8. Aliana
ALIANA
It feels like I’ve swallowed a hot coal as vomit burns up the inside of my throat.
I don’t puke. I refuse to let my body show these bastards any weakness as I’m shuffled back with the rest of the slaves who’ve just been sold to prepare for “processing.”
Processing.
Sold.
These words float around inside my head, but they feel foreign, like the jibber jabber of some of the monsters around me. We’re pushed past a big curtain into a prep space, where lower-powered tongues bustle around with trays and boxes.
“This way for transport.” A tongue, one with three eyes and a nose that looks like a strawberry was plopped right on her face, waves us over.
Her dragon-scale skin and the long claws don’t seem to impede her a bit as she checks each of us off a list and then fits us with what she calls “traveling gear . ”
We aren’t allowed to dress ourselves, and so I flinch when she drags a pair of black panties up my thighs.
Once she’s finished, I have on a bra and panty set like nothing I’ve ever seen before.
Both thick, black items have metal rings sewn onto them, dragging down the material uncomfortably.
I have no idea what they’re for. Not until the tongue, who tells us all that her name is Neem, comes back with a box full of shackles.
A small metal plate with chains dangling on each corner is placed over my panty gusset, and the chains from it are locked to the rings using a miniature padlock.
It’s heavy, uncomfortable, and humiliating.
A chastity belt?
Really?
What are they thinking, that I’ll go throw myself at the nearest monster and ask him to penetrate me repeatedly?
Only if it’s with his spikes through my skull.
“Your owner will have the sole key to unlock you, and it’s magical, so I don’t recommend trying to run during transport,” Neem advises as she adds additional covers over each of my nipples.
Great.
These little covers tell me exactly what monsters value in humans—holes for their damned horns or tentacles.
A full-body shiver reverberates through me at the thought.
I fume in silence and want to kick my own ass for letting myself be captured in the first place. And then I want to punch myself a second time for not fighting that night vision in midair so he dropped me.
Neem must see the fire in my face because she raises a challenging brow. When I don’t back down immediately, she grabs my hand, pulling it up near her face, and opens her mouth. Instead of a tongue, she has a tunnel with row after row of razor-sharp teeth.
Her threat is clear enough.
I briefly debate whether her mutilation would make me less appealing to my new master. Probably not since she’s already covered the important bits. I’d just earn some extra pain and make my hope of resisting or running that much harder.
I drop my gaze.
But I add her to the list of monsters I’ll gladly hunt down once I escape.
And I will escape. That’s a goddamned guarantee.
First, I’ll take out those traders. Then her.
They’re all going to die after I finish off this monster who bid on me.
Beside me, other slaves weep or stare glassy-eyed and sullen at the black curtain that divides us from the clinking glasses and cheery laughter of the ballroom.
Most of them have already lost their fight.
One or two even look eager, giggly. I think they might have gone past nervousness into hysteria.
I’m unfortunate enough to spot Chase heading back from behind the curtain. He must have just been sold. He’s standing there shirtless, pecs on display and his hair arranged all slick and pretty. Stupid, idiotic fucker.
Luckily for him, he’s been lumped into a group with a different transportation specialist. Otherwise, I might be tempted to attack him for the shit he pulled earlier. Instead, I watch as a monster clamps his dick into a metal cage.
I’m surprised my eyeballs don’t shrivel at the sight of Chase’s junk.
How sad that the last human penis I’ll probably ever see is his.
Fuck.
No.
No defeatist thoughts, I tell myself. I have to stay alive long enough to revel in the fact that Chase’s asshole is probably going to stretch to the size of a tennis ball when his monster uses him.
There we go.
Now, I know how to bolster myself. Think of Chase suffering. Happy thoughts.
Even as I repeat that to myself, a sliver of something skates its way down my spine.
I can’t quite identify the emotions percolating inside of me, at least at first. The more I focus on them, the more each one pops to the forefront of my mind in flashing neon colors.
Pity. Fear. And strangest of all—lust. Because when I think about Chase’s cock, it isn’t just disgust that beats against my skull like a drum.
When I think about his taut abs, it isn’t revulsion that skitters across my skin.
When I think about his messy blond hair, it’s not completely hatred that courses through my bloodstream.
It’s goddamn lust, pity, and fear for him.
