Possessed By The Wolf (Werewolf's Harem Book 3) (2 page)

He got out of the car and crouched, shifting into his wolf form. Even though he was a massive, tawny timber wolf, he was much quieter and faster in this form. He’d honed every muscle and mastered every agility exercise in his human form, but when it came to stealth there was just no beating a wolf. All the better for staking out his surroundings.

He approached the warehouse, making three slow circles before slipping up to the very edge of the parking lot. He watched human men milling around the entrance, impatient to enter. There were a number of nondescript white men in ratty camo clothing, some guarding the door and others inside. Auction employees, presumably.
 

Several well-dressed men in suits were also present; Walker assumed that they were buyers or buyers’ agents. None of them spoke, preferring to watch their peers with a high degree of suspicion. Even flesh traders didn’t trust flesh traders, it seemed.

Two more men in dark suits arrived, and the doors were opened. The guys at the door stopped the first customer, frisking him and removing two handguns from his person.

Walker cursed to himself. He’d hoped that he could just walk in with his weaponry, but obviously that wouldn’t be possible. He’d have to go with his second plan, stashing weapons close to the exits. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best he could do.

Running back to the car, Walker shifted back to his human form. He opened the trunk of his car, silently thanking Ben when he found three bags stuffed with pistols, shotguns, various grenades, and ammo. He made quick work of stashing the bags near the front, back, and side door of the warehouse. Then he quickly changed into a button-up, suit, and dress shoes. Hopping in the car, he pulled into the parking lot about twenty minutes after the first customers had been let in.

Walker strode up to the rusty corrugated steel warehouse, steeling himself as he approached the door.

“Whoa there,” one of the door guards said, holding out a hand.
 

Walker cocked a brow, giving the hand an icy glare.

“Name?” the second guard asked, flashing a clipboard. Walker suppressed a smirk and decided to call the guards Clipboard and Handsy, both for his convenience and amusement.

“Black,” Walker said, staring the first guard down until he dropped his hand and stepped back.
 

“Black…” Clipboard said, scanning the guest list. Walker counted the seconds until the guy realized that Walker was a shifter, and not some hedge fund schmuck looking for a novelty fuck.

Clipboard’s eyes widened, and he cleared his throat in alarm. There it was, Walker thought with amusement. Fear and curiosity crossed Clipboard’s face, and the guard backed up until he stepped on Handsy’s foot.

“Watch it, dude,” Handsy snarled.

Clipboard cleared his throat again, thrusting the guest list at Handsy and pointing to a handwritten notation about Walker’s breed.

“Uh, right,” Handsy said, eyes dropping to the ground. “We still need to check you for weapons.”

Unbuttoning his suit jacket, Walker spread his arms wide.

“Make it quick. The auction starts soon,” he snapped. Both guards jumped, glaring at each other for a long moment. Clipboard won the staring contest, meaning that Handsy ended up frisking Walker. Handsy did a thorough check, a little too thorough, and when he found Walker clean… the guard just looked too relieved. Walker couldn’t explain it, but he knew without a doubt that these redneck bastards were up to something.
 

“Quit looking at me like that, and let me inside,” Walker growled, losing the last of his patience.

The guards backed up, Handsy even going so far as to open the door for Walker. Rolling his neck and cracking his knuckles, Walker headed inside.

Whatever he’d expected the inside of the warehouse to look like, this definitely wasn’t it. Outside might be rustic and country, but inside was all sleek black and steel surfaces. The warehouse had two big open areas. To the left was a stage area with a large circular platform, surrounded by several rows of plush black movie-theater style seating. To the right, Walker saw all the potential buyers and several guards milling in front of a large glass window.

Clipboard brushed past him, heading for a black door to the left of the glass window. Walker guessed it was some kind of office for the auctioneers. He’d check on the female first, then let himself into the office and find the person in charge. If he could made the first offer and make it sweet enough, he might be able to walk the female out unharmed. He could always come back for the slave traders tomorrow.

