Page 68 of The Alpha's Auctioned Pregnant Mate

"Listen," she said, trying to reason with her captors. "This doesn't have to end badly. Just let me contact Articus. I'm sure we can work out an arrangement that benefits everyone."

The witch laughed. "Nice try, Sweetheart. But we'll handle the negotiations. You just sit tight and look pretty for when your Alpha arrives."

As they turned to leave, Wren called out, "Wait! Please... can I at least have some water? And maybe something to eat? For the baby's sake, if nothing else."

Bloodred paused at the door, considering. After a moment, he nodded to the woman. "Give her some water and bread. Can't have our prize looking too worse for wear when the buyer arrives."

Once they left, Wren sagged against the bed, exhaustion and fear threatening to overwhelm her. But she couldn't give up. She had to stay strong; she had to find a way out of this mess.

For the baby. For Articus. For us.

She placed a hand on her still flat stomach, a fierce protectiveness welling up inside her. No matter what happened, she would keep their child safe. And if—when—Articus came for her, she would make things right. She would explain, apologize, and do whatever it took to rebuild the trust she'd broken.

I won't let fear drive me away again.

With that thought, Wren squared her shoulders and began to plan. She would bide her time, gather information, and look for any opportunity to escape. And if escape proved impossible, she would trust Articus to find her.

I choose you, Articus. I choose our family.

As the vow echoed in her heart, Wren settled in to wait, her eyes fixed on the small window. Somewhere out there, Articus was coming for her.

And she would be ready when he came.

Chapter 22 - Articus

Articus’ heart pounded in his chest as he and Cassius approached the slavers' hideout. The dilapidated warehouse loomed before them, its weathered exterior a stark contrast to the sleek buildings of the pack territories.

The night air was thick with tension, carrying the faint scents of decay and desperation. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to shift and tear through anyone who dared to keep Wren from him, but he knew he had to keep his cool.

One wrong move could spark a war between the territories. The wolf inside him howled for blood, demanding immediate action, but Articus forced it down, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Cassius placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, his touch grounding Articus in the moment. "Remember, Cousin," he murmured, his voice low and urgent. "Diplomacy first. We can't afford a conflict here. Too much is at stake."

Articus nodded stiffly, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He hadn't felt this level of fury and fear since... well, ever. The thought of Wren in danger, especially now that he knew she was carrying his child, made him want to howl with rage.

The primal need to protect his mate and unborn pup warred with the rational part of his mind that knew caution was necessary.

Two burly guards materialized from the shadows near the entrance, their movements fluid and predatory. Their eyes gleamed with recognition as they took in Articus' distinctive appearance, a mix of wariness and curiosity in their gazes.

"We're here to see your boss," Cassius stated firmly, his tone brooking no argument. The authority in his voice was clear, reminding Articus why his cousin was such an effective Alpha.

The guards exchanged a look, a silent communication passing between them, before one of them grunted and jerked his head toward the door. "Follow me," he growled, his voice rough with disuse.

They were led through dimly lit corridors, where Articus' enhanced senses picked up a cacophony of sounds and smells.

The acrid stench of fear permeated the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood and the musty odor of unwashed bodies. Each inhale made his nostrils flare, his wolf snarling at the wrongness of it all.

Muffled sobs and rattling chains echoed from behind closed doors, making his stomach churn with disgust and anger. He could hear hushed whispers, pleas for mercy, and the occasional bark of laughter from what he assumed were guards.

The sounds of suffering surrounded them, evidence of the cruelty that took place within these walls. Articus' fingers twitched, his claws threatening to emerge. He wanted nothing more than to break down every door, to free every soul trapped in this hellhole. But he couldn't.

Not if I want to get Wren out safely.

Finally, they were ushered into a surprisingly well-appointed office. The contrast between the squalor they had just walked through and the luxury of this room was jarring.

Rich mahogany furniture, plush carpets, and expensive artwork adorned the space—a sickening display of wealth built on the suffering of others.

Behind an ornate desk sat Linus. He had been the announcer at the auction. He was a man who could only be described as unremarkable—average height, average build, with nondescript brown hair and eyes.

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