Page 1 of Brutal Alpha’s Sold Mate (Starfire Hollow Alphas #4)

“How many times do I have to kill these bastards before they get the hint?”

The question isn’t rhetorical, but there’s no one around to answer it. Not that I need anyone to. I already know the answer: as many times as it takes. Malcolm and Wiley think they’re clever, tucking themselves away in the farthest corners of Glory Town, but this time, there’s no escape.

It’s been two weeks since the last raid. Two weeks since we tore their foothills camp to pieces. Cages smashed, witches freed, traps dismantled—it should’ve been the end of their operation. But Malcolm and Wiley, slimy cowards they are, slipped through the cracks.

Now, they’re rebuilding. Somewhere out here, hidden deep in the shadows, they’re putting the pieces of their empire back together.

And it’s not just any empire. It’s a pipeline for demons.

Malcolm and Wiley aren’t just slave traders—they’re suppliers.

As it turns out, the witches they capture don’t just suffer in cages; they’re handed over to demons to be drained of magic, spirit, and life.

The ones who survive are too broken to fight.

The ones who don’t… well, I’ve seen enough to know their fates are worse than death.

The packs in the area—East Hills, Red Arrow, and River Valley—are holding the line, but barely.

Patrols run day and night, wolves are stationed at every border, and the witches who can still stand are helping us keep the demons at bay.

But this fight is a losing game. For every step we take forward, the demons take two back.

This fight isn’t sustainable. We all know it. But we don’t have another option.

And then there’s me. A fighter. A problem-solver.

When word came about a possible hideout, I didn’t wait for orders or backup. There’s no time for bureaucracy, and I can handle this myself. I’ve taken down rogues twice my size, and demons that would make lesser wolves freeze in terror.

A shack finally comes into view, leaning sideways like a house of cards caught in the wind. Its warped boards are mismatched, its roof is sagging, and its door is dangling on rusted hinges.

“Subtle,” I grumble, eyeing the pitiful structure. It’s so obviously a trap, it’s almost laughable. But that doesn’t change the fact that someone could be inside. Someone who doesn’t have time for me to hesitate.

The porch groans under my boots as I step onto it. My claws itch, ready to extend, but I force them back. The stench of blood and sweat wafts from the doorway, thick and sour.

“Housekeeping!” I call out, nudging the door open with my palm. My voice rings out, but the only answer is silence.

Inside, the shack is even worse than it looked. Trash litters the floor, broken furniture leans against the walls, and in the far corner, two rusted cages sit empty. Deep scratches mar the bars, and my stomach flips. Those cages were meant for someone, not something. Someone who isn’t here anymore.

A faint creak of a floorboard behind me shatters my thoughts. I spin, crouched and ready to shift, just in time to see a wiry man lunging at me with a wooden club.

“Really?” I sidestep his swing easily, grabbing his wrist and twisting hard. The club falls from his hand with a dull clatter.

He snarls, baring his teeth like a rabid dog, but I slam my knee into his gut. He folds with a wheeze, and I shove him into the nearest wall.

“You picked the wrong wolf,” I bark out, pinning him with one hand. “Where are they?”

His eyes flit toward the back of the shack, toward the staircase, but he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he spits at my feet.

“Fine,” I huff, releasing him just long enough to slam my elbow into his temple. He drops like a sack of bricks, unconscious. “Good talk.”

I step over him and make my way toward the staircase at the back of the shack. A faint clink of metal echoes up from below. My ears twitch, honing in on the sound. My muscles tense as I descend, and the smell of blood grows stronger with every step.

The basement is cramped, its walls lined with rotting wood. In the far corner, a girl is chained to the wall. She’s young—too young. Her wrists are raw and bloody from the heavy cuffs digging into her skin, and her wide, glassy eyes stare at something far away.

“Hey,” I say softly, crouching in front of her. “I’m here to help.”

Her eyes move toward me, but she doesn’t speak.

“You’re going to be okay,” I promise. “We’re getting out of here.”

I test the chains, pulling hard, but they’re bolted deep into the wall. Too deep. My claws could slice through the metal where it’s the thinnest at her wrists, but not without hurting her.

“Hang tight,” I tell her, rising to my feet. “I’ll figure this out.”

