He was brushing his teeth when they came. He'd expected to be escorted to breakfast by an armed guard like any other morning. What Stiles had not expected, was for three armed guards to walk right into his room unannounced with one of them leveling a gun at his head. Stiles dropped his toothbrush and spit in the sink quickly so that he could turn to meet them for whatever was going on. His eyes caught on the rattling chains and metal cuffs in the other guards' hands as they approached him without a word.
Stiles bit down on his tongue to prevent himself from protesting and earning himself an elbow to the face or a trip down to the hole.
"Hands." Always with the monotone one worded command. Stiles glared at the ground and held out his wrists for the freezing metal shackles. An equally frigid metal collar was snapped around his throat and connected to the chain of his wrist cuffs by another thick chain. Stiles felt the weight of the enchantments keeping him in his human form like a lead blanket over his shoulders.
They had never been so heavily restrained before and the anxiety of not knowing what to expect was burning him from the inside out. In the five years Stiles had been their captive, they had never needed to be so heavy handed with them when they could easily overpower them bare-handed. He would find out soon enough what was going on, but that didn't stop the awful feeling he had. Like never before, all of his instincts were screaming at him to run.
"Move." At the barked demand, all four moved out into the empty hallway and began their little procession. When they passed the other cells, Stiles realized that they were empty. Either, everyone was at breakfast and he was being taken somewhere alone, or he'd been the last to be retrieved for whatever this was.
They neared the front of the compound and turned off into a hall he'd never remembered entering, which only made his anxiety jump. They were approaching a set of heavy-looking metal doors and slowed just before so one of the guards could step aside to tap away at a key panel.
"Keep your head down and don't say a word unless spoken to." The guard with the gun growled under his breath behind Stiles. His hands closed into fists and Stiles reluctantly lowered his chin while keeping his eyes on the doors.
With a sharp buzz, the doors unlocked and a guard pulled it open for them to go through. The room they entered was fairly large—about as big as their cafeteria—with no windows or furniture, and over a dozen closed doors circling the room. At the very center of the room were the others, all in similar heavy shackles and kneeling on the floor. As Stiles was led over, he couldn't help but compare their positions to that of a line of bodies before a firing squad. Stiles soon found out why they were kneeling on the cold concrete floor when he fell in line and was immediately forced to his knees by a violent yank to the chain connecting his neck to his wrists.
Stiles grunted as his kneecaps impacted with the ground but otherwise made no other protest when the guard pulled the chain connecting his wrists down to a metal half-loop in the floor. Once the chain was under the loop, it automatically snapped closed and locked him into his kneeling position. Stiles gritted his teeth. If he'd been in his tiger shift, his hackles would have been all the way up and puffed out. He fought the need to yank on his restraints to test their integrity. Even if he could break them, doing so would only cause him more trouble than it was worth.
Instead, he tried to ignore the pain radiating from his knees and focus on his breathing to keep himself calm. But no matter what he did, the feeling of alertness and danger never left. In fact, it only grew worse with time. Almost as if something was getting closer--
The metal doors behind them opened and multiple sets of footsteps entered the room out of their field of view with their heads tilted down. Stiles' tiger revolted and raged under his skin like it never had before. His hands twitched and he clenched his fists harder to keep them still as he tried to sooth the near-hysteric beast inside of him. From his periphery he could see the others shift and shiver uncomfortably.
Stiles' confusion was only made worse when, amongst the footsteps, he heard the distinct clack of sharp heels striking the floor in confident, measured strides. A few beats later, the group circled them at a wide berth and stopped before them. Stiles looked up through his lashes and had no idea what to make of the strangers that had been led in by a grinning Commander.
Eight women stood before them. From aura alone, Stiles could tell that they were all tiger-shifters and the aura surrounding each of them felt like the crushing weight of an Alpha wolf's presence. They all seemed to be in their late twenties to early thirties and they all wore what looked to be quite expensive luxury clothes.
However, while all of them appeared to be very wealthy and put-together, one stood out from the rest. She stood tall in gleaming cherry-red stilettos, with a tight black dress hugging her curves and a large, crisp black suit-jacket draped over her slim shoulders. Her hair was a glossy auburn, her lips painted the same bright red of her shoes, and her eyes were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses that probably cost more than Stiles' childhood home.
Everything about her dripped with power and money, and her long sharp nails looked deadly under the shining black paint. She was undoubtedly the strongest amongst them and likely the reason his hackles had been up long before they'd even been in the same room together. Even right then, with several yards between them, Stiles felt like he was being suffocated under the weight of her presence. It had sweat forming on the back of his neck.
"There are more than I was expecting." One of the other women said absently as they all scrutinized the kneeling line of boys. The Commander was quick to jump in.
