Monster
Pele
Painful throbbing welcomed me back to the land of the living. My lashes fluttered, vision swimming in and out of focus, but one thing was for sure: I was lying on my side, face pressed into mud slick with saliva.
Whimpers and sobs drifted through the dark. Everything snapped back into place. I’d been drinking. Drugged. Then—hands? A struggle. Nothing after that. As my vision cleared, I was inches from someone’s white, dirty, dry-crusted ass cheeks.
Lovely.
The world tilted violently as I forced myself upright. The redhead in front of me trembled, mascara streaking down her cheeks. Her stained white dress was bunched around her waist, baring her for all to see.
I’d help her out, but my hands were chained behind me. They connected us; all of us.
A line of women. Shackled. Like livestock.
My mouth watered as bile crept up my throat. There was no telling how long I’d been out, or when—if—I’d eat again. Either way, I couldn’t afford to throw up.
The floor beneath me was rough concrete, scraping the back of my thighs. A sour tang of waste mixed with sweat and metal permeated the air. I swallowed hard, forcing my gaze upward.
We were in a holding pen, a place for animals. Thick wooden slats rose higher than my head, sealing us in.
Chains rattled. Somewhere above, a single bulb hung from a beam and did a shitty job of lighting the space, casting jerky shadows across the walls. Restraints hung from the rafters—shackles meant for humans, not beasts.
This was the setup of a horror movie.
“Monsters! Oh, the monsters! Let me go,” someone screamed behind me, as if hearing my thoughts. The fear spread through the huddled women as her voice echoed.
The memory of the Beast who took me flashed to the forefront of my mind, and I shook my head. Chains clinked as the redhead scooted toward me.
“I’m dreaming,” she sniffled when our skin touched. I squinted as bulky silhouettes shifted in the distance.
“We’re not. Do you know how long I’ve been out?” There was a metal cuff around my right leg.
“I’m Ashley, and no, you were already here when I woke up,” she whined.
“Pele,” I sighed.
“My watch says midnight,” another called from behind me. I turned to find a Latina with her eyes closed. She wore pale pink shorts and a matching bandeau top. “Name’s Jania. I’ve been here for a while. They bring the women in one by one and chain them.”
“Is this a trafficking ring?” I asked the worst question imaginable. Ashley started laughing as the same woman from earlier yelled hysterically.
“Monsters! The monsters!”
“Shut her up!” Another screamed.
“I’d prefer a trafficking ring to a farm. I don’t want to be eaten,” Ashley cried.
“If it is a farm, they’ll eat her first because she’s loud,” Jania said, yanking her head toward the screaming woman. I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. Ashley pursed her lips and hunched into herself.
“That’s not as helpful as you think it is,” she grumbled. Her blue eyes darted toward the darkness that stretched outside. Then she leaned close.
“Did I hit my head too hard, or did you see them too?” she whispered.
“See what?” I asked, though I already knew. My gut told me I hadn’t hallucinated, but part of me hoped we were all high on some drug, imagining the same thing. Monsters didn’t exist.
Before Jania could answer, a collection of snorts and guttural grunts echoed through the heavy stone chamber.
Shadows morphed into massive forms, confirming they weren’t just shadows.
The smell of damp hay and something wild, musky, and alive hit me.
Breaths hitched and muffled gasps broke through the silence as beasts stepped into the pen.
They were easily over seven to eight feet tall, covered in brown fur, their heads crowned with horns that scraped the low rafters, and faces shaped like bulls.
Minotaurs.
Each held a pole tipped with a curved horn spike—a tool meant for livestock. The hysterical woman choked on her scream as their gaze swept over us.
Then one moved. The spike hooked onto a cuff, locking with a metallic clank. The unlucky woman at the front wore a chain around her neck. Metal scraped as they dragged her forward, lifting her onto wobbly feet. She caught herself against the gate, shaking.
In the monster’s other hand, it gripped a short whip of braided leather. It cracked against her shoulder. She jolted forward with a cry—then snap! as a second beast struck another woman.
As more beasts prodded us forward, the truth settled in like ice. We were being herded. Like cattle.
As the first woman disappeared into the darkness, the rest of us had no choice but to follow. I couldn’t see anything as the shadows swallowed me, but the low growls and the heavy thud of hooves told me they could.
As a light grew closer, a low hall came into view.
Torches lined the walls and gave way to wooden pens, each marked with symbols—the one they ushered us into was marked with a flower.
Once in, the air was heavy, and the space was limited.
Ashley huddled close, back to my chest, hands entwined with mine.
That’s when I noticed the dozens of eyes surrounding us—studying, assessing, hungry—and I could feel them closing in, turning the pen into a suffocating cage.
Clawed hands nudged and prodded, murmuring words like ‘prime’ and ‘ripe’ as we were jostled forward. I slapped away a hand that poked my stomach. The inspection was systematic, each touch and guttural grunt stripping us down to a single word.
Each human reduced to a single label: ‘Barren’ for an older woman, ‘Gr?st’ for a few young men.
A man was next. I watched, recognition dawning as the leader approached him. He was the blond from the airport. He whimpered and tried to cower away from the Minotaur’s enormous hand.
The Herder’s disgust was clear. He didn’t inspect him, only nudged the man’s chest with a heavy staff. The Minotaur then uttered a single word in the Primal Tongue to his partner: “Sark.”
With a vicious yank, the man was unchained, metal links scraping the concrete.
He was dragged toward a narrow, dark opening on the far wall.
