Chapter 5, Aria
The noise was a physical thing, a deafening roar that vibrated in Aria’s chest.
She stood on the stage, her bare feet planted on the cold wood, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
Around her, the other women were being led away, their faces a mixture of relief and terror, but Aria was frozen.
She was the prize. The virgin. The final item.
The auctioneer’s voice was a frantic, high-pitched squeal that pierced through the din.
“Do I hear two million?” Aria looked out at the sea of faces, searching for a friendly face, anything that might help her understand what was happening.
But the crowd was a wall of indifference.
Then the shouting started. Two distinct voices cut through the noise, deep and resonant, like the growl of two different predators.
One was cold and sharp, the other rough and guttural.
“Three million,” the cold voice said, “she’s mine, Ronan.”
“Five million,” the rough voice roared back, “not yet, Thorne.” Aria’s heart hammered against the ribs. A hush fell over the immediate area, a collective intake of breath that sent a chill down Aria’s spine.
“Thorne?” a girl with dark hair whispered frantically, leaning close to Aria. “You know who that is? Thorne? The Alpha of Shadowfang? He’s a monster, Aria. They say he eats women alive.” Another girl nodded, her eyes wide with fear.
“And Ronan? The Ironclaw Alpha? He’s worse. He keeps his mates in cages. You’re going to be killed, Aria. You’re going to be killed.”
Aria stared at them, her mouth dry. Monsters.
She was going to be taken by monsters. The realization hit her like a physical blow.
The bidding escalated, a feverish war of numbers.
“Seven million,” Thorne said, his voice lacking any emotion, as if he were discussing the price of a loaf of bread.
“Ten million,” Ronan countered, his voice dripping with aggression. Aria stood there, terrified, watching the two men circle each other like wolves fighting over a carcass. She felt small, insignificant, and utterly helpless. She wanted to run, but her legs were rooted to the spot.
“Twelve million,” Thorne said.
“Thirteen,” Ronan snarled.
“Fourteen,” Thorne replied, his patience wearing thin.
“Sold,” the auctioneer shouted, slamming his gavel down.
The crowd erupted in a cheer, but Aria barely heard it.
She watched as Thorne stood up from his VIP box.
He was a towering figure, a mountain of muscle and darkness.
He walked down the steps, his eyes locked onto hers, look of possessiveness that made her want to sink into the floor.
He reached the stage, ignoring the auctioneer completely.
He grabbed her arm, his grip like a steel vice.
“Come,” he commanded, his voice low and rough.
Aria stumbled as he pulled her toward the exit.
She tried to resist, digging her heels into the wood, but his strength was overwhelming.
She was dragged off the stage, past Ronan, who was watching with a dark, envious glare.
Ronan let out a low growl, a warning that made Aria flinch, but Thorne didn’t even look at him. He had what he wanted.
He led her through the corridors of the arena, his hand clamped tight around her upper arm. He moved with a predatory grace, like a hunter carrying his prize. They reached a set of heavy double doors, which he kicked open with a violent shove.
They entered a large, luxurious room. It was dark, lit only by the glow of a dying fire and the soft light of a few lamps.
The room smelled of sandalwood and musk, a heavy masculine scent that made Aria’s head spin.
He shoved her toward the large bed in the center of the room, then turned to lock the door.
When he turned back to her, his expression was unreadable, but the fire in his grey eyes was blazing.
“I am Thorne,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Alpha of Shadowfang. And you are mine now.” Aria backed away until her legs hit the bed frame.
“I am not yours!” she cried out, her voice trembling with defiance.
“I belong to myself! Let me go!” Thorne didn’t answer.
He simply stalked toward her. Aria tried to scramble back, but he was too fast.
He caught her by the waist, his hands rough.
She thrashed and kicked, her nails digging into his forearms, but he didn’t even flinch.
“Stop fighting,” he growled, his face inches from hers. “It’s useless.”
“I said let me go!” she screamed, but her voice was weak.
He ignored her protest. His hands moved to the straps of her sheer white dress, tearing them apart with a violent snap.
The fabric fell to the floor, leaving her naked and exposed.
Aria gasped, pulling her arms across her chest, trying to cover herself.
Thorne didn’t give her time to compose herself.
