Chapter 16

  The cover pulled back

  I meet her gaze, no hesitation in my voice.

  "I’m in."

  That earns the faintest curl of her lips—approval, maybe—but she doesn’t waste words. She turns sharply and slips into a narrow gap between two leaning buildings.

  I follow, shoulders brushing rough stone, the space barely wide enough to pass.

  When I emerge on the other side, the air changes—heavier, thick with perfume, sweat, and the faint metallic tang of fear.

  Before me, an open space stretches out beneath a web of hanging lanterns. Wooden platforms stand in the center, each flanked by iron-bound cages. On the platforms… demi-humans. Collared. Chained. Their eyes dull, some trembling, others staring defiantly out at the crowd.

  Around them, Springvale’s nobles stand in clusters, murmuring behind jeweled masks and fine cloaks. Coins jingle. Laughter cuts through the air like a blade.

  At the edges, Baron Blackwood’s men prowl—armed, armored, and watchful. They bark orders to handlers, shove chained captives into position, and keep the crowd in check.

  Luna doesn’t look at me—her gaze is fixed on the stage, on the auctioneer beginning his booming call. "Lot seven, female, twenty winters, fine condition—"

  Her hand tightens into a fist at her side, tail stiff.

  I stay silent, jaw tightening as the scene unfolds.

  The bidding is short, decisive—the fat noble hardly glances at his competition before flashing a thick purse of coins. The auctioneer slams his gavel, and the chains are handed over like merchandise in a market.

  The noble grips the woman’s arm, dragging her across the dirt toward a covered wagon parked at the edge of the square. She stumbles, tries to resist, but the collar jerks her forward.

  Then comes the scream—sharp, panicked—cutting through the hum of the crowd. "No! Not there! Please—stop! Let me go!"

  A sharp smack answers her, followed by the muffled thud of her body hitting the wagon floor. The wooden frame shudders as it begins to rock in a sickening rhythm, her cries muffled but still audible under the canvas.

  Around me, the nobles barely react. A few glance over, some smirk, but most simply turn back to the next lot being brought to the stage.

  Luna who stayed in the alley shawdows doesn’t look at me, but I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her tail is rigid. She’s breathing slowly, deliberately, as though keeping herself from acting.

  I walk back into thr alley and lean just close enough that my words won’t carry beyond her ears.

  "What the hell is this?" I whisper, my voice tight, trying to keep the edge of rage from spilling over.

  Luna’s eyes never leave the platform, but her voice is steady, low. "My people," she says. "Sold as slave labor… sex slaves… or worse." Her tail gives a slow, bitter flick. "And no one notices. Or if they do—they look away."

  She finally turns her gaze toward me, those gold eyes searching mine. "But you…" Her voice softens, but there’s something sharp beneath it. "You look at this in horror. Why… when no one else does?"

  The crowd’s cheers and the auctioneer’s booming voice swell again behind me, but in that moment, it feels like the square has gone silent, waiting for my answer.

  I hold her gaze, the noise of the auction fading into the background.

  "Because where I come from," I say quietly, "we’ve seen this before. We learned how much it destroys—not just the ones in chains, but the ones who put them there.

  People fought and bled to end it. And seeing it here…" I glance toward the rocking wagon, jaw tightening. "It makes me sick. I can’t pretend it’s normal. I won’t."

  Luna studies me in silence for a long heartbeat, her expression unreadable.

  Then her tail relaxes just slightly, her ears angling toward me. "Hmph…" she murmurs, almost to herself. "Maybe you really aren’t like the others."

  She turns back toward the stage, but I can feel it—something subtle has shifted. The guarded distance she’s always kept isn’t quite as high now.

  "Stay close, Lux," she says. "And keep your eyes open. Tonight… you’ll see just how deep this goes

  I stay rooted beside Luna, forcing myself to keep still even as the urge to move, to do something, grinds against my bones.

  The next figure brought onto the stage makes my gut twist—a young girl, no older than thirteen, her wrists bound in front of her, a chain collar heavy around her neck. She stares at the crowd with wide, glassy eyes, her steps small and careful, like she’s afraid of making a sound.

  I feel Luna stiffen beside me. Her tail goes rigid, her ears angled sharply forward. Her voice is barely above a whisper, but there’s a dangerous edge in it.

  "They’re starting with them now…"The auctioneer’s voice booms over the square, almost cheerful as he lists the girl’s “features” like he’s selling a prized animal. Nobles murmur, a few already raising their hands with bids.