I swallowed hard, stomach twisting, as the monster stepped in behind him.
A scream cut short, then the sickening sound of bones breaking, made my stomach twist.
No way.
Before I could get a better look at what was happening, the herd was driven forward once more, emerging from the dark, narrow tunnel out into an open space.
The air here was colder, cleaner, and thick with the scent of power.
Minotaurs stood silently, unmoving. The Herders who had whipped us moments ago, dropped their heads so low their horns nearly scraped the stone.
The remaining Herder stood motionless, his head still bowed, as the others retreated into the shadows.
At the center of the space, atop a high, tiered stone dais, a throne of dark, polished wood waited.
The air tightened around the enormous, silent figure seated there like a king.
Separated from every other creature by the tiers and the depth of his black fur—so dense it seemed to absorb the light—he lifted his head, nares flaring as he sniffed.
His horns were the thickest, his size immense.
He was the one in charge. Every eye, human and Minotaur, fixed on him. His gaze commanded the room.
“Taur! I present… the offerings,” the Herder announced, jerking his head toward us.
Taur spent maybe a minute, an eternity, simply observing the women who had survived inspection. His chocolate-colored eyes were not predatory like the Herders’, but evaluating.
Taur nodded, and a woman was unchained from the line.
A massive, furred hand gripped the chain around her neck and shoved her to the foot of the dais.
She fell to her knees, head down as she barely caught herself.
The Taur gave a low, rumbling grunt and spoke the word I’d already heard: ‘Sark.’ The Herder dragged her away, and the next offering was brought forward—another silent dismissal from the King, making it clear her fate was the same.
That’s when it hit me. This wasn’t a ritual. It was a market block, and we were the cattle being sorted, sold—or worse, bred.
The knowledge was immediately amplified by the commotion coming from the left.
The frantic, high-pitched crying of the labeled women suddenly snapped into a ragged, pure scream, quickly cut short by a heavy-wet thud.
I kept my eyes forward, refusing to look, trying to tune it out, but the desperate, muffled sounds became the chilling drumbeat to our auction. They were being claimed.
One after the other, the women were all dragged to the left, where the cries turned to screams as the Minotaurs standing off to the side picked and claimed. Ashley whimpered by my side as the woman in front of her was marked Sark.
The adrenaline holding me together was running out. My knees felt brittle, and the sweat running down my back was ice-cold. Two more. Then one more. My chest squeezed tight, breath catching in my throat as if the air itself was turning into stone.
“What’re they looking for?” Ashley hissed as the woman was dragged off. Then it was her turn.
“Please,” she whispered. The plea barely left her lips before the Herder yanked her so hard she flew forward. The Taur’s eyes tracked her, nostrils flaring. His head tilted as he inhaled her scent, and I saw it—the moment he decided.
“K’onn.” A new word from the Taur, one that made Ashley sob.
A cold, sharp surge of relief cut through my fear.
She was spared. She wasn’t ‘Sark’. The Herder took her to the right, where she stood alone, chained to a stone pedestal.
Her shoulders trembled as she cried. There was no time to sympathize with her because he’d returned.
He slapped a massive hand around the chain around my neck.
It was my turn. He yanked and then I was thrown onto the rough stone dais.
My mud-stained red dress felt like a spotlight was on my body. I stood before the Taur, helpless, but to offset the feeling, I straightened, pulled my shoulders back, lifted my chin, and glared up at him.
Then the worst happened. The Taur, who had seemed bored while deciding the fates of dozens, stopped entirely.
Amber eyes widened slightly, flaring with something primal–recognition, hunger, and possession.
He rose, and the sound of his hooves hitting the wooden floor and then stone echoed like war drums. Everyone had gone silent.
He was easily nine feet of muscle and dense midnight fur–even bigger on his feet than the others.
He stepped down from the Market Block, moving with the slow, deliberate confidence of an avalanche.
One after the other until he reached ground level.
All eyes were on him as he crossed the expanse, and eventually, he stopped in front of me.
Every hair on my neck and arms stood as his heat washed over me, a tremor running down my spine and through my knees.
His chest grew in size as he inhaled deeply.
Steam billowed from him, surrounding me.
He reached out his hand, a clawed, black-furred appendage that could crush my skull, aiming to touch my face.
My stomach fluttered, a jolt of fear spiked through my legs, and I shivered against the intensity of his heat.
I didn’t think. I reacted. In a flash, I’d lunged forward and bit down on his wrist, sinking my teeth hard through the thick fur and into the solid muscle beneath. Salt and blood hit my tongue. My body tensed, bracing for the blow that would end me—but it never came.
The King simply stood there, his massive form unmoving, his gaze fixed on my defiant, bloodied mouth. Then he smiled—a flash of terrifying, sharp teeth, and uttered a word he hadn’t spoken all night. It rolled across the open stone, vibrating through the air and rattling the ground beneath my feet.
“Mát.”
The air thickened, and the Minotaurs closest to the Dais stilled, muscles taunt, eyes flickering toward the Taur. A low, unified exhalation rolled from them, like a hundred lungs collapsing at once. The Herders dropped to one knee, spiked poles clattering against the stone in unison.
A voice, sharp and final, echoed across the expanse: “Claimed!”
My chest tightened, stomach twisting, even through the trembling whispers of the women near the exit. I was standing here, defiant, and utterly at the mercy of the beast. The cold, sickening truth sank in: I’d been claimed by the Minotaur King.