Page 2 of Sergi
His breath stank as he slowly sniffed me, his body leaning into mine. “I should throw you on your mat and take what I want. I should have done it months ago. But the Master has forbidden it. Even after you stuck me in the neck.” He squeezed my breast before running his hand between my legs.
“They think they know you. That you’ve tamed down to a willing slave. That you only acted out because I wanted a taste of you.” His lips hovered over mine, then he continued his sniffing like the good hound he was. He whispered in my ear, “But I know better. They’ll have problems with you. Remember one thing, girl. The Master might have a say during the day, but he’s not here during the long, cold evenings. There are ways to hurt you that will never leave a mark.”
He let go. I dropped to the floor and clutched my aching throat, grateful for the chilled air I slowly sucked in as it numbed the pain.
“The Master has an assignment for you.” He chuckled. “And I can’t think of anyone better for the job. Now get up. You’re to eat your breakfast in the common room today.”
I scurried to my feet, unwilling to give him any excuse to hit me. Not that he needed one, but I wouldn’t lose the opportunity to get out of my cell, even for a day.
I didn’t like the sound of this new assignment, but if it kept me away from this bastard, it was enough. How simple life became when you only had one thing to worry about.
Survival.
Tallon leftme with the women attendants who stripped the ragged shift from me before they pushed me into a wooden tub of cold water. I shivered as they soaped and scrubbed me with harsh brushes until my skin turned red. At least they washed my hair.
A clean shift made of rough fabric wasn’t new. It would have been scoured and bleached many times over. Old stains marred the brown fabric, giving it a mottled appearance. I gave up wondering where the stains came from long ago. Just like I’d stopped wondering if anyone would come for me, or whether they thought me dead.
The first few weeks after my capture, I’d paced my cell over and over again, fighting the claustrophobia and fear that I would never leave this hellhole. Not until I was dead. One year. Five. Longer.
Would I be the same person or forever changed? Would the self-preservation blanket I wrapped myself in morph from the terror of living in this place to fear of everything outside these barren walls? Was it possible I might escape, only to live alone, afraid of my own shadow?
I smiled as the attendants handed me the worn rubber-soled slippers. The icy air forced goose bumps to rise over my skin, and I shivered, almost laughing as they sneered at me as if I were a raging beast.
My thoughts wandered to my uncle and his words of comfort so freely given. He would stare down at me with his deep, nut-brown gaze, searching into the depths of my soul before leaning in until our foreheads touched. “You are wolf, Alexandra. Let no one take that away from you. She will protect you.”
So, every morning when I woke, I spoke to my wolf. It was against the rules to shift, punishable in ways I didn’t want to know. I’d heard enough as the screams echoed through the tunnels.
But sometimes, on nights when my uncle’s words couldn’t comfort me, I let the wolf come out. If nothing else, I slept warmly, until I heard the first slam of a wooden billy club hit the door at the end of the hall, and I shifted back.
“Come on, girl.” Tallon stuck his head through the open doorway. “You’re late if you want any breakfast.”
I trailed behind him as we climbed the stairs from the third level to the first and traversed the passageways that were no longer made of rock but of drywall and painted a stark white. My slippers shuffled over pristine tile floors rather than rough stone. Cool filtered air streamed through vents and smelled of disinfectant rather than unwashed bodies, feces, and blood.
The cafeteria, where some of the captives were allowed to eat, was the dividing point between the cells and the labs. A thick wall of impenetrable frosted glass separated the paid lab staff from the rest of us. It wouldn’t be proper to force the privileged to look upon the slaves while they ate.
It was bad enough they might have to look upon those who were deemed safe enough to work in the labs. Not that we’d ever be entrusted with anything important, but someone had to clean the rooms or—and the thought made me shiver—become a subject for the scientists’ experiments.
Breakfast was a thick porridge, what I would usually get in my cell, in addition to scrambled eggs and a few slices of banana. I savored the coffee, which was surprisingly strong, and it warmed my bones.
I ate quietly at a table with six other prisoners. Talking among ourselves wasn’t permitted. The only sound was the scraping of spoons as we finished our meal.
“S-473.” The female’s voice was monotone as she studied a tablet. After a moment, when no one responded, she lifted her head. “Shifter 473.” This time her words were spoken slowly and loudly as she gazed around the room, her eyes stern and her jaw clenched.
We didn’t have names—just numbers. And it took a moment to realize she was calling out the one I’d been assigned. It had been some time since I’d heard anyone use it. I was usually calledgirl, ordog, or some other unpleasant curse.
I raised my hand, and two male attendants grabbed my arms, pulling me from the table. I didn’t struggle as they led me to the door where the female stood. She looked me over, her face a mask of indifference, then nodded.
“She’ll do.”
I didn’t like the sound of that, and when I was led down a corridor with more white tile flooring, white walls, and white ceiling tiles, I wanted to squirm. Was I someone’s next experiment?
The attendants released my arms but stayed two steps behind me as I followed the female, panic seizing my throat with every room we passed until we came to a set of double doors. The female waved her badge over a pad, and the doors slid open.
I took a step back when I saw the carnage inside, a hand flying to my mouth in a reflexive movement to keep my breakfast from returning. The attendants pushed me forward.
Blood was everywhere, mixed with lumps. A quick glance was all I needed to know the lumps were bits of flesh, some with short strands of hair still clinging to it.
The gore was on the floor, on the walls, and dripping from the ceiling. It had splashed over the stainless steel tables and counters. The scent was easy to recognize. Shifter flesh. The heat of the lamps and overhead lighting warmed the blood and intensified the stench.
