I Was Sold to the Alpha, Then Four Wolves Wanted Me

Calla's POV

"...Alpha, no. You can't all come at once!"

I knelt helplessly on the soft, unfamiliar bed — hot breath at my back, beneath me, even above my head. Several hands pressed down at once. I struggled in terror, but someone gripped my jaw and forced my teeth apart.

"Be good. Open up."

That voice, low and hoarse, came closer, carrying cedar and strong liquor. I was forced to lift my head, straining to see the face, but all that met my eyes was a pair of familiar gray eyes.

A crack of thunder—

Lightning split the sky above the manor. My eyes flew open, my chest heaving.

"That dream again."

The eyes from the dream — eyes that usually held only distance and cold scrutiny, and tonight nothing but raw want. Alpha Damien's eyes.

My fingertips went numb. I suddenly remembered what my mother had told me.

"Calla, you have to be careful, sweetheart. Don't let anyone catch your scent. Especially the ones with sharp noses — they mustn't sense even a trace that you were there."

I didn't understand her then. Not until that winter, when everything under my father's name was liquidated overnight. Three million in debt came crashing down. The creditors came to the door and said one thing: "The man who owes us has run. The daughter pays."

I was standing at the top of the stairs with a scarf of my mother's clutched in my hands.

Because there was no money, I was sold into this manor.

The night I signed the contract, my chest felt tight, like a hand squeezing me from the inside. Hatred kept me awake night after night. I hated my mother for handing me over. For leaving without a word. And I hated her more for having her reasons and refusing to speak a single one of them.

But the day I actually stepped into the manor, the first thing that rose in my mind was still that warning.

That day I kept my head down, following the steward. I had barely entered the main hall when I saw two servants carrying out a woman drenched in blood.

My steps stopped dead.

The smell of blood was thick. I held my breath, not daring to look, not daring to move.

A moment later, a tall figure appeared at the top of the second-floor stairs. Silver-gray hair. When his gaze found me, it slid downward and stopped at my neck.

As if he were scenting something.

My back locked. Even my fingertips went rigid.

He said nothing. He only looked at me for a moment, then turned and walked away. Only then did that suffocating pressure ease.

I gulped air.

The steward glanced at me and spoke flatly: "You'll stay here from now on. You're responsible for cleaning Alpha Damien's rooms."

"There's no wolf blood in you. Remember — you are not to go near the woods behind the manor, or the restricted grounds at the rear."

"Also, I'd advise you not to entertain any impractical ideas about the Alpha. Otherwise, that woman's fate is the warning you'll get."

Only then did I understand I had walked into a wolf's territory.

The woman just taken away had been the previous human caretaker. She had defiled her duty and tried to climb into Alpha Damien's bed. That was her punishment.

Lightning briefly lit the servants' quarters. Rain hammered the window.

My palm pressed to my chest. The image of that woman's flesh split open jolted through me.

Walking into this manor meant walking into a wolf's den.

At the thought, my chest tightened and I hurried to gather the Alpha's clothes.

Then suddenly a heavy scent of cedar and liquor closed in.

Alpha Damien was standing in front of me — since when, I couldn't say. Rain clung to his shoulders; the smell of drink still hung on him. But those eyes were exactly the same as in my dream.

I pressed a hand over my racing heart, took half a step back, and tried to slip away as I always did.

"Stop."

Alpha Damien caught my wrist.

In that instant only one thought remained in my head —

I'm done for.

He was a wolf. This manor was his. The rear was forbidden ground. A blood-soaked woman had been dragged out of the main hall, and the steward had said it was a warning. And now here I was — a human with no wolf blood, standing in front of him in the dead of night, soaked through, my wrist in his grip.

Would he deal with me on the spot? The way he'd dealt with her?

The smell of blood seemed to rise again. My legs shook. My teeth shook. But I couldn't move; my wrist was held fast.

"What... is that smell on you?"

He spoke. His voice was very low, holding something back.

I froze. I couldn't get a single word out.

It wasn't a name I'd ever heard. But my first reaction was — he knows me.

Why would the master of this manor notice an ordinary human? Unless he had known who I was all along. Unless, before I ever came here, there had been something about me that someone remembered.

Maybe he had recognized me long ago. Maybe I was the only one who didn't know.

I thought again of what my mother once told me.

"Alpha," my voice shook, "do... do you know me?"

He didn't answer.

"You know who I am, don't you." I stared at him.

Still no answer. He only closed his eyes and bent down, his breath grazing my lips — scalding, thick with drink.

I turned my head away with all the strength I had.

"Alpha, you've got the wrong person."

"Ayla."

He said the name again.

This time I heard it clearly. Ayla. Not my name.

Lady Moon. The one on the manor's top floor — a pure bloodline that appears in the clan once in a century, heir to the Moon Goddess faith, and the one several Alphas guard together.

My body went rigid. I clutched the thin fabric over my chest.

Rrrip — my soaked maid's uniform was torn open.

I opened my mouth to tell him he had the wrong person, but the next second a shirt landed over my face.

I heard his ragged breathing stop for a beat above the shirt.

That inappropriate flutter in my chest faded. I couldn't let this go on.

As his body was about to press against mine, I spoke up loud:

"No, I'm not Ayla!"

The shirt over my face was flung aside.

Moonlight fell into my eyes again. I opened them and saw him braced above me, frozen mid-motion.