Page 1 of Brutal Alpha's Sold Mate
Chapter 1 - Kai
“How many times do I have to kill these bastards before they get the hint?”
The question isn’t rhetorical, but there’s no one around to answer it. Not that I need anyone to. I already know the answer: as many times as it takes. Malcolm and Wiley think they’re clever, tucking themselves away in the farthest corners of Glory Town, but this time, there’s no escape.
It’s been two weeks since the last raid. Two weeks since we tore their foothills camp to pieces. Cages smashed, witches freed, traps dismantled—it should’ve been the end of their operation. But Malcolm and Wiley, slimy cowards they are, slipped through the cracks.
Now, they’re rebuilding. Somewhere out here, hidden deep in the shadows, they’re putting the pieces of their empire back together.
And it’s not just any empire. It’s a pipeline for demons. Malcolm and Wiley aren’t just slave traders—they’re suppliers. As it turns out, the witches they capture don’t just suffer in cages; they’re handed over to demons to be drained of magic, spirit, and life. The ones who survive are too broken to fight. The ones who don’t… well, I’ve seen enough to know their fates are worse than death.
The packs in the area—East Hills, Red Arrow, and River Valley—are holding the line, but barely. Patrols run day and night, wolves are stationed at every border, and the witches who can still stand are helping us keep the demons at bay. But this fight is a losing game. For every step we take forward, the demons take two back.
This fight isn’t sustainable. We all know it. But we don’t have another option.
And then there’s me. A fighter. A problem-solver.
When word came about a possible hideout, I didn’t wait for orders or backup. There’s no time for bureaucracy, and I can handle this myself. I’ve taken down rogues twice my size, and demons that would make lesser wolves freeze in terror.
A shack finally comes into view, leaning sideways like a house of cards caught in the wind. Its warped boards are mismatched, its roof is sagging, and its door is dangling on rusted hinges.
“Subtle,” I grumble, eyeing the pitiful structure. It’s so obviously a trap, it’s almost laughable. But that doesn’t change the fact that someone could be inside. Someone who doesn’t have time for me to hesitate.
The porch groans under my boots as I step onto it. My claws itch, ready to extend, but I force them back. The stench of blood and sweat wafts from the doorway, thick and sour.
“Housekeeping!” I call out, nudging the door open with my palm. My voice rings out, but the only answer is silence.
Inside, the shack is even worse than it looked. Trash litters the floor, broken furniture leans against the walls, and in the far corner, two rusted cages sit empty. Deep scratches mar the bars, and my stomach flips. Those cages were meant for someone, not something. Someone who isn’t here anymore.
A faint creak of a floorboard behind me shatters my thoughts. I spin, crouched and ready to shift, just in time to see a wiry man lunging at me with a wooden club.
“Really?” I sidestep his swing easily, grabbing his wrist and twisting hard. The club falls from his hand with a dull clatter.
He snarls, baring his teeth like a rabid dog, but I slam my knee into his gut. He folds with a wheeze, and I shove him into the nearest wall.
“You picked the wrong wolf,” I bark out, pinning him with one hand. “Where are they?”
His eyes flit toward the back of the shack, toward the staircase, but he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he spits at my feet.
“Fine,” I huff, releasing him just long enough to slam my elbow into his temple. He drops like a sack of bricks, unconscious. “Good talk.”
I step over him and make my way toward the staircase at the back of the shack. A faint clink of metal echoes up from below. My ears twitch, honing in on the sound. My muscles tense as I descend, and the smell of blood grows stronger with every step.
The basement is cramped, its walls lined with rotting wood. In the far corner, a girl is chained to the wall. She’s young—too young. Her wrists are raw and bloody from the heavy cuffs digging into her skin, and her wide, glassy eyes stare at something far away.
“Hey,” I say softly, crouching in front of her. “I’m here to help.”
Her eyes move toward me, but she doesn’t speak.
“You’re going to be okay,” I promise. “We’re getting out of here.”
I test the chains, pulling hard, but they’re bolted deep into the wall. Too deep. My claws could slice through the metal where it’s the thinnest at her wrists, but not without hurting her.
“Hang tight,” I tell her, rising to my feet. “I’ll figure this out.”
My eyes land on a small desk against the wall. It’s cluttered with papers, broken bottles, and scraps of fabric, but a shiny key catches my eye. I grab it and hold it up with a triumphant smirk.
“Gotcha.”