My eyes land on a small desk against the wall. It’s cluttered with papers, broken bottles, and scraps of fabric, but a shiny key catches my eye. I grab it and hold it up with a triumphant smirk.

“Gotcha.”

Before I can turn back to the girl, the sound of a door slamming upstairs sends every instinct into overdrive.

Two figures step into view, their faces illuminated by the single light bulb dangling from the ceiling.

Malcolm’s greasy hair sticks to his face.

Wiley stands beside him with a coiled net in his hands and an eager glint in his eyes.

“Well, well,” Malcolm drawls, his voice slick with false charm. “Look who decided to drop by.”

“Didn’t think you’d be dumb enough to come alone,” Wiley adds, his grin all teeth.

“Didn’t think you’d still be alive,” I shoot back, bearing mine.

Malcolm chuckles. “You’ve been a real pain in our asses, little wolf. I think it’s time for an obedience lesson, young lady.”

Wiley moves suddenly, tossing the net with precision. I dodge, but not fast enough. The heavy ropes slam into me, pinning my arms and legs as I crash to the ground.

“You bastards,” I snarl, struggling against the ropes.

“Easy now,” Malcolm faux-soothes. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“You’re going to regret this.”

He laughs and stands as Wiley approaches with a vial of something dark and swirling.

“This’ll keep you nice and docile,” Wiley taunts, uncorking the vial with a flourish.

I bare my teeth at him, a low growl rumbling in my throat.

My wolf stirs, the instinct to shift coursing through me like fire.

I let the change come, willing my body to twist, to break free of this pathetic trap.

But instead of the familiar rush of power, pain lances through me.

My muscles spasm, locking up, and the shift slips away like water through pebbles.

“What the—” I jerk harder against the ropes.

Wiley grins and steps closer. “Oh, you’re feeling it, aren’t you? That itch, that spark you can’t quite catch. Poor thing. The potion’s already working.”

The smell hits me—chemical, bitter, cloying. My wolf, the part of me that’s always been ready and always there, retreats farther into the fog clouding my mind. Panic rises in its place.

“Try all you want,” Malcolm comments as he crouches to look me in the eye. “That wolf of yours? She’s not coming out to play again anytime soon.”

I snarl, thrashing harder, willing my body to shift, to respond. But every attempt only makes the ropes dig deeper. The potion’s poison tightens its grip.

The liquid drips onto the ropes, and the world tilts violently. My vision blurs, Malcolm’s smirking face the last thing I see before darkness swallows me whole.

***

When I come to, my head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton.

My limbs are impossibly heavy. The first thing I register is the cold bite of metal digging into my wrists.

I blink against the haze, piecing together fractured images—the smug grins of Malcolm and Wiley, the vile sting of whatever they doused me with, and the sensation of being dragged like a sack of grain.

The room I’m in is stark and clinical, not at all what I expected from their usual rundown hideouts.

Fluorescent lights are bright overhead, and everything reeks of disinfectant mixed with that metallic tang of blood.

The walls are a pristine white, marred only by a series of scratches near the corner, like someone’s fingernails raked against them in desperation.

I adjust my weight, testing the restraints. My wrists are cuffed to a chair bolted to the floor. Chains loop around my ankles, securing me in place. Silver, by the feel of it. Great. They’re finally learning.

“Well, looky here,” a familiar voice starts. “Look who’s awake.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” I tell him, tugging at the cuffs for emphasis. “Because as soon as I’m out of here, you’re dead.”

Wiley sidles up beside him, twirling a vial of something dark and viscous between his fingers. The same liquid he used to knock me out. “You always have so much fight in you, little wolf. Makes what comes next so much more satisfying.”

“You’re compensating for something, aren’t you?” I shoot back. “What’s the matter, Wiley? Can’t find yourself a mate who will put up with your ugly mug, so you have to go around kidnapping shewolves to find one?”

His grin falters, but Malcolm claps a hand on his shoulder. “Relax, Wiley. She’s just trying to rile you up. Save the theatrics for later.”

They exchange a look before Malcolm turns back to me. “You see, we’ve got plans, little wolf. Big plans. And you? You’re going to help us. Whether you want to or not.”

“Pass,” I snap.

“Not really an option,” Malcolm retorts, tilting his head. “Bring it in.”

