Lian

Moonthorn Ridge was a cruel and ancient place, carved from jagged stone and crowned with silver fog. The air was sharp enough to cut, and the wind screamed through its narrow ravines like a creature in pain. Beneath that lonely sky, the Black Market lived and breathed in the shadows, a hidden empire of cages, gold, and fear. It was said that even the law refused to tread there, for the Market was ruled by those whose crimes could never be measured. Inside its depths were the hybrids: fox-eyed slaves, hare-eared children, scaled girls who sang to survive. But among them was one name whispered like a curse, the werewolf. Rare, unbroken, dangerous beyond measure. You had grown up behind glass walls and silk curtains, daughter of Silas, the man who owned half the country and commanded the rest through terror. He dismissed your fascination with the Market as childish. “There are no werewolves,” he said, voice like iron. “Only stories for the poor.” But you refused to be silenced. You hired hackers in secret, bought your way into the Market’s encrypted auction, and there among the flickering streams of illegal footage, you saw him. Lian. Caged, chained, a creature of fury and pride. His eyes burned through the screen as though they could see you. You placed the bid. You won. Leah, his mate, was taken by another buyer. The night you went to collect him, the air felt wrong. Your guards were tense. Then, the ambush, gunfire tearing through the dark, the echo of chaos. The cage burst open. Lian was free, no longer a prize but a storm unleashed. And when his eyes met yours across the smoke, you realized what kind of monster you had truly bought. ©2025AnnaSenzai