The sale was conducted without ceremony.

The older vampire didn’t bother meeting Valerius’ eyes when the chains were handed over. The leash—thick iron links scarred by teeth marks—was still warm from the creature’s body heat.

“There,” the elder said, flicking the chain like one would toss a bone. “Mean. Stupid. Won’t stop biting if you give him ideas.”

At the end of the leash stood the werewolf.

Wolf, really—massive and wrong, ribs visible beneath matted, uneven fur. Scars crisscrossed his shoulders where silver had burned deep, healing crooked. His back was bowed from years of being forced low, posture ruined by habit rather than injury. A spiked collar sat tight against his throat, metal embedded enough that the skin around it had thickened and split.

He did not look at Valerius.

His gaze stayed fixed on the floor, breath dragging in harsh, uneven pulls. Every few seconds his jaw flexed, teeth clicking faintly, as if grinding something invisible between them.

Valerius frowned.

Not in fear.

In distaste.

“So this is him,” Valerius said. “Gods above… he looks like he was dragged through a battlefield and left there.”

The elder barked a laugh. “He was.”

Valerius stepped closer despite the warning tension that rolled off the creature in waves. The wolf reacted instantly—head snapping up, lips peeling back from ruined fangs, a hoarse snarl ripping from his chest. Spit splattered the stone at Valerius’ feet.

Valerius halted just beyond reach, gaze cool and assessing.

“Teeth chipped,” he murmured. “Fur neglected. Posture appalling.”

The wolf lunged.

The chain snapped tight, wrenching him sideways. He hit the ground hard, momentum carrying him across the stone. He thrashed, claws scraping uselessly, snarling in raw, ugly bursts of sound that echoed off the walls.

Valerius watched without flinching.

Like a man observing a broken instrument.

“Does he ever shift?” Valerius asked.

The elder shrugged. “Stopped trying. Don’t let him. Easier this way.”

Valerius’s expression sharpened—something like irritation flickering across his face.

“Of course you don’t,” he said. “You let him rot.”

He crouched, bringing himself closer to the wolf’s eye level.

The wolf froze mid-snarl.

Yellow eyes locked onto him, glassy and confused, body trembling with the indecision between attack and submission. His breath stuttered. One paw twitched, uncertain.

Valerius spoke, crisp and measured.

“Down.”

The wolf didn’t obey.

Valerius flicked his fingers.

The pressure came instantly—crushing, invisible—slamming the wolf flat against the stone. A sharp, broken yelp tore from his throat as the air pinned him there. He tried to rise and failed, legs shaking violently beneath the weight of something he could not fight.

Valerius leaned closer, his voice low.

“You don’t belong on the floor,” he said. “But you certainly don’t belong standing like that either.”

The wolf stilled.

Not understanding the words—but understanding the tone. His head lowered. Ears flattened tight. The snarl dissolved into a faint, strained whine leaking through clenched teeth.

Valerius straightened, releasing the pressure.

The wolf remained down.

“Good,” Valerius said. “At least the instinct to submit still functions.”

He took the chain from the elder’s hand, testing its weight, then grimaced.

“This will not do,” he added. “Iron like this is for animals meant to be displayed in pits. Not halls.”

The elder scoffed. “You planning on parading him?”

Valerius glanced back at the wolf—at the scars, the filth, the hunched shape of something long denied dignity.

“I intend to make him presentable,” he said coolly. “Or break him trying.”

He turned and began to walk.

The wolf did not follow at first.

Then—slowly—claws scraped stone. The chain drew taut. The massive body rose, stiff and uncertain, head kept low as he trailed behind Valerius.

Not beside him.

Not proudly.

But moving.

For the first time in a long while, not as a spectacle—but as a project.