Walker took a deep breath, then approached the viewing window. He noticed that every single guard was now laser focused on his every movement, but he shrugged it off. Several of the customers were eyeing him, too; a deeply tanned, older Asian gentleman, a thin, sickly-looking white woman in her fifties, and a ruggedly tan, casually dressed man in his forties. If Walker had to guess, he would label them as Thai shipping magnate, a spook from an unknown US or British governmental agency, and a Australian billionaire big-game hunter. Each was flanked by a younger assistant or bodyguard, and each very curious about Walker. Each reprehensible in his or her own distinctly horrifying way.

Shutting out the prickling consciousness of internal alarm bells going off in his head and the openly assessing stares of guards and customers, Walker stepped right up to the viewing window. The humans milling around drew away from him, giving him one more hint that something was wrong. Usually humans had no idea they were rubbing shoulders with a shifter, unless Walker chose to reveal it.

Squaring his shoulders, he raised his gaze to the viewing window. Shock ran through his system, despite his mental preparations.

She was exquisite.
 

Stretched out over an expanse of black velvet, the female looked impossibly small and fragile. She was diminutive, perhaps only five feet tall. She had blonde, straight hair that fell past her shoulders and smooth, lightly tanned skin. She wore a slinky crystal garment that barely covered her voluptuous breasts and generous hips, leaving her stomach and shoulders bare. Walker stepped forward, dragged toward her more surely than a magnet.

He kept his hands at his side, actively worked to keep from balling them into fists. Stepping to the left, he examined her face. Heart-shaped, with soft blonde brows and a sweetly shaped mouth. Her chin had the tiniest cleft, and her cheeks hinted at a dimpled grin. He wanted badly to see the color of her eyes, but she appeared sleepy, perhaps drugged.
 

When his groin tightened at the sight of her, Walker felt acute shame. A foreign emotion, to be certain. Shame was useless to men used to the ‘no fucks given’ lifestyle that Walker preferred.

Exhaling the breath he’d unknowingly held, Walker turned to one of the guards.

“Take me into the office,” he ordered, pointing at the door he’d seen earlier.

The guard’s gaze slipped over to Clipboard, who now stood only a few feet behind Walker. Dismissing the other guard, Walker turned to Clipboard.

“They want to see me anyway,” he said, waving a hand. It was not a question.

Clipboard paused, then nodded and beckoned Walker toward the office. The door opened as he approached, and a white-haired man in a suit stepped out.

“Mr. Walker, I’m guessing,” the man said. “Welcome to our facility.”

The man was short, probably only 5’6”, and wearing a very fine dove-grey suit. With his frosty white beard, thick white hair, and thick Southern accent, Walker couldn’t help but associate him with fried chicken. Still, there was an air about him, a ruthless glint in his eye, that made Walker cautious not to underestimate the man. The man put out a hand for a handshake, but Walker completely ignored it. The man’s grin widened at Walker’s refusal.

“And you are?” Walker asked, stepping closer to impress the height difference. Walker towered over the man by at least a foot. When the guards stepped closer, the man raised a hand to ward them off.

“You may call me Mr. Smith. We don’t much go for full names around here, of course,” he said with a chuckle.

Walker cocked his head, remaining silent. Mentally, he was tracking the movements of everyone in the room. Tension thickened the air, and Walker was preparing for a serious fight. After long seconds of silence, aware that he didn’t have Walker’s full attention, Mr. Smith spoke again.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Black?” he asked. His cheerful tone was a smooth, flawless façade.
 

Walker refocused, keeping his expression completely neutral.

“How much?” Walker asked, willing himself to stillness. He had a number of poker ‘tells’, all of which he needed to control. He wanted to be blank, unemotional, unfathomable. He wanted to make everyone sweat.

The guards looked nervous as hell, but Mr. Smith didn’t even blink.

“We haven’t determined that number yet, have we? That’s what the auction is for, my boy,” he said, the same bland smile pasted on his face.

“I don’t want an auction. Just give me a number. A million?” he asked, allowing his impatience to show.

Mr. Smith chuckled, shaking his head.

“The bidding starts at one million, five hundred thousand,” he said, clucking his tongue.

“Two million, then. Get her out of the cage,” Walker replied, waving a lazy hand at the female.

“We don’t do business like that, Mr. Black.”

