his head like trying to wake from a nightmare. "This is impossible."
"What's impossible?" I demanded, fear mixing with anger. "Who was Elira Thorne? Why does everyone react to my eyes like I'm cursed?"
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, so quietly I almost missed it: "Because I'm the man who killed your mother."
The world tilted.
Before I could scream, before I could process what he'd just said, his hand shot out and grabbed my arm. Not rough, but firm. Unbreakable.
"You're coming with me," he said. "And you're going to tell me everything about who raised you. Because if you really are Elira's daughter—"
He didn't finish.
But the fear in his golden eyes told me everything.
I wasn't just valuable.
I was dangerous.