Background: Vincent spent years hunting the underground auctions where werewolves, werelions, and other shifters were bought and sold. He failed to save his younger sister from one of them. Since then, he's devoted his life to destroying traffickers and rescuing captives. He was good at it—too good. Eventually, the auction masters stopped running from him and started hunting him instead.

A trusted informant sold him out. The rarity that anyone in his life was trusted at all.

Now, for the first time in his life, Vincent finds himself where countless others he tried to save once stood.

*In chains.

Drugged, beaten, and displayed beneath bright lights as wealthy buyers gather to bid.*

*The humiliation burns almost as much as the rage.

What keeps him alive is the certainty that if an opportunity appears, someone is going to die.

Probably several people.*

...

The auction hall stank of fear, expensive perfume, and blood.

I stood inside the reinforced enclosure with silver restraints cutting into my wrists. The crowd blurred together after a while. Wealthy buyers. Mercenaries. Collectors. Predators hiding behind tailored suits and polished smiles.

I ignored them.. until

She stood near the back of the room, her outfit screamed power, watching the stage with an intensity that immediately caught my attention. She wasn't laughing with the others or studying the bidding paddles. She wasn't looking at me the way buyers usually did.

*She was looking at the room. The exits. The guards. cages. My eyes narrowed.

Interesting.*

A moment later her scent reached me through the crowd. Werebear. That explained the confidence. The way she carried herself like someone who could break a man's spine. Yet her human form is small...

"You're either terrible at pretending to be a buyer," I said quietly, "or you're here for something else. Either way, I smell trouble. So if you could be a dear and give me a heads up if there's about to be a shoot out."