Page 134 of Sohut's Protection

And she was going to survive.

She had to keep telling herself that.

Swallowing hard, she glanced back at the fairy garden before her gaze fell on the gator-guard who was still at the transparent barrier.

He was still watching her, and her heart lurched again like the first time she’d noticed him.

She didn’t know what it was and she couldn’t explain it, but he made her feel strange. She’d almost put her hand against his claw as it had pressed against the glass.

Apparently, she was starting to go crazy after all the many days spent in captivity.

That’s why she had to keep repeating to herself that she was going to survive.

She could do it.

She had to.

It was either that, or lose her mind.

As the gator-guard pulled her roughly along, she didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear, even though it was crawling all over her spine.

It also came to her that she was alone with the guard.

The other females were nowhere to be seen and soon she was pushed into a small dark room that was flooded with a red light. To her back were dark walls and to her front was another transparent wall of glass.

The room wasn’t much larger than a small bathroom and she immediately began to feel claustrophobic.

To boot, the thing around her neck felt like it was squeezing her tight whenever she had any intense emotions like this.

Gulping, she turned her gaze to the front of the room and what she saw on the other side chilled her completely.

Five or maybe six of the toad-men, the Tasqals she’d come to learn they were called, were sitting there.

They all looked similar, all dressed in white robes, but the one thing that was most creepy about them was the sleazy smiles they all had on their faces.

All except one.

He was sitting at the back, and for some reason, her gaze gravitated toward him.

He wasn’t smiling like the others and even though he was focused on her like all the others were, his gaze seemed different.

She wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing yet. For all she knew, he could be the crudest of them all.

Behind her, the door to the room closed and she was left alone.

“Specimen: human,” a robotic voice boomed.

Wait.

Panic flooded her.

It was starting already?

“Age: estimated at twenty and a half orbits,” it continued. “Warranty: none. Estimated life cycle: thirty rotations with hard usage.”

Cleo swallowed hard as the horror of the last words reached her bones.

Was it saying that if they treated her roughly, she’d only last a month?

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