In the Woods #2
“It won’t matter anyway,” Knox mutters, stepping over a fallen log.
Then he reaches out to help Dakota, but the spry beta jumps up, making it over in one smooth motion.
“I’m sure she’s going to be exhausted and overstimulated.
She’s going to want to eat and sleep. We’ll handle bonding after we get home. ”
Alex nods, mumbling a quick, “You’re right.” Then he thankfully lets it go.
We walk the rest of the way in silence, aside from Dakota’s shoes slipping over loose stones. Finally, the trees gradually thin—then all at once, the forest breaks.
We step into a wide clearing surrounded by thick concrete barriers and stern betas wearing tactical gear with guns slung over their shoulders.
They scan each of us as we pass. Knox and Alex stare them down, but Dakota inches away, pushing into my side.
I wrap my arm around his shoulders, trying to ease his worry as we make our way toward the makeshift entrance.
A female beta in a crisp white shirt and black dress pants steps forward to greet us. Her gaze is sharp as she looks Knox up and down, before glancing at the rest of us. Without a word, she hands my pack alpha a folded brochure.
“Welcome to the Morder,” the beta says, her smile tired like she’s been doing this for hours. Are we late? “The auction is already underway. Display and showroom details are in here.” She points at the paper in Knox’s hand.
“The auction already started?” Knox’s eyes go wide.
“Yes. And a quick reminder,” she adds, her tone dipping into something steelier. “Any violence—verbal or physical—and your whole pack will be removed from the facility. No second chances. No refunds.” She scans all four of us, waiting for us to acknowledge the rules.
“When did it start?” Knox goes stiff. “Are there any omegas left?”
The beta lets out a heavy sigh. “A few. But you’ll want to hurry.” She glances at Alex, then at Dakota. Her nose wrinkles when her gaze lands on his shoes. “And we only accept cash.”
My stomach drops and panic crackles in my chest.
Cash.
We cleared out our savings for this—every cent we had. But what if it’s not enough? What if we came all this way, risked everything, and we still walk away with nothing?
Knox must share my fear, because he doesn’t waste another second. We take off, marching inside the barrier.
The Morder sprawls in front of us like a fever dream—velvet tents in deep reds, blues, and greens dot the land, puffed up like circus pavilions.
Light spills from their flaps, soft and golden.
Somewhere near the center, a bonfire crackles, casting flickering light onto the crowd gathered nearby.
At the far end of the clearing, a stage rises up out of the packed dirt, surrounded by people.
We rush toward it, shoving our way through the crush of bodies—shoulders bumping, scents thick in the air. That’s when it hits me.
Something sweet.
Not cloying or artificial, but something more like fruit ripening in the sun. My lungs tingle as I inhale deeply, and my fingers twitch.
Omegas.
They’re here.
They’re close.
Holy fuck! This place is real.
The scent curls through the air and sinks its claws into something deep and primal inside me. My pulse kicks up. My skin feels too tight. Every instinct I’ve spent years learning to leash suddenly strains against me—restless, hungry, wild.
I blink hard, trying to keep my footing as the crowd surges forward, but it’s like the air is different now. Charged. Tasting them in it makes me want to move—do something.
To claim something.
“This way,” Knox grabs me by the wrist, tugging me further into the crowd. His touch settles something inside me, and I force myself to breathe.
Once we find a decent spot, I glance up at the stage. An older beta in a vibrant maroon and gold suit stands behind a polished podium, gesturing elegantly as he speaks. His voice carries over the crowd—smooth and rehearsed.
Dakota pushes closer between me and Knox, hugging himself. His breath curls in the air. “This is…different…than I thought it would be,” he whispers. “It’s kinda creepy.” He looks up at me with his big brown eyes. “Right?”
Confused by his words, I give the crowd a sweeping look. And he’s right. The alphas around us are a rough-looking mix: big frames, meaty fists, and tired eyes. They listen with the kind of attention that comes more from desperation than respect.
But before I can say anything to soothe our beta, movement on the stage catches my eye, as an omega stumbles out.
At first, she looks lovely—long brown hair, pale skin, draped in a red silk negligee that clings to her thin frame.
But as she moves under the stage lights, the illusion cracks.
Her eyes are ringed with dark circles, and her cheeks are hollow.
There are bruises on her forearms—faint, but visible even from here. It looks like she’s been manhandled.
Dakota squints. “Is she hurt?” He turns to me, eyes wide and voice tight with worry. “Tadeo…” His voice drops to a whisper, “Do you think the people here did that to her?”
I quickly shake my head, then turn away from the beta.
I don’t want him to see the guilt in my eyes.
The fact is, we knew it was possible that the omegas here might be injured. Hell, we spent hours talking it through every time Dakota left the house—me, Knox, and Alex—trying to prepare for what we might find.
We assumed the omegas offered here wouldn’t be the kind high-society alphas fight over at the academies. These omegas had to be the ones who slipped through the cracks—or got pushed out. Runaways. Rejects. Defective. Maybe even infertile.
In the end, we all agreed that it would be heaven to have a mate we could breed, raise our young with—but the privilege of having an omega? Officially claiming someone, loving them, giving them a real pack? We all agreed that was all that mattered.
But we probably should’ve talked to Dakota about it before we got here. He’s young—only twenty-three—and tenderhearted. It felt cruel to burden him with something upsetting—especially when we weren’t even sure it was true. But seeing the look of shock on his face now, makes me feel even worse.
Dakota says something else to me, but I’m too lost in my own guilt to hear him over the crowd.
“What?” I look down at the worried beta.
“She was probably hurt before she got here,” Alex answers his question for me. The redheaded alpha’s voice is softer than usual—too soft. “The omegas here…they’ve all been through something.”
Dakota’s brows pull together, clearly not understanding.
“Most of them weren’t wanted for one reason or another,” Alex says. “Many probably had to escape bad situations or were rejected. The Morder gives them a second chance to find a pack to care for them.” He reaches for Dakota’s hand, squeezing gently.
That small gesture hits me like a gut punch.
Alex doesn’t do gentle or serious. He makes everything into a joke because feeling too much scares the hell out of him. So if he’s letting that go, then he’s spiraling, too.
“This place,” Alex glances around at the grim-faced alphas surrounding us, “gives the omegas a chance to belong to a pack. Even if they’re not perfect. Even if no one else wanted them.”
“Really?” Dakota asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
“These omegas want to be claimed,” Knox says, solid and certain, like he’s staking his life on the truth of it. “All of them need a pack. Someone who won’t throw them away. The Morder gives them that chance.”
Dakota slowly smiles, then lets out a deep sigh of relief.
“Holy shit,” Alex gasps as he looks up at the stage. “Knox.” He smacks the pack alpha on the chest. “Look at her.”
We all look up at the stage, watching as a small omega with curly blonde hair stumbles into view.
“Come on.” Knox takes Dakota’s hand. “Let’s get closer to the stage.” He pulls the beta with him as he moves, cutting through the mob of hard-faced alphas.
I stare at their stern expressions as we pass. Hands shoved in pockets. Jaws clenched. Tension in every line of their bodies, like they’re waiting to pounce.
Uneasy, I reach for Dakota, resting a hand between his shoulder blades. “Stay close,” I murmur, pushing closer to his back.
Something tells me it wouldn’t take much for this place to spiral out of control. Fast.