I straighten my spine as a leather collar is strapped around my neck and additional leather restraints encircle my breasts and thighs. I’m put into a harness. Then a leash is strapped to me.
Like I’m a dog.
A fucking animal.
I grind my teeth and look down at the floor so Neem doesn’t see my expression. I search the space for anything I might be able to use as a weapon. But even if I grabbed something, there’s nowhere to hide it.
I have to wait.
“Aliana?” a soft female voice says, and my head jerks up.
A tongue blinks down at me. She has ebony skin and orange eyelashes as long as my fingers.
She’s at least a foot taller than I am, and her shoulders are spikes that ride up to her ears as if she’s stuck in a shrug.
She wears an orange outfit that matches her lashes but no shoes because she has rough bird claws for feet.
“I’m Filia. I’m here to transport you home.”
I try to maintain a neutral face, but I doubt it works because her use of the word home is laughable.
My home is under the trees. My home is with humans. My home was with my parents before these bastards stole them from me.
Filia takes my leash and adds offhandedly, “Now, I hope you’ll cooperate.
Your owner, the Devourer, has been very generous.
Instead of walking home, you will get to ride on my back.
It’s much more secure, and you’re ten times less likely to be eaten that way.
” She tugs on my leash, and I’m suddenly choking and tripping forward as she moves me to a loading dock.
There, on the dock, is a massive leather box with quarter-sized air holes cut into it. Two backpack straps face the dock so that Filia can go down the ramp and then easily slip the box onto her shoulders.
When she lifts the flap and yanks on my leash again, I’m forced to crawl into the box on my knees.
Humiliation burns my cheeks, and tears threaten to flow. My throat closes up just as she pushes me into the tight space, and I hear the clink of another padlock. I squint my eyes to try to escape the immediate wave of claustrophobia that hits me.
It’s not just about the small space. I’ve lived in small spaces. It’s about feeling trapped.
When Filia pulls me onto her back and her steady gait starts to jostle me up and down as she walks from the loading dock and onto a nearby street, it gets worse. For a second, I think I might pass out.
But then her voice interrupts my body’s convulsions.
“You know what’s fascinating? The Devourer has never, ever bought a female slave before.”
I latch on to her statement solely because it gives me something else to focus on.
“Really?” I ask, my voice raspy. Have I been screaming? No. Surely I would know if I had been. So why does it feel as if someone took sandpaper to my throat?
“Oh, yes. He’s one of the best Terrors to work for. Servants get time off to scream and chase whenever we need to stretch our lungs or legs… You must be so excited to belong to him!”
There is not a single damn bit of her declaration that sounds exciting. But she seems like a talkative monster.
An image of General Sander’s face appears in my head.
The old man has been leading our rag-tag group since my parents went missing.
Despite having a stroke which left one side of his face paralyzed, he’s been a brutal tactician and helped us expand our base and even bring in a second group of outcast survivors from Jersey, expanding the resistance.
In my imagination, he peers down at me, and I can see the good side of his mouth working.
I can hear his voice exactly as it would sound, slightly slurred.
“You fight with whatever you’ve got. Doesn’t matter if it’s with weapons or lies. Our job is to figure out how to kill these bastards.”
Figure out how to kill these bastards.
Lie.
“I’m really lucky,” I murmur softly, trying to go for the ridiculous, fainting-flower tone I’ve heard girls use with Chase.
At the same time, I shift around in this backpack box so I can see outside better.
It helps a tiny bit with the claustrophobia.
A long driveway full of sleek vehicles with an untouched mansion squatting at the end makes my view look more like a movie poster from an abandoned theater than reality.
Buildings aren’t untouched anymore. But—somehow—this one is.
“You’re going to love his place. It’s got lots of human stuff, too, so you should feel right at home.”
“Oh yeah? Great.” Ugh. Great comes out with this strange warble because it feels like I’m swallowing marbles while spitting out a lie like that. But I push through it. “What’s a Terror?” I ask softly.
“Oh.” She chuckles. “You must not hang around many fangers.” Her voice takes on a dreamy, awe-like quality. “Only the most powerful monsters in the world.”
Great. Of course it’s my luck that the fucker who buys me is the strongest of his kind. Not like fate could make this thing easy on me. “What’s his power?”