The auction hall fell into a tense silence after Logan's threat hung in the air. I clutched my paddle tightly, knuckles white, as whispers rippled through the crowd. The Moon Stone had been whisked away, presumably to be delivered to me later—a small victory that felt increasingly hollow as Logan's eyes burned into mine.
Without another word, he turned and strode from the hall, his powerful shoulders rigid with fury. Milana followed, her designer heels clicking sharply against the marble floor, her face a mask of indignation.
I released a shaky breath, unsure if I should feel relieved or terrified by their departure. The Omega beside me shifted uncomfortably.
"You shouldn't have bid against her," she whispered, not unkindly. "His chosen mate."
"He's my fated mate," I murmured back, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.
She shook her head, eyes wide with warning. "Not anymore, I think."
I had no chance to respond before the auction hall doors slammed open. Logan returned, his expression carved from ice. But this time, he wasn't alone. Beta Marcus Reed followed close behind, carrying a thick leather folder.
"Mr. Marshall!" Vincent, the auctioneer, stepped forward with a practiced smile. "Is there something else you'd like to contribute to our evening?"
Logan's lips curved into a smile that never reached his eyes. "Indeed." He took the folder from Marcus and held it aloft. "The Marshall Pack's most classified training secrets. Defensive formations. Offensive strategies. Patrol schedules. Everything our rivals would pay millions to know."
Gasps echoed through the hall. Such information was sacred to packs—their very survival depended on it.
"Sunny wants to play with pack resources," Logan continued, his voice carrying effortlessly through the stunned silence. "Let's see how she handles the consequences when these secrets are sold to the Northern Pack. Or perhaps the River Valley wolves would pay well to know our vulnerabilities."
My blood ran cold. The Marshall Pack had been my home for years. These secrets weren't just Logan's—they belonged to everyone who lived under his protection.
"Logan, please," I began, rising from my seat.
He silenced me with a single look. "You've made your choice, Omega. Now face it."
Vincent cleared his throat nervously. "Mr. Marshall, this is highly irregular—"
"Irregular?" Logan's laugh was sharp as broken glass. "Like an Omega outbidding an Alpha's chosen mate for a sacred artifact?"
He thrust the folder into Vincent's hands. "Start the bidding at one dollar."
As Vincent reluctantly took the folder, Logan turned to Marcus. "Execute the transfer immediately."
Marcus nodded, pulling out his phone. "Yes, Alpha."
"What transfer?" I asked, my voice barely audible over the growing murmurs.
Logan's smile widened. "Our mating ceremony assets, of course. The sacred ceremonial grounds reservation. The Luna coronation crown commissioned from the Southern metalsmiths. The alliance gifts from the neighboring packs." He ticked them off on his fingers. "All to be auctioned as individual lots."
The room spun around me. Our ceremony—the one he'd agreed to out of duty, at least—was to be dismantled piece by piece before the entire werewolf community.
"You can't," I whispered, though I knew he could. As Alpha, he controlled all pack resources.
"Watch me," he replied coldly.
One by one, Marcus announced the items. The ceremonial grounds reservation—sold to the River Pack for a fraction of its value. The Luna crown—purchased by a wealthy Beta's mate from across the territory. Each item stripped away another piece of what should have been my future.
I sank back into my seat, the weight of humiliation pressing down on me like a physical force. Around me, pack members averted their eyes, some with pity, others with thinly veiled satisfaction.
But Logan wasn't finished.
He disappeared again, returning minutes later with something that made my heart stop.
My mother's ceremonial urn.
The polished clay vessel, painted with the symbols of her lineage, contained all that remained of her after the fire that claimed her life. I'd kept it in my small apartment, in the place of honor it deserved.
"Logan," I breathed, rising to my feet. "No."
He placed it gently on the auction table, his movements deliberately slow. "Since you want to bid on sacred items, Sunny," he said, his voice dripping with false sweetness, "perhaps you'd like to bid on this instead."
Vincent stared at the urn, horror dawning on his face. "Alpha Marshall, this is—"
"Rogue trash," Logan cut him off, his eyes never leaving mine. "Bidding starts at one dollar."
The entire hall erupted in shocked gasps. Even Milana looked unsettled, her perfectly manicured hand rising to cover her mouth.
I stood frozen, my heart pounding so hard I feared it might burst through my chest. The medication in my pocket felt suddenly inadequate for the pain spreading through me.
"One dollar," I heard myself say, my voice coming from somewhere far away.
Logan's eyes gleamed with triumph. "Going once," he called, "for the ashes of a rogue."
The entire werewolf community watched as my mother's remains were offered up like trinkets, and I had no choice but to fight for them with the last shreds of my dignity.