"We only lost two in the initial turning, and we were lucky enough to have brought in an extra just in case. Though he's younger than anyone's tried before, we were all surprised he survived." The Commander's meaty hand gestured his way dismissively and all of their sharp, heavy eyes landed on him, making the tension in his shoulders clench tighter. Most of them lost interest almost immediately and focused back on the others. However, she didn't look away. He could feel her gaze even from behind the black glass of her sunglasses.
"How old is he?" She directed her question at the Commander without tearing her gaze away. Stiles' nerves prickled at being talked about like he wasn't there.
"Fifteen. Lots of potential, but he can be a bit lippy. I wouldn't suggest him, he's a slippery one and has tried to escape more times than I can count." The Commander sent him a glare and Stiles quickly dropped his gaze before the Commander noticed that he'd been watching them instead of looking at the ground like the others.
"Is he strong?" Her low, sultry voice had lost absolutely none of its intrigue and Stiles could still feel her gaze. Stiles was distracted from listening to the rest of the conversation when he saw movement in the corner of his eye.
Some of the other women decided to get a closer look at the others and began to closely scrutinize them as if they were . . . browsing. Oh god. Stiles' stomach roiled and he felt sick as it fully registered what exactly was happening. They were being sold! Stiles tilted his head to look at the others down the line and had to choke down a growl when he noticed some of the women were bold enough to reach out and lift their heads to inspect their faces, or leaned in to inhale their scent.
They seemed most interested in 01—who was the biggest and oldest of their group—and 04—who was also quite strong, as well as quite handsome. But the longer the inspection went on, and the more questions they asked the Commander about each of them, the more the two groups began to spread out and look at the others. They can't all buy the same one I suppose, Stiles thought morbidly, glaring under his lashes any time one of them dared to touch one of the boys.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Stiles' head whipped around instinctively and he was staring right up into a burning pare of glowing amber eyes and a set of straight bleach-white teeth grinning down at him. As soon as the Commander noticed, he strode right over with a pinch in his brow.
"Madame Rouge, are you sure about this? I'm certain you could outbid anyone in this room for one of the others. That one over there is our strongest by far, and that one has an incredible healing rate." The Commander tried to persuade her away from Stiles. If she really was their wealthiest 'customer' he could see why the man wouldn't want to offer her someone so temperamental. Stiles obeyed well enough at the compound, but they all knew he was just waiting for an opportunity to bolt. He would not be so easily broken in.
"I'll know for certain once I've had my sit down with him." Her tone bit into his flesh with a glacial indifference and she looked down her nose at the Commander like he was shit on the bottom of her designer heels. The muscles in the man's jaw flexed, but he said nothing as he waved one of the guards lining the room to come forth. The ring keeping him shackled to the floor released and Stiles was yanked up by his collar.
The guard led Madame Rouge over to one of the many doors lining the room and Stiles followed after them, not wanting the guard to get it in his head to start dragging Stiles by the collar as well. He was already in chains; he didn't need to be led by a leash like an actual animal.
The room inside was fairly small, with only a table and two chairs sat opposite each other to furnish it. It actually reminded Stiles of an interrogation room he'd peaked at the station as a kid. An odd surge of longing and nostalgia consumed the fear in his gut for a moment. And just like the interrogation room, the table was bolted to the floor and there was another metal ring on the table that he was once again chained to.
Stiles plopped down in his seat and was surprised when the guard bowed his head to Madame Rouge and left them alone in the room without another word. She sat down across from him and pulled a flat gold case out of her bag along with an engraved lighter. The case popped open and her gleaming black claws delicately extracted a black and gold cigarette. Placed between her lurid red lips, she lit it with practiced ease and inhaled like it was her first breath of fresh air in years. The smoke burned Stiles' nose fiercely but he ignored it.
"This is your chance to ask me questions." She prompted in the silence, amber eyes burning brighter in her amusement. Never one to pass up free information, Stiles asked.
"Why would you want to buy us? You clearly don't need to use us as body guards, and I don't really peg the others as regulars to the underground fighting rings." Stiles didn't include her in that assessment and it seemed to amuse her further. "There must be a reason the only buyers here are women, so why are you here?" Stiles didn't know how much patience she'd have for his questions, so he went straight for what he wanted to know most.
"You're a smart one, huh?" She exhaled another stream of smoke and Stiles' nose twitched. "You're right, though. I don't give a damn about how well you fight. I just need someone strong." Stiles wasn't sure what distinction she was making there, so he kept quiet and just listened.
"Let me start with this: how many werewolves do you think there are around the world?" She stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette on the tabletop and answered her own question. "About 28 million. Enough to populate a small country. Now, how many weretigers are there in the world? Less than 5 thousand. We used to be the second biggest supernatural population in the world a century ago, now we're practically extinct." For once, she didn't look amused.
"What happened?" Stiles asked, genuinely curious. They had never covered something like this in their studies at the compound.