  Luna’s breathing changes—slower, deeper—like she’s reining herself in. Her gaze flicks between the stage and the guards at its base, calculating.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The auctioneer’s voice cuts like a blade."Come on now! This young demi dog girl is still a virgin! Train her to your heart’s desire!"

  I can feel the crowd’s energy change—hands shoot up like sparks in a dry field, voices calling numbers, laughter bubbling. The bids rise fast, almost fevered, until one greasy, heavyset noble raises his hand with a lazy smile.

  "A new girl breaks in easily at my estate," he says loud enough for the other bidders to hear, his tone dripping with smug certainty.

  The auctioneer slams the gavel. "Sold!"Beside me, Luna exhales—not in relief, but in a long, heavy sigh that seems to pull her shoulders down. Her head lowers, ears flattening against her hair. It’s not fear in her—it’s defeat, bitter and quiet, the kind that comes from watching the same horror play out too many times.

  Her tail gives the smallest twitch, then goes still entirely. She doesn’t look at me, doesn’t speak, but I can feel her retreating into herself.

  I keep my voice low, leaning just close enough for her to hear over the crowd’s noise.

  "We can’t do anything," I whisper. "So why watch this?"

  Luna’s reply is immediate, her voice tight but steady. "Because I have to. To see their faces… to share their suffering. If I look away, I’m no better than them."

  On stage, the girl’s voice cracks through the din, desperate and piercing. "Nooo! Mommy! Daddy! Save me!"

  The greasy noble only chuckles, gripping her chain with one hand. "Oh, looks like we’ve got a fighter!" His other hand lashes out, striking her hard enough to send her stumbling. The crowd reacts with cruel amusement—some laugh, others clap as though it’s part of the entertainment.

  I see Luna’s claws flex against her palms, the faintest tremor in her tail.

  "Screw this im doing somthing, anything." I think to myself.

  I force myself to keep quiet, letting my eyes wander like you’re just another bored onlooker—while in reality, you’re cataloging everything.

  The stage is slightly elevated, giving the auctioneer a clear view of the crowd. Blackwood’s men stand in pairs along its base, their eyes mostly on the audience rather than the captives—probably more worried about a bidding dispute than an escape.

  The nobles are clustered in a semi-circle, leaving the rear of the stage open for a line of iron cages. The covered wagons are stationed just beyond those cages, two of them with guards posted at the tailgates, the others seemingly unmonitored for the moment.

  Handlers—thin, wiry men in leather vests—manage the chains and push captives forward when their turn comes. Most wear short swords, but a few carry cudgels. Their movements are methodical, bored, like they’ve done this hundreds of times.

  The greasy noble hauls the young demi dog girl toward one of the covered wagons. She kicks and thrashes, forcing him to yank the chain harder. He leans down, saying something you can’t hear over the crowd—but the girl’s voice rises again in a sharp cry before he shoves her into the wagon’s shadowed interior.

  From where I stand, I note there’s a narrow path behind the cages leading toward the wagons, partially hidden from the main crowd. One guard’s back is to it.

  I keep my observations locked behind my teeth, eyes flicking over every detail while pretending to simply follow the spectacle.

  The greasy noble doesn’t waste time—he climbs up into the covered wagon after the young demi dog girl.

  "Help!" her voice cries out, sharp and frantic, cutting through the din for just a heartbeat—before it’s silenced by the heavy smack of a hand meeting flesh.

  A choked, muffled crying follows, the sound barely making it past the wagon’s canvas walls. The fabric shifts with movement inside, rocking in short, ugly jerks.

  Around me, the nobles hardly react. A few smirk knowingly, some turn back to the auctioneer as he begins to call for the next lot.

  Beside me, Luna’s tail is rigid again, her gaze locked on that wagon like she’s memorizing every stitch of canvas. But she doesn’t move—not yet.

  I take a slow step back, just enough to slip into the shifting crowd, letting Luna’s focus on the wagon give me cover. Then another step. And another.

  Soon i'm moving along the edge of the open square, blending in with the servants carrying trays, the handlers fetching chains. The din of the auction fades just enough for other sounds to rise.

  As I near the line of covered wagons, the air changes—thicker, warmer, heavy with the stink of sweat and fear.

  From the first wagon, the wolf woman’s voice sobs, "No more… please, no more."

  From another, a weaker voice pleads for mercy, each word breaking on a breath.

  I pass one where there are no words at all—just the dull, rhythmic grunt of a man and the faint creak of the wagon’s frame.