“Fine. Twenty million,” Walker said, giving the man a look of pure annoyance.

The room went quiet, and even Mr. Smith paused for a few seconds.

“Ah. Tempting, very tempting. But everyone must have an equal chance, of course. We’ll be seated now, and await the arrival of our last guest,” Mr. Smith said, turning and motioning everyone toward the auction area.
 

Walker threw a look over his shoulder, noticing that the female was now sitting up, hands pressed against the glass wall. Their gazes caught, and her eyes were a bright green shock of utter desperation. She pawed the glass once, a very wolflike response. Walker felt his wolf stir, the impulse to free her riding him hard. He glanced around, then looked back at her and held up a hand, gesturing that she should stay put.
 

Wait for me,
he mouthed.

Tears formed in her eyes, and her mouth wobbled, but she nodded.

Turning away and walking to take a seat in the auction area was one of the hardest things Walker had ever done. Hell, he’d killed for a lot less than this. Still, he bided his time. He faced forward and kept his expression stony, even when he could hear the guards moving the girl out of the holding tank. One of the guards handed Walker an orange paper paddle. Each guest got a different color, it seemed.

Mr. Smith stepped onstage, flanked by two guards. Two more half-carried the female to the circular pedestal, securing her ankles to the base with finely wrought silver chains. The guards let her slide down to her knees, then stepped away. She faltered once, nearly toppling over. Walker had to wonder if she was really so deeply drugged, or if some of it was an act.

Three men approached, each wearing heavy black robes. Their faces were hidden by thick hoods, sunken in shadows. Each wore a simple golden cross around his neck, and their light shoes, pale skin, and soft hands said that they were not outdoorsmen. Walker would have guessed that they were some kind of Fae, but they smelled human. He couldn’t catch the slightest whiff of any magic on them, actually. Perhaps they were some kind of priests or monks.

“Ah! Our final guests,” Mr. Smith crowed. “I knew this would be of special interest for you, gentlemen.”

The three figures remained standing, and no one took exception. Where all the other customers had stared at Walker with a mixture of fear and insatiable curiosity, no one dared to examine the monks. Whoever the guys were, they were no idle threat. One of the guards offered the foremost monk a paddle, only to be rebuked with a silence. He backed away, nearly cowering.

“Welcome, everyone. We have, tonight, something very special. Ella here is a lot more than she seems. Sweet, innocent, sexy… and that’s just her human half. She’s only twenty-four, and shifters live very long lives. They heal from almost any wound, instantly. You could get a lot of use out of little Ella, gentlemen,” Smith announced, his voice excited. He grinned at the crowd, eyes twinkling.
 

 
“Let us start the bidding as planned, everyone,” Mr. Smith crooned. “One million and five, please.”

Paddles flashed, and Smith called out numbers.

“Two. Two-five. Three. Three-five. Four. Five,” he said, pointing to each bid.
 

Walker waited. The bids slowed at fifteen million, and Mr. Smith waved to the guards close to the female. One stepped forward, grabbing her by the hair. He pulled the hair back from her soft face and yanked hard, forcing her breasts to jut forward. The crystals of her outfit glinted brightly under the bright stage lights.

“Did I mention she’s been dosed with a drug that makes her tranquil and insatiably horny? The serum comes as part of the package. Get her wet any time you please! Or don’t, if you’re into that sort of thing,” Smith howled, growing fevered.

Paddles flashed. Bids flew, and each time the slowed the guard flaunted the girl a little more. The guard spread her thighs apart, nearly baring all due to her skimpy costume. Walker suppressed a groan, because Smith wasn’t lying about the serum. As disoriented as Ella was, she was also turned on. He could actually smell her arousal from thirty feet away, and it was killing him.

“Fifty!” Walker shouted, garnering nasty looks from the other bidders. Silence fell for long moments, and Smith had a very conflicted look on his face. They’d been planning to capture Walker and sell him, no doubt. Fifty million might be too much to walk away from, though.

One of the monks raised a hand, and Smith looked as if he might explode with pleasure.

“Fifty five!” the man cried.

“Sixty,” Walker rejoined.

Another hand wave from the monk.

“Seventy!” Walker said, growling now.