He pushed her down onto the bed, his body hovering over hers.
He pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, his weight pressing her into the mattress.
She was trapped, her legs spread by his knees, her body completely at his mercy.
He looked down at her, his eyes raking over her body with an intensity that made her skin prickle.
He touched her cheek, his thumb brushing over her lips.
“You are beautiful,” he murmured, but there was no affection in his voice.
Only hunger. Aria sobbed, tears welling in her eyes.
She was terrified. She had never been with a man, and it was happening to her like this, forceful, rough, and without consent.
But as his hand moved down her neck, his fingers tracing the curve of her collarbone, she felt a strange sensation stir within her.
It was a contradiction she couldn’t understand.
She hated him for doing this to her, but her body seemed to be reacting to him, arching slightly into his touch.
He moved lower, his mouth trailing down her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. He was rough, biting and sucking, leaving marks that would bruise. Aria cried out, her body jerking beneath him, but she couldn’t pull away. His grip on her wrists was iron.
His hand moved between her legs, his fingers exploring her with a familiarity that was intimate and invasive.
He knew exactly what he was doing. He touched her with a deliberate, calculated precision, his thumb rubbing against her sensitive nub.
Aria gasped, her back arching off the bed.
She tried to push him away, but her body betrayed her.
A wave of pleasure washed over her, sharp and intense, making her legs tremble.
“You like that,” he growled, his voice a dark promise.
“No,” she whimpered, but her hips bucked against his hand.
He smiled, a cruel, triumphant smile. He increased the pressure, his fingers moving faster, harder.
Aria cried out as the pleasure built to a crescendo, her vision blurring with tears.
She was lost in a haze of sensation, her body completely overwhelmed by him.
She climaxed with a shudder, her body convulsing beneath him, her nails digging into his shoulders.
But he didn’t stop there. He moved up, positioning himself between her legs.
He looked her in the eyes, his grey gaze piercing through her soul.
“Now,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “You are mine.”
He thrust into her, hard and sudden. Aria screamed, the pain sharp and searing.
It felt like she was being ripped apart.
She fought him, her legs kicking, her hands pushing against his chest, but he was a wall of muscle.
He held her down, ignoring her struggles, and continued to thrust, a relentless rhythm that matched the pounding of her heart.
She was being taken, violated, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Tears streamed down her face, hot and salty.
She felt the connection between them, a physical bond that was both painful and pleasurable.
Her body was accepting him, opening to him, responding to his dominance.
It was a humiliating realization, but it was true. Her body was enjoying his possession.
He leaned down, capturing her mouth in a rough, demanding kiss, swallowing her cries.
He moved with a fierce intensity, his wolf rising to the surface, claiming her with every thrust.
He was marking her, branding her as his.
He didn’t let her come again. He rode her until he was spent, his body shuddering with release.
Then, he collapsed on top of her, his weight heavy and suffocating.
He rolled off her, pulling her into his arms. He reached for a basin of water and cloth that sat on a nearby table, cleaning them both up with efficient movements. He didn’t speak, and he didn’t look at her. He just cleaned her, his touch gentle for the first time since they had entered the room.
When he was finished, he pulled the covers over them and lay down, pulling her close against his chest.
He was asleep withing moments, his breathing deep and rhythmic.
Aria lay there, stiff and cold, staring up at the dark ceiling.
She was exhausted, her body aching, but her mind was racing.
She was his. she belonged to Thorne, Alpha of Shadowfang. She was a slave, a possession, a prize.
She lay there in the dark, listening to the sound of his breathing, feeling the warmth of his body against hers. She felt a lump form in her throat, a sob threatening to escape. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold it back. She didn’t want him to hear her cry.
She lay there for what seemed like hours, her body betraying her again, slowly relaxing against his chest, the remnants of pleasure still lingering in her veins.
But the sadness was still there, a heavy weight in her heart.
She was alone in a strange room, in a strange world, with a strange man who had just taken everything she had.
She finally let the tears fall, silently streaming down her face into the pillow.
She cried for the life she had lost, for the freedom she would never have again, and for the man who held her captive.
But as her exhaustion finally overtook her, she drifted into a fitful sleep, her body still aching and her mind numb.