  Then, sharper, from somewhere closer: "No! Not inside!" followed by muffled crying.

  My chest tightens as I near the last wagon—the one I saw the greasy noble force the dog girl into. The canvas shakes with erratic movement, and from inside I hear her muffled, panicked voice:

  "I… I can’t breathe…"

  The sounds of struggle inside are rapid, desperate.

  I keep to the shadows along the wagon’s side, crouching low so the guard at the far end doesn’t catch my movement. The murmur of the auction helps mask the soft creak of the wagon frame as i inch toward a small tear in the canvas.

  Peering through, my gut knots.

  The greasy noble has the girl pinned against the floorboards, one hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping her collar tight.

  The girl’s eyes are wide, wet with tears, her arms straining against the chains at her wrists as she kicks weakly.

  Her muffled gasps between struggles sound ragged, desperate—she’s trying to fight, but her strength is slipping fast.

  The noble mutters something low and mocking, his hand forcing her head down harder. As she struggles to get him off of her

  I can feel my hand tightening around the hilt of your short sword. I have seconds to decide—wait for a clean opening, or act now and risk the noise drawing attention.

  I grit my teeth, forcing myself to think instead of just charging in. A straight fight here, in the open, with guards only a few steps away, would end badly—for me, for her, and for Luna if she’s still in the crowd.

  MY eyes flick to a loose stack of empty crates near another wagon. I slip over, grab one, and tip it just enough to send the whole pile toppling with a loud crash. The noise rips through the air like a whip crack.

  The guard at the end of the row jerks his head up, swears, and hurries toward the mess, calling to another to help him check it out.

  I slip back toward the dog girl’s wagon, but as I peek inside again, the distraction’s side effect hits you hard in the gut.

  The greasy noble, startled by the noise looks in the direction of that it came from giving me the chance to slip in and behind him. I grab him and cover his mouth from behind and whisper in a low growl people like you make me sick. As i run him through.

  The girl’s still curled on her side, coughing weakly, her wrists bound in front of her. She flinches at my touch, eyes wild, but I press a finger to my lips.

  "Quiet. I’m getting you out," I whisper.

  She nods shakily, still trying to catch her breath. I pull her to her feet, keeping low, and guide her toward the shadowed back of the wagons. The guards are still at the far end, voices raised in annoyance at the fallen crates.

  I weave through the narrow gap between two wagons, moving fast but careful, until I slip into the thin alley between the buildings.

  There—just ahead in the dim—Luna waits, her golden eyes locking instantly on the girl at my side. For a moment, she says nothing, but the slight flick of her tail betrays both surprise >and approval.

  The moment her feet touch the ground outside the wagon, the girl wrenches herself free of my grip and bolts toward Luna.

  Luna catches her without hesitation, steadying her by the shoulders. The dog girl’s eyes are wide, darting everywhere but my face, her breathing still ragged from what she endured.

  "I’ll explain," I say quickly, stepping toward them, my voice low but urgent.

  "But we have to leave. Now." I glance over my shoulder toward the auction square, where the crowd’s noise still masks our absence—for the moment.

  Luna studies me for a beat, her expression unreadable.

  "I’m sorry, Luna," I add, my voice tightening. "I know you told me to just watch… but she’s just a kid."

  I nod toward the girl clinging to her side. "I couldn’t—" I cut myself off, jaw clenching. "I couldn’t stand there and do nothing."

  Luna’s ears flick back, her eyes holding mine for a long second before she nods once, curt and decisive. "Then we move fast."

  She tugs the dog girl close and slips into the shadows, leading the way through a winding path between buildings, her steps swift and silent.

  I fall in step behind Luna, matching her pace without a word.

  The narrow alleys swallow me in darkness, the noise of the auction fading into a distant, ugly hum. Luna’s movements are fluid, almost predatory—she knows exactly where to place each foot, where to pause and listen, where to slip through a gap so tight you’d have missed it entirely without her.

  The dog girl stays pressed to her side, one small hand clutching at the torn fabric of Luna’s sleeve, her tail low and trembling. She never once glances back at me.

  My heart still pounds from the rescue, every sound amplified—the faint scrape of boots on stone, the muffled laughter of distant guards, the creak of a swinging sign overhead.

  Eventually, Luna leads me into the shadowed mouth of an abandoned storage yard, the kind of place most people wouldn’t give a second look. She stops only when she’s certain no one followed.

  The silence between us stretches, heavy with unspoken questions. Luna keeps one arm around the girl, her amber eyes fixed on me.