Page 12 of Crazy as Hell

To expedite matters, Viktor reached out to Arson Altera, the head of the local guardians assigned to the Pacific Northwest. Arson was given the task to assemble a response team to remain on standby until Viktor and Cassian discovered the location of the auction. Once confirmed, the local task force would raid the location and take down the traffickers and clients.

Viktor and Cassian were finally able to follow the trafficker to a remote estate in the woods. Getting close enough to confirm that was where the auction was actually being held had been difficult, but not impossible. The organizers had protected the location behind layers of powerful wards and magical deception designed to confuse outsiders. But they still needed to leave a weak spot for their clients to arrive.

Seeing the portal the traffickers created several yards away from the estate was enough to give them an opening. They obviously didn’t trust outsiders enough to allow them to enter directly onto the property. Even though they didn’t know exactly when the auction was scheduled to begin, Viktor and Cassian decided to leave to mobilize the task force. They could sit in the woods and wait until the clients arrived before everyone moved in.

At least, that had been the plan.

Those plans changed the moment the portal opened up, and more traffickers brought through something neither Viktor nor Cassian had been prepared to see. The magical relics were only a small part of the evening’s entertainment.

The real merchandise for the auction was alive.

Hidden behind the luxurious surroundings and carefully cultivated exclusivity was one of the most depraved parts of the trafficking operation. Males, females, and even young supernaturals were brought through the portal in gilded cages, treated as though they were nothing more than rare collectibles.

Viktor knew buyers often sought specific supernaturals in the black market for bloodlines, magical abilities, and supernatural heritage. Those with uncommon gifts commanded staggering prices. Healers capable of mending mortal wounds, seers blessed with prophetic visions, shifters from specific bloodlines, and rare hybrids were all considered exceptionally valuable.

Some buyers sought slaves. Others wanted living weapons, experimental subjects, or breeding stock to strengthen their own family lines. To the people holding the auction, the supernaturals in the cages were simply merchandise.

As Viktor had watched the cages being taken into the estate, the mission changed. Recovering the relics and apprehending the buyers still mattered, but neither outweighed the lives of the innocent people about to be sold.

Saving the captives became the priority.

He had known they needed to contact the response team immediately, but before he had a chance to teleport to meet with Arson, Cassian made one reckless, foolish mistake. Within seconds, their cover was blown, and the hunters became the ones being hunted.

And as he was struck with a blast of strong magic, Viktor realized he had failed to foresee his own end.

Chapter Five

“Ze?” Cassian whispered. “Are you awake?”

Viktor drifted back to consciousness slowly. There was a dull ringing in his ears, and an agonizing pounding inside his head that made it feel as though his skull had been split wide open. Every pulse of pain that shot through his head seemed to reverberate down his spine until it echoed throughout his entire body.

Even the simple act of drawing a breath made the ache intensify.

For several long heartbeats, he kept his eyes closed, silently willing the world to stop spinning. His body felt bruised and beaten. Every muscle was stiff and aching, and the metallic taste of blood lingered in his mouth. It took only a few seconds for his brain to start working again, and when it did, he wanted to curse.

Somehow, he was still alive.

At least, for now.

The realization filled him with a confusing mixture of relief and dread. One part of him was grateful that his heart was still beating, but the throbbing pain he was feeling kind of made him wish he hadn’t survived. If he was alive, that meant they were now captives of the traffickers preparing to auction off supernaturals.

For the first time in his life, death almost seemed like the kinder option.

Viktor slowly forced his eyes open, every movement sending another wave of agony surging through his skull. His vision blurred before gradually sharpening into focus as he fought through the haze lingering from the powerful blast of magic that had struck him down.

The first thing he noticed was the silence. Not the peaceful kind of quiet, but the suffocating stillness that only happened where there was an absence of hope.

Once his vision stabilized enough, he slowly surveyed his surroundings. He found himself in a long, narrow chamber carved from rough stone. The air was damp and stale, carrying the unmistakable scents of blood and death. Heavy iron bars and reinforced doors lined the passage, leading to a thick, wooden cross at the end of the corridor, inevitably used to bind captives for torture sessions. The stone floor bore dark stains that time had failed to erase, silent reminders of the suffering that had unfolded within those walls.

Viktor didn’t need anyone to tell him where he was.

He had spent enough of his long life descending into forgotten fortresses, abandoned strongholds, and hidden prisons to recognize the signs immediately. This wasn’t a hastily assembled holding area meant for temporary captives. It was an old, well-used dungeon. A place built with the expectation that its prisoners would either break or perish.

A few torches burned along the wall, their unsteady flames casting long, dancing shadows that made the chamber seem alive. The dim light revealed over a dozen gilded cages several yards away, each holding a supernatural captive.

None of them moved.

The captives lay slumped against the bars or sprawled across the cage floors, unnaturally still. They seemed to be knocked out by some sort of drug or spell that had rendered them unconscious. That was a small mercy. The situation would have been far worse if he had to listen to the sound of whispered sobs or desperate pleas for freedom.