Page 37 of Betrayed Auctioned Mate

I can’t think straight. The bidding intensifies, and I hear that voice again, pushing the price higher. My head spins dread, hope, fear, confusion, anger, and desperation like a washing machine.

“Sold!” the auctioneer cries, crashing through my malaise. “To the gentleman in the back, for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars!”

I’ve been sold. I have been sold for money.

The roar of blood in my ears heightens. I still can’t see anyone in the crowd. The lights are too bright, blinding me to the faces before me.

Men groan with disappointment, some still laughing. I’m so exposed. Will I ever feel unexposed again? I’m clothed, but I feel so naked.

This is what it feels like to have your personhood stripped from you. I remember the feeling.

I expect them to lead me off stage, to deliver me to this mystery bidder, whoever they are. Fear curls its cold hands around my throat and squeezes.

But instead of leading me away, the auctioneer steps forward with a wide grin and gestures toward the audience. “And now, let’s welcome our winning bidder to the stage! Come on up and claim your prize, sir.”

There is a long pause. I hear footsteps echo in the room. Slow, deliberate. They grow louder as the man approaches, and I’m nauseous with terror. His shadow ascends the stairs to the stage.

I brace myself for the worst, every muscle in my body tensing as I wait for him to reach me.

Out of the blinding light, I see him.

Ado.

The relief crashes over me so hard I nearly collapse. It’s him. It’s really him. He’s here. He came for me.

I’m weeping openly now—I hope I can play it off as fear alone. They can’t know we know each other. They’d kill him and sell me all over again.

Ado's face remains expressionless, but I can feel his gaze on me. I want to say something, anything, but I can’t. Not here, not now. The room is watching. Their eyes, those hungry, greedy eyes, are on us.

The auctioneer pulls Ado aside for a moment to slickly confirm payment. My mind fuzzes to another place. I imagine my apartment. At least it was safe there.

Percy and Rafael must be nearby. They can extract me. I can go back to the pack center and sleep for a week. I can be alone, and I can heal, and I can go back to a world where all of this is a bad memory, and bad memories are scary, but they cannot hurt me, not really—

“Now, in order to ensure the legitimacy of sales,” the auctioneer says, “We must first make sure your mating to the bride is legitimate.”

I freeze where I stand. The words hang in the air.

My blood runs cold. The ritual. The blood-bond. It’s more than just a purchase. They need proof, a seal on their twisted transaction.

Ado doesn’t seem to move a millimeter, not blinking, not breathing.

This is too far. This is wrong.

But I can’t move, can’t speak. The reality of it crashes down on me, threatening to crush me. Ado stands before me, his eyes flickering with the same realization.

We’re trapped.

The auctioneer waves a hand, and one of the dark-clad men steps forward, holding a ceremonial dagger.

“For all distinguished guests, excluding verified customers, we perform the blood-bond to solidify the union. A symbolic gesture of ownership and devotion. A beautiful tradition.”

I want to scream. To run. But I can’t. If we refuse, we’re dead. Ado is dead.

Is this really worth it for my freedom?

I think about freedom. I think about how it felt to lose it.

I think I might throw up all over the auctioneer’s shiny black loafers.

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