"Mating happened. Like most supernatural species in our world, weretigers are biologically monogamous. We mate with one person and are physically unable to copulate with anyone else while mated. That in and of itself wouldn't have been a problem, if our birthrates didn't start declining. In a desperate bid to increase our numbers, prides of weretigers all around the world began to forbid official mating and encouraged multiple partners to produce more cubs. However, that only made things worse. Having cubs outside of mating began to cause hormonal changes in the men of our prides and they slowly became sterile. We tried to go back to mated pairs but the damage had already been done. Our numbers had dropped so low and our birthrates are practically none-existent at this point."
Stiles frowned at the information and shook his head in confusion.
"Why would you rely only on birthrates? If you're desperate for numbers and new blood, why not turn some humans and bring them into your prides?" Stiles felt like he was missing something.
"The rate of success for a human turning from a werewolf bite is a bit above seventy percent. The rate of an adult human turning from a weretiger bite is less than three percent. That would mean nearly a hundred humans would die before we had one successful turning. The hunters would have wiped us out before we would have ever gotten there." Madame Rouge waved the notion away dismissively. Having caught something in her words, Stiles wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer to his next question.
"You said the rate of ' adult humans .' What's the success rate of adolescent humans?" Instantly, Rouge's smile reappeared.
"Almost the same as it is for the wolves. Though you're certainly the youngest it's been tried on."
"But I just don't get it. If you need us to build up your numbers, isn't ten shifters too few? For all the time and money wasted to capture, house, train, and teach us, shouldn't there be more of us?" Stiles struggled to connect the right dots, but he felt like he was so close. Stiles purposefully didn't mention the fact that them having to be abducted and imprisoned didn't make for very loyal pride mates. They both knew that Stiles wouldn't mind if the whole species went extinct.
"We're not purchasing you purely to be another body added to our ranks. You're going to add fresh blood to my pride. The other females of my pride have made do with human donors to conceive children. But I am the Matriarch of my pride. I rule over nearly two hundred tigers and have one of the biggest prides in the world. My cubs need to be strong and I cannot risk any of them turning out to be human. I need to keep my bloodline strong and pure with only weretiger blood. You are not only to become part of my pride; you are to be my mate." She spoke as if it had all been decided already, as if it were fact and the only one who didn't realize it was him.
Stiles felt sick. Just imagining a life where he traded one prison for another, where he would be forced to. . .
Why? Out of all of the horrors he'd faced, all the things he'd been made to witness and do , why did this new terror feel like the one that would break him? He'd rather be sold as a soldier. He'd rather fight in the underground rings for the rest of his life. He'd rather throw himself onto another tiger's claws. He'd prefer anything to the grim future reeling in the back of his mind as he stared at the metal tabletop. His eyes flicked back up to the predator across from him.
"Why me? I'm only fifteen, while you're probably more than twice my age. Why the hell would you want someone so young?" He couldn't keep the overt revulsion out of his tone as he spoke—and honestly, he didn't feel like hiding exactly how he saw her.
Madam Rouge laughed uproariously. The sound was grating and unsettling.
"Goodness! I'm not buying you quite yet. No, this meeting was only for us to inspect the Commander's stock and potentially put a down payment on one of you if we're interested. You lot still have a few more years before we come to collect. You're strong, but not strong enough. The men of my pride may not be able to provide offspring, but they are still vital to our survival, and they are extremely territorial. If I brought you home now, they'd tear you to pieces. I have no use for weakness in my pride." She said with a smile. Stiles' jaw tensed and the chains binding his hands to the table clinked as he shifted in his seat.
"Are you going to put a down payment on me, then?"
Madam Rouge didn't answer right away as she seemed to think over his question. He wanted her to say 'no' and decide that he really was too mouthy or too young. But that didn't erase the fact that the other boys were also currently being 'inspected' for their worth. Stiles was the youngest at fifteen, but the others were all eighteen and up. How long would it take for them to be deemed ready and they were carted away to some new hell.
"I'm thinking about it." Her teeth glinted in the florescent light above before she gracefully rose from her seat. The slow click of her heels on the concrete as she rounded the table was like a pick sliding behind his eye deeper and deeper.
Suddenly, his jaw was seized with painful force and his head was cranked up at an awkward angle as he was forced to look straight into her amber animal eyes. The tips of her nails cut into his flesh and her eyes glowed brighter in feverish bloodlust at his hiss of pain.
"Be a good boy for me and grow big and strong. I'll see you soon my little spitfire." His teeth bared and he growled up at her, much to her amusement.
She tossed him aside and prowled out of the room with her head held high, the scent of spice and blood trailing after her like a perfume.
Stiles felt incensed and invigorated at the same time. He had begun to settle into a sort of complacency for his situation over the past year, but now his drive to escape had been renewed. He refused to let himself or any of the others fall prey to 'their kind' and become breeding tools for their species. He would get stronger all right, he would get stronger and tear out the hearts of all those who'd enslaved and threatened them.