My Town’s Sheriff Auctioned A Dying Prisoner — Now A Wolf Pack Is Surrounding My House

Part 1

My town’s sheriff auctioned a dying prisoner in the center of the dusty market square.

The crisp autumn air hung thick with an ugly, buzzing excitement that made my skin crawl.

I stood near the edge of the swelling crowd, clutching my young daughter Megan’s hand tightly against my side.

Sheriff Craig paced the wooden platform like a proud rooster, barking arrogant orders.

A massive, battered man swayed unsteadily beside him, fighting to remain upright.

Heavy iron shackles bound the prisoner’s wrists, the rusted metal biting deep into his ruined, bloodied flesh.

His clothes hung in dirty tatters, revealing dark, weeping wounds that painted the wooden planks beneath his bare feet.

Craig proudly declared him a violent northern raider, a criminal abandoned by his own people.

The sheriff demanded six silver coins for a lifetime of the man’s servitude.

The crowd erupted into vicious jeers, tossing jagged stones and spitting foul insults at the broken man.

A heavy rock struck the prisoner’s torn shoulder with a sickening thud, but he barely flinched.

He simply lifted his head, his startling winter-blue eyes scanning the vicious mob with cold, stoic defiance.

Biting my lip to hold back the bile, I pulled Megan tighter against my skirts to shield her from the villagers’ jeers.

Craig lowered the price to four silver coins, then three, his voice dripping with greedy frustration.

The prisoner was massive, broad across the chest and towering over the sheriff, yet no one wanted to risk taking him.

The baker yelled out that the savage would likely murder us all in our beds.

The crowd roared with cruel laughter, delighting in the degradation of a fellow human being.

Through a ragged tear in his bloody shirt, I spotted the true source of his rapid deterioration.

A jagged wound marred his left shoulder, seeping strange silver-black veins that spiderwebbed across his skin like frost.

As a seasoned healer, I had seen countless severe infections, but absolutely nothing like this dark, creeping corruption.

It looked like pure venom, actively eating away at his remaining life force.

He was dying right there on his feet, refusing to give them the satisfaction of watching him fall.

Craig dropped the price to two silver coins, practically begging someone to take the bleeding burden off his hands.

I felt those piercing blue eyes lock onto mine, and the silent dignity in his gaze completely shattered my resolve.

My fingers trembled violently as I reached into the depths of my small leather purse.

I pushed my way through the dense wall of gawking townsfolk, ignoring their collective, shocked gasps.

Mounting the creaking wooden steps, I placed my only two silver coins into Craig’s eagerly outstretched hand.

The sheriff’s face twisted into a furious, ugly sneer as his fingers closed around the metal.

He loudly warned me that he wouldn’t lift a single finger to save me when the savage inevitably slit my throat.

I ignored his threat, turning my back on him to offer my fragile arm to the towering prisoner.

He leaned his staggering weight against my side, murmuring something incomprehensible in a deep, musical cadence.

The grueling walk back to my secluded cottage took an absolute eternity.

Every step felt heavier than the last, his harsh, ragged breathing rattling dangerously against my ear.

Megan bounced eagerly ahead of us, peppering the bleeding stranger with fearless, innocent questions.

I hushed her repeatedly, terrified that the lingering townsfolk would follow us and cause more trouble.

I knew the gossip would spread like wildfire before the sun even set.

They would whisper that the strange healing woman had finally lost her mind and bought a dangerous savage.

By the time my small cottage came into view, his battered knees finally gave out, sending a thick plume of dust into the air as he hit the ground.

Dropping beside him, I pressed my ear to his back, desperate to catch the faint rattle of his breath.

It took all my remaining strength, and Megan’s small hands pulling his feet, to drag his massive, dead-weight frame over the threshold.

I rolled him onto a pile of thick blankets on the stone floor right beside the warm hearth.

I spent the next several grueling hours working frantically by the flickering firelight.

I crushed bitter willow bark, brewed strong elderflower tea, and bathed his burning, feverish skin with cool water.

The silver-black veins continued to pulse and spread, completely ignoring every trusted remedy my grandmother had ever taught me.

My healing herbs were utterly useless against whatever dark poison was ravaging his body.

I sent a reluctant Megan to bed, collapsing into the worn wooden chair beside the fire, absolutely exhausted.

My eyes grew incredibly heavy, the crackling flames lulling me into a fitful, restless doze.

Sometime deep in the quiet night, a harsh, panicked panting jolted me violently awake.

The prisoner thrashed wildly against the tangled blankets, his massive chest heaving with desperate effort.

I dropped to my knees beside his thrashing form, slipping an arm under his broad shoulders to lift his heavy head.

Pressing a cup of cool willow bark tea toward his cracked lips, I softly begged him to drink.

His eyes snapped open.

I gasped, nearly dropping the heavy clay cup onto the stone floor.

The icy winter-blue irises had vanished entirely.

In their place burned molten gold, bright and feral in the dim light, freezing me completely to the spot.

His large, calloused hand shot up, fingers wrapping surprisingly gently around the back of my neck.

A deep, vibrating rumble tore from his chest, echoing through the small room like distant thunder.

He dragged me closer, his burning nose trailing slowly up the sensitive column of my throat.

I tried to pull away, but his impossible, unnatural strength locked me firmly against his chest.

Then his teeth sank deep into my flesh, and the searing heat in my veins told me I had brought a monster into my home.