Page 4 of Sold Bullied Mate

I crack open the window and sit at the table. There’s some left over from the nightgown I’m wearing, but would it be enough to make an apron? The silky material would be better suited for something else, like a scrunchie or a pillowcase.

A bird chirps, and when I look through the window, I see one landing on the scraggly tree just outside my window. Beyond the tree and the bird is the vast, dry landscape, a sea of red and brown. The sun washes over it, bright and unfiltered, and for the first time in a long time, I feel a flicker of joy at the bottom of my heart.

This place might not be perfect, but it’s mine.

And it’s with that full irony that the first knock on the door comes, quick and sharp, sending that flicker of joy back into the darkest, most secret parts of me.

When I open the door, one of Jerrod’s right-hand men is standing there, his huge, bulky frame filling the doorway, a scowl on his face.

“Kira.” He looks me up and down, even more disgust than usual on his face. He’s tall and bald, his biceps straining against the fabric of his shirt, pale blue veins popping out, making me sick when I glance at them.

“What—”

Without preamble or justification, he reaches out, grabs me by the arm, and starts to drag me to his car. He may not bethealpha—the leader of the pack—but he isanalpha, and my body complies with his directives, not fighting against me as he throws me into the passenger seat of his vehicle.

Before he slams the door, he leans in close, his breath rank and hot against my cheek.

“Youreallyfucked up this time, bitch.”

Chapter 3 - Dorian

Hood pulled up over my head, I maneuver through the crowd of beings all milling about the market and vying for the products they want. My scent blocker is working perfectly, but even if it wasn’t, the variety of creatures and scents here might just do a decent job of covering for me.

Vampires, sirens, ghouls, and casters float past me, their scents overwhelming and powerful. I have never seen so many at-odds species together in one place, but it seems we’re all willing to put our differences aside if it means getting our hands on something we want.

We’ve been aware of the dark market in Grayhide territory for years, but I never could have imagined this. Acres and acres of trading, stalls, shady deals in the even darker areas, magi-lights and torches barely lighting the path between each vendor.

The members of my pack are firmly prohibited from entering this territory without permission, as it’s far too dangerous, and we can’t risk prodding the Grayhides. I don’t know if they would go so far as to take a captive, but I also don’t want to find out.

To my left, a woman with a deep voice advertises the variety of fish swimming in tanks, some of them blinking with light, others glowing gently. In one of the tanks, bubbles roll through to the top, the fish swimming around hot to the touch, heating the water.

As I walk, I think of Emin finding me just before I left, arms crossed as usual, staring at me as I packed a light bag. My plan was to take my truck to the boundary line and cross the rest of the way on foot.

“I don’t think you should go alone,” he said, eyes following me as I smeared the scent-blocking cream over my pulse points.

“Noted.”

“We can’t risk you, Dorian.” Emin took a step toward me, eyes flashing, surely thinking about the power vacuum left the last time an alpha died suddenly. My grandfather fought to the death to take that place and made it his top priority to prepare me for the role, promising the pack that there would be no more brutal fighting for power. “You need someone at your back.”

“I can’t riskyou, Emin,” I said, and what I really meant was that I couldn’t risk bringing him into Grayhide territory with me, couldn’t risk his eyes straying from the mission as he thought about the past. Emin is also my right-hand man, the only shifter in our pack capable of running things and putting out fires in my absence. So, I straightened, looked him in the eyes, and said, “And that is final.”

He hesitated, swaying back on his heels, looking like he wanted to say more, but ultimately respecting my leadership. After a beat passed, I returned to my bag, and he said, voice low, “You and I both know there was noinventory managementproblem, Dorian.”

I paused halfway through zipping my bag.

Emin was right, of course. A few weeks ago, we had enough Amanzite to cover the pack for the next year. Now, we have just enough left for the month. If that.

That kind of deficit doesn’t happen from poor management. It happens from theft. And, according to Emin, none of the security posts around our weapons house noticed anything. Nobody in, nobody out.

“Yes. We’ll just have to deal with it when I get back.”

Someone found a way to steal our Amanzite, and that understanding only raises more questions. Who, why, and how—but I don’t have time to think about that right now. I have to tackle one problem at a time, and right now, the most important thing is getting more Amanzite into the hands of our casters.

Now, I twist around a group of fairies, careful not to get their dust on me, and head in the direction of a stand I know might have the materials we’re looking for. Leta filled me in on this trader, from the coastline, likely selling stolen goods, and from her reports, a very nervous man.

I approach him, staring at another customer with hard eyes until they take the hint and move away, leaving me and the trader alone.

“Amanzite,” I say, voice only barely above a whisper. The last thing I need is for the others at this market to hear what I’m asking for. It will be a dead giveaway of me being a shifter, and might raise questions about my apparent lack of a scent.

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