Page 1 of Sold Wolf Slave

Chapter 1 - Kendra

Staring up at the same ceiling for hours on end wasn’t exactly the most engaging form of entertainment. After some time, you get to know every crack and every slight change of shade like the back of your hand. But that was about the only thing I had been able to do since we’d been dragged down here, however long ago that had been. At least they hadn’t bothered putting chains on us while we were stuck in cells. They probably didn’t think any of us would try anything.

It seemed they’d been right. Ever since they had thrown each of us into individual cells, I hadn’t heard a peep from any of the other girls I’d been sold alongside.

I bit my lip, letting my fingers run along the cool stone, wondering if any of the other girls had been sold yet, and whether or not they were okay.

Our former slaves had dragged us to the Underside a few days ago, looking to turn a tidy profit. I’d heard about this place. Every slave had. The slavers who grabbed us typically used it as a threat. “If you don’t want to be sold to Cain, you’ll shut your trap and do what you’re told,” or “Do you want me to take you to Underside?” It was a rather effective threat. The Underside was effectively a city of slavers and guys who were looking for slaves and brides, with half a dozen different ways to get them, from brothels to the auction block to the fighting pit. I didn’t know where I was destined to end up yet, and I didn’t particularly care. I was going to get out of here. Both of us were, my sister and I.

My wolf paced restlessly inside me. I felt bad for her, being cooped up like this. The last men hadn’t been too bad. They had let us shift and run through the woods as long as we were flanked by at least two guards. They used some of us tohunt. Here, I hadn’t even bothered trying to shift in the cramped cell just to let her out. She’d hate it.

I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair. Was Morgan okay? I needed to find a way to check on her, but so far, there hadn’t been any sort of opportunity.

The small slot at the base of the door slid open. I watched from my scratchy cot as the guy—another shifter, based on the stench—shoved a metal tray across the floor. It hit the foot of the bed. The grimy apple rolled off and thumped against the wall.

“Dinner,” the guy said.

I stayed motionless as I tried to peer at him through the barred window. “Where’s my sister?”

He blinked, his brow furrowing as his head tilted. “What are you talking about?” he asked, sounding genuinely confused.

Anger bristled through me as I glowered up at him. “So you’re stupid. Do I need to spell it out for you?”

An angry snarl erupted from the other side of the door. A key slid into the lock, and the door burst open. A hulking, fuming shifter marched toward me. I hated the fact that I shrank back against the wall as he stalked over, leaning over me.

“You’ve got some mouth on you for a slave,” he snarled. I could smell his musk. It clogged my nose. Had he showered in the last month?

He moved closer to me, grinning and showing yellow teeth. “Do you want me to show you how slaves should put those mouths to use?”

I kept my mouth shut, fully aware of the dangerous territory I was tiptoeing into. My stomach twisted and turned with unease. I bristled with rage, and I wanted nothing more than to tear his throat out.

But I managed to keep still. I may have had an impulsive streak, but I at least knew how to keep my mouth shut when I needed to.

He stared down at me, waiting to see if I would answer. When I didn’t, he gave a nod. A triumphant smirk playing on his lip, he straightened.

“Keep that attitude in line,” he said. “Or I’ll make things a lot less pleasant for you.”

He spun on his heels and marched back out the door. He slammed it shut behind him and marched away.

I collapsed on the bed, trying to tell my limbs to stop trembling as I took several deep, shaking breaths. As I did, a tiny voice emerged in the back of my head, pointing out something that I had missed the first time around.

I hadn’t heard him lock the door behind him.

I straightened, heart pounding. He hadn’t locked it? There was no way. Was there?

Slowly, I walked over to the door. I waited, listening for any sounds. When I heard nothing, I tried the door.

My stomach lurched as it swung open.

Eyes widening, I took a step back on instinct, half-expecting it to be a trick. But nothing happened. No one burst into the room, or grabbed the door and slammed it shut while making threats. Nothing. It had been a genuine mistake.

I stepped to the doorway, sniffing. The guard had left; I couldn’t catch his acrid scent anywhere. Tentatively, I stepped outside, emerging in a deserted hallway filled with rows of metal doors. Each one, I knew, had another woman behind it. Some shifters, some witches, some both, all from different backgrounds, all of us stuck here.

I couldn’t do anything for them right now. I had to move. Once I was free, I could come back.

Despite the urgency, instead of heading toward the exit, I went in the opposite direction. I sniffed, searching for a specific scent, one of rosemary and burning incense.

I came to a stop in front of one door as the scent grew. Heart pounding, hoping she was okay, I walked over and peered into the barred window, only to see a young woman a couple of years younger than me pacing back and forth in her cell, staring down at the floor.

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