Chapter 1:
“Get on your knees.”
Fenrir and the rest of the omegas lined up next to him across the stage followed the command without hesitation.
At least, not external hesitation.
Internally, his pride was screaming at him to gnash his teeth and tear out the annoying beta’s jugular. Alpha pride, as it were, was hard to shake.
Even if Fenrir was no longer an alpha.
But, alpha or not, he had a job to do, and he wasn’t about to blow this opportunity on petty anger.
“The curtain will lift in less than five minutes,” the beta instructor who’d been assigned to accompany them to the location of the auction stated in a firm voice. Natural betas on this planet were unheard of, but Fenrir understood whythe Mistress of the Wardrobe preferred one over other more common options.
The beta stood out amongst the rest of the population, sure, but his proclivity ensured no chance of developing unwanted ties to the product—aka, Fenrir and the five others who’d been transported there over an hour ago.
They’d been greeted at a secret underground entrance and brought straight to the baths. Stripped, groomed, oiled…The full body massage portion of the evening honestly hadn’t been all that bad. It wasn’t his first time being prepped for viewing, offered up to elite bastards who had more coin than soul. He’d have a better chance of finding a dragon out in the crowds than he would of spotting a person with compassion and empathy.
The Wardrobe didn’t cater to those sorts.
Fenrir knew better than to hope to spend his heat with a kind or caring alpha.
Losing his omega virginity wasn’t the main point of this evening anyway, not for him. He was here with a greater mission, and if he completed it successfully, he’d earn himself the one thing he’d always wanted.
A seat at the table.
A chance at a better life. One without servitude or cages.
The experiments may have ended years ago, but his position within the Wardrobe had not. Fenrir was sick of being a plaything. A coveted trophy set high on the shelf for others to admire and envy. He wanted true freedom.
Autonomy.
After this, he would finally get it.
Just a few more minutes—an hour tops, if it took that long for someone to take a fancy to him—and he’d know his target. He’d be one step closer to pleasing his mistress enough that she’d loosen the reins and make him pack over product.
The curtain began to lift, and the other omegas around him straightened their spines and held their chins up. There were no cowards here, even if they were meant to be little more than bodies for sale. Heat auctions, while not strictly legal, weren’t unheard of even amongst pleasant society, and every omega here had been hand chosen by the Mistress of the Wardrobe, an honor, some might say.
Fenrir didn’t care about stuff like that. He was past collecting accolades or trying to get ahead amongst the other inmates, as he liked to think of them. When the curtain fully lifted, exposing them to the crowd, and the crowd to them, his focus was on one thing and one thing only.
Acquiring the perfect target.
His gaze pinged around the dark room, murky from hazy cigarette smoke and dim lighting. The atmosphere was frenetic, energy sparking, excitement palpable as the auction began.
There were several members of the White Frost in attendance, and Fenrir allowed his gaze to linger on them a little longer, hoping to catch their attention. Since he’d presented as an alpha, his physicality was less delicate than that of those around him. On the one hand, that meant he stood out, on the other, it could be for all the wrong reasons.
If someone wanted a more traditional omega, he wasn’t it.
At six feet three inches, he towered over most others, even a fair amount of alphas. He had broad shoulders, but lean muscle and a tapered waist that could work in his favor. His scent, altered after the fourth round of testing, was purely omega musk, though he followed the rules and kept a tight leash on his pheromones, not letting them seep out to coax any of the lounging alphas watching the stage with hungry eyes.
He could do this even without pheromones, he reassured himself. This night wasn’t about attracting a mate, it wasabout snaring a horny alpha, which should be easy enough, considering alphas were almost always ready for an omega in heat, and that’s what was on the table here.
Heated Hearts Day was the one day a year when the Imperial family and their government openly recommended the use of heat inducers. The drug was legally sold at all pharmacies for a week leading up to the holiday, and people were encouraged to take off work and make big plans with their partners. What had once been considered a romantic event had been warped into the sexual deviancy it now was.
Singles flocked to the clubs, and dating agencies turned into hookup agencies, promising to match an alpha or omega with the perfect fling. For the rest of the year, things like heat auctions had to be conducted from the shadows, but not on a day like this. Today, the Wardrobe was Imperial-sanctioned, and they’d made sure to dress the location and the product to look the part.
Fenrir and the others had been dressed in silks and glittering metallic chains, a whisp of shimmery sheer fabric tied around their necks in a mock collar meant to entice even further. Not that any of the omegas on stage were fools; they knew better than to assume any of the viewers eyeing them like meat were interested in gifting a claiming bite.