Sold To Be The Alpha's Caged Slave

Chapter 2 - The Auction

Piper’s POV

I WOKE to the cold bite of metal on my wrists.

Not just metal—silver. The sting seeped into my skin like liquid fire, eating away at my strength until every breath felt like dragging air through broken glass. My wolf whimpered inside me, her voice muffled under the suffocating weight of whatever they’d pumped into my veins.

“W-Where am I…?” I asked, scanning the crowd of men in black suits. “W-What’s this?”

The last thing I remembered was the alley behind the safehouse—moonlight cutting through the shadows, the scent of rain on asphalt—and then a sharp sting at my neck. A needle. A hand over my mouth.

Now… darkness.

No, not complete darkness. Dim, sickly gold light shimmered overhead, casting warped shapes against the walls. My vision swam, but I made out iron bars, velvet curtains, and beyond them, rows of plush chairs filled with men in tailored suits. Men whose scents were steeped in dominance, danger, and blood.

The hum of voices—low, anticipatory—vibrated through the air like the build-up before a storm.

I was in the center of it. On a raised platform. Barefoot. My simple black dress was torn at the hem, exposing the bruises blooming along my legs. A strip of silk was tied loosely around my throat, a mockery of elegance. The silver shackles forced my arms behind my back, pulling my shoulders taut.

My pulse thudded in my ears. This wasn’t a dream.

I knew where I was.

The Underground.

The place whispered about in rogue circles, denied by the packs, and feared by anyone with a drop of wolf blood. A supernatural auction where rare prizes were sold to the highest bidder—artifacts, relics… and people.

Especially people.

“Lot Seventeen,” the auctioneer’s voice rang out, oily and theatrical, dripping with false charm. “A true rarity, gentlemen. A young, fertile human with breeding potential unlike any we’ve seen in years.”

Fertile.

The word sliced through the drug haze clouding my head. My stomach turned, bile threatening to rise. I knew exactly what that meant.

I wasn’t here to be bought for conversation.

The crowd leaned forward, their eyes glowing faintly in the low light, a predator’s gleam that didn’t belong to men. Some appraised me clinically, like I was livestock. Others looked at me like prey.

They didn’t know who I was. To them, I was nameless. A commodity. A body with a price tag.

But I still knew my name. My truth.

I was Piper Black. Twenty-two. Human. Orphan. My parents were gone, my brothers too, and the only family I had left—my aunt—was barely scraping by. I had no pack, no lineage, no supernatural strength to save me. Just… me.

And that made me perfect prey.

I’d read about this on the deep web. Whispers of syndicates that hunted women like me—lonely, unprotected, no one to notice if we went missing. They sold us at underground auctions to Alphas who couldn’t—or wouldn’t—risk their precious she-wolves. Humans were cheaper, easier, disposable.

I never thought those posts were real.

Until now.

A shiver wracked through me, rattling the chains that bit into my wrists. Panic surged, but the drugs dulled my limbs, kept me sluggish. I tried to move, to fight, but the effort was laughable.

I couldn’t believe it. I was here. On a stage. Being sold.

How?

The tutoring ad. My breath hitched. The job posting I’d answered online—the one that promised good pay for teaching a little girl in some rich estate—it had seemed too good to be true. A scam, I’d thought. But not this. Not… this.

I clenched my teeth, anger threading through the fear.

They’d been watching me. They’d chosen me. And when I stepped into that van, thinking I was being picked up for an interview, I’d walked straight into a trap.

And now, as the crowd murmured and numbers were thrown out like coins at a market, I realized one horrifying truth.

I wasn’t a tutor anymore.

I was merchandise.

The auctioneer strolled closer, his cologne cloying, the heat of his presence making my wolf snarl even through the silver’s burn. He grabbed my chin, forcing my head up.

“Stand straight, darling. Let them see what they’re paying for.”

I wrenched my head away, my breath hissing through my teeth. The room murmured—some amused, some annoyed.

A voice from the back cut through the noise. Smooth. Cold. Commanding.

“Five hundred thousand.”

The air shifted. Conversations died mid-sentence. Heads turned toward the entrance.

And there he was.

Julian St. Clair.

I didn’t need to be told his name. I felt it. His presence rolled through the room like a predator through tall grass—silent but impossible to ignore. Broad shoulders draped in a charcoal coat, dark hair swept back in deliberate precision, eyes the color of storm clouds just before the lightning strikes.

He didn’t walk; he prowled. Each step deliberate, each movement steeped in the unshakable confidence of a man who had never been denied anything in his life. The air around him smelled of smoke and danger, threaded with a darker scent that made my wolf stir despite herself.

The auctioneer’s grin widened. “Ah, Alpha St. Clair joins us tonight. Five hundred to start—”

“Eight hundred.” Another bidder, older, in a white suit.

Julian’s gaze slid lazily to the man, one brow lifting. “One million.”

The murmur in the room turned sharp. No one started at a million unless they wanted to end the game before it began.

But this wasn’t a game. I could see it in his eyes—this wasn’t casual interest. This was a claim.

The bidding spiraled, voices sharp, numbers obscene. My head spun, not from the drug but from the knowledge that my fate was being tossed around like a prize at a feast.

“Three million.” The man in the white suit looked smug.

Julian smiled. It was the kind of smile that didn’t reach the eyes—the kind that promised destruction.

“Five million. Cash. Now.”

Silence.

The auctioneer’s gavel hit the podium. “Sold! To Alpha St. Clair!”

Applause rippled, but it felt wrong—hollow, a celebration of possession, not victory.

Julian closed the distance between us, each step slow, deliberate. When he stopped in front of me, the heat radiating off him was suffocating. He reached out, tilting my chin up with two fingers. His touch was firm, unyielding, but not cruel. Not yet.

“Look at me,” he said, voice low enough that only I could hear.

I did. I hated that I did.

“You belong to me now.”

Fury surged in my chest, cutting through the haze. “Go to hell.”

His mouth curved, not in offense but in amusement. “I own hell, sweetheart. And now… I own you.”

The silver burned. The crowd watched. And deep inside me, beneath the anger, something dangerous flickered—a pull I didn’t want, but couldn’t ignore.