Bought a Wolf Pup at the Black Market, Found Out His Father Is Alpha King Chapter 01
Chapter 1 The White Pup at the Black Market
The underground auction smelled like wet fur and despair.
I pulled my hood tighter and pushed through the crowd.
The werewolves stared at me like I was an injured doe.
Humans weren’t supposed to come to places like this.
I knew that.
But the flyer had said “Rare White Wolf Pup,” and something in my chest had clenched so hard I could barely breathe.
Why did I care?
I didn’t know.
There were a lot of things I didn’t know—like who I had been before two years ago, why I wore a flower-carved bone pendant around my neck, or why my dreams were always full of fire and wolf howls.
But that cage made me stop.
It sat in the very back.
Small.
Filthy.
The iron bars were rusted, and the tray at the bottom held a crusted layer of dried blood.
Curled inside was a lump of white fur, so small it looked like a stuffed toy, but the sound coming from it was anything but harmless—a low growl rolling up from deep in its throat, the sound of a beast cornered to the edge of death.
I took two steps closer.
The white bundle snapped its head up.
Golden eyes.
Vertical pupils.
Locked on me.
Its fur was matted with blood.
In some places it had hardened into clumps, exposing pink skin underneath.
Whip marks striped its thin little body.
But it wasn’t trembling.
It wasn’t crying.
It just rose inside the cage and bared its teeth at me.
Baby fangs that hadn’t even finished coming in.
“Six years old,” the auctioneer drawled.
He was a gray wolf with a scar across his face, wearing a worn leather jacket and chewing on a toothpick.
“Purebred white wolf pup. Noble bloodline, terrible attitude. Whoever can tame him gets him.”
“The hell you mean by terrible attitude?” a huge werewolf beside me scoffed.
“That thing’s a rabid mutt.”
I looked at the tag hanging on the cage: Untamed. Highly aggressive. Age six. Starting price: five hundred.
Six years old.
On the black market, that already counted as too old for a pup.
No one wanted a half-grown, scarred-up little biter.
Too wild to raise, too stubborn to break.
Bring him home, and all you got was trouble.
“Four hundred,” someone called lazily.
“Four-fifty.”
“Five hundred.”
Then silence.
The auctioneer frowned.
“Five hundred once, five hundred twice—”
“I’ll take him.”
The words came out of my throat so suddenly they startled even me.
Every head turned.
A human woman wrapped in a faded hoodie, with a face so plain it disappeared in a crowd.
The auctioneer grinned, showing yellow teeth.
“Humans sure are brave. Or stupid. Six hundred.”
“Five-fifty.”
“Seven hundred.”
“Six hundred. If you won’t sell, I’m leaving.”
My hands were shaking, but I didn’t look away.
I had exactly six hundred and thirty-two dollars in my pocket, every cent saved from cleaning houses for werewolf employers who never looked me in the eye and tossed cash onto the table like they were feeding scraps to a beggar.
“Sold.”
I walked to the cage.
The white pup arched his back at once, a warning rumble vibrating in his throat.
I reached for the latch, and he bit my finger like lightning.
Pain hit hard.
Blood ran between my fingers.
The crowd laughed.
But I didn’t pull back.
Gritting my teeth, I yanked open the latch, shoved both hands inside, and ignored the scratching and biting as I hauled him out of that filthy cage and pressed him tight against my chest.
He struggled twice.
Then he went still.
His body was burning up.
His bones jabbed against me like shattered china.
I could smell blood, rust, and fear all over him.
“It’s okay,” I whispered into his ear.
I didn’t know if I was talking to him or to myself.
“It’s okay. I don’t know who I am, and you don’t know who you are. Guess that makes us even.”
He didn’t bite me again.
He just buried his face in the collar of my hoodie and let out the faintest little whimper.