A door at the far end of the room hisses open, and two of their lackeys drag in a hunched figure—a girl, maybe sixteen. The same girl I saw back in that dilapidated shack. Her matted brown hair hangs in front of her face, and she’s clutching a small vial in trembling hands.

“Do it,” Malcolm commands the girl, shoving her forward.

The girl’s eyes move to me, wide and full of such a range of emotions it’s hard to place just one. Fear. Guilt. Despair. Her fingers shake as she uncorks the vial and approaches, but she doesn’t make eye contact.

“Don’t,” I beg her. “You don’t have to do this.”

“She doesn’t have a choice,” Wiley sneers.

The girl freezes mid-step with the vial hovering inches from my face. “I-I—”

“Enough,” Malcolm snaps, grabbing her wrist and forcing her hand forward. The liquid hits my skin, and the effect is immediate, but when she starts whispering an incantation, I let out an involuntary scream.

A wave of weakness washes over me, sapping the strength from my muscles. My vision swims, and my claws retract even deeper into my skin. It’s like every ounce of fight is being drained from my body, leaving me limp and useless in the chair.

“Bastards,” I manage, though my voice is little more than a rasp.

Malcolm crouches to my level until we’re face to face. “You should’ve stayed out of this, little wolf. But don’t worry. We’ll make good use of you.”

They drag the girl away, leaving me slumped in the chair, my mind racing even as my body refuses to cooperate. Whatever they hit me with, it’s strong. Too strong. But I’m not done yet.

When they leave me alone, I take stock of the room again. It’s designed to hold shifters—no windows, reinforced walls that smell silver under that paint, and the faint buzz of some tech no doubt keeping everything locked tight. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that no cage is perfect.

A soft knock interrupts my thoughts. The door creaks open, and the girl from before slips inside. Her eyes darted nervously around the room.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I whisper. “If one of those assholes catch you…”

She clutches something in her hands, a small bundle wrapped in cloth. “I—I’m sorry,” she stammers. “I didn’t want to—”

“I know,” I cut her off gently. “It’s not your fault.”

She inches closer, placing the bundle on the floor near my feet. “It’s not much, but… maybe it’ll help.”

I glance at the bundle, then back at her. “Why are you helping me?”

Her gaze drops to the floor. “Because… because if you get out of here, maybe we can help the others. The witches. They’re… they’re hurting them. And no one else is strong enough to stop it.”

“I’ll get out,” I swear without a second thought. “And I’ll make sure they never hurt anyone again.”

She nods back but doesn’t say another word before slipping out the door as quietly as she came.

The bundle contains a small blade and what looks like a crude map of the facility. Not much, but it’s a start. I tuck the blade into the waistband of my pants, mentally cataloging the exits and corridors marked on the map.

The next few hours blur together in a haze of exhaustion and planning. I’ve got one shot at this, and failure isn’t an option.

When Malcolm and Wiley return, I’ll be ready.

Or at least that’s what I tell myself as I test the strength of the restraints again, my wrists aching from the effort. The lingering effects of the potion keep my wolf subdued, but I refuse to let the panic take over. I need to focus. There’s always a way out. I just have to find it.

Footsteps echo in the hallway outside, followed by low voices. The door creaks open, and Malcolm strides in with his hands casually stuffed in his pockets like this is a damn social call. Wiley follows, carrying a clipboard he barely glances at before tossing it onto a nearby table.

“Enjoying your accommodations?” Malcolm taunts. His eyes sweep over me, taking in the restraints, the steel table, the stillness I force myself to maintain.

“Save it,” I grumble, forcing as much strength into my voice as I can muster. “You want something from me, so stop wasting time.”

He chuckles. “Oh, you’re quick. Fine. Let’s cut to the chase. You’re going to tell us everything about your pack’s plans—how they’re tracking us, what their next move is, all of it.”

“You think I’d ever help you?”

“You will,” Wiley replies. “Or you’ll really see my bad side.”

“Careful,” I taunt. “Throwing tantrums isn’t a good look.”

Malcolm holds up a hand, stopping Wiley in his tracks. “She’ll talk,” he says confidently. “And if she doesn’t, we’ll sell her off to the highest bidder.”

I let them believe that. Let them think they’ve won. Because the longer I’m here, the more I can learn. The map, the girl’s warnings, everything points to this place being more than just a hideout. It’s a hub. A nerve center for their operation.

And when I get out, I’ll make sure it burns.