Page 17 of Brutal Alpha

The back of his hand cracked against my cheekbone, hard enough to throw me off balance. Without my hands to catch me, the wind was knocked from my lungs as I hit the ground. Stars danced before my eyes, and when they cleared, I was confronted by Axton’s dirt-encrusted feet.

“Didn’t need a demonstration, but okay,” I slurred.

When he crouched down, I flinched, expecting another blow, but he only looked at me with cold contempt in his eyes.

“The only reason we spared your life, witch, is because those stupid, soft humans think it makes you valuable, and I’m not going to disabuse them of the notion.” Axton hissed. I wanted to deny it, but he’d never believe me over his men, and I didn’t know how much good it would do me anyway. Arbor might hate witches, but the more valuable I was to them, the more likely I was to survive.

“Run out of smart remarks, have you?” Axton sneered. “Good. Get her ready.”

It took my addled brain a moment to realize that the order wasn’t directed at me. Axton’s hideous feet disappeared from my limited vision, and I heard a door open, then slam shut, leaving me alone with whoever was tasked with preparing me for sale. I expected another gnarled hunter to loom over me, but all I heard was shuffling from the corner of the room.

“You go.” The voice was a whisper, but definitely female.

“I’m scared,” another voice whispered back.

“She’s tied up. What’s she going to do to you?” The third voice was clearly the one in charge, not bothering to whisper, and there was the sound of uneven footsteps, as though someone had been pushed.

“She’s a witch,” the first voice insisted.

“She’s literally lying with her face in the dirt right now,” I pointed out, and someone gasped. “If I had the power to stop it, do you really think I’d let your Alpha backhand me?”

There was a long, loaded silence before two brand-new sets of feet came into view, and I was hoisted back into a sitting position. This time, I faced a woman who appeared to be in her mid-fifties—she might have been younger, but life in Arbor wasn’t easy for women—with a stern expression. She was dressed conservatively, her hair pulled back into a neat bun, and she observed me like a piece of meat about to be taken to market, which I supposed I was.

I could only see one of the two younger women: the one on my good side. She must have been around my age, shorter and stockier than I was, with brown hair pulled into the sameneat bun. The two girls on either side of me hauled me to my feet, and I was surprised to find that I was able to stand, just.

“Off,” snapped the older woman, gesturing to my dress.

“You’re going to have to untie me if you want—” I started, but then I felt the coldness of a blade against my skin, and my pretty party dress was cut from my body. I watched it fall to the ground in tatters, blinking back absurd tears. I’d been kidnapped and beaten, and I was about to be sold to the highest bidder; I wasn’t about to be defeated by the loss of my favorite dress.

“If you’re going to act like males, why even bother sending you?” I growled. “Axton should have just left me to the hunters.”

“The hunters like to sample the goods before they go on sale,” the woman said matter-of-factly. ”Are you sure you’d still prefer them?”

The very thought of it sent shivers down my spine, and I could only shake my head, speechless, for once.

I stayed quiet as the three women bustled around the room, which I now realized was not a dank cave or the dungeon of some castle but rather the main room of a cottage not so different from my own. The structure was clearly made of wood rather than stone, but it featured the same modest kitchenette and a dining table pushed to the side in favor of a large wooden tub, into which I was unceremoniously dumped.

“Does this place not have running water?” I asked before I could stop myself, and one of the younger women—the one with the brown bun—looked at me as if I were immensely stupid.

“There’s a shower upstairs, but you can’t wash yourself, so what’s the point? Rosie, get me the shampoo.”

The third woman was clearly the lowest-ranking, and as I looked at her properly, I realized she was barely a woman at all. Fourteen, maybe fifteen at a push, she was small and round-faced, with huge blue eyes and wispy blonde curls that tumbled from her attempt at the austere Arbor bun. Grabbing an unmarked bottle, she began washing my hair, rinsing the suds with cups of water in the same way Caleb used to do for me when I was little. It might have been soothing if not for the ache in my shoulders and the burn at my wrists where they were tied behind my back.

While Rosie worked on my hair, the other two scrubbed the dirt and grass stains from my body. Their touch was neither careful nor kind, and I flinched when the older woman shoved my legs apart, tutting as she cleaned away the remnants of my tryst with Ethan.

Was that really just a few hours ago? It felt like a completely different world. What I wouldn’t give for my biggest problem now to be that Ethan didn’t want me as his mate.

When the older woman was satisfied with my cleanliness, I was allowed out of the bath and brusquely rubbed down with a towel before being shoved back onto my chair. I thought they’d just leave me there, but the older woman was still scowling at me as if I’d failed to meet her expectations.

“Fetch some salve for her face, before it starts to swell,” she snapped, and Rosie scuttled off to rummage in a bag next to the tub.

“Aw, thanks,” I said. “I didn’t think you cared.”

“I don’t care about you, Witch. The less marked you are, the more you’ll fetch. The more you fetch, the less likely it is that one of our daughters gets sold next.”

It was a bleak way to view the world, and I almost felt sorry for her—until she turned her head to snap at the little one, Rosie.

“In the brown pot, idiot!”

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