Page 13 of Bela's Bounty
“You each get a nook,” Cybele says and then gestures to the opposite side of the room, which is lined with cabinets. “There is more bedding there. As well as clothes and just about anything else you might need. Feel free to help yourself to anything you like. And if there is something you can’t find, let me know, and I’ll see what can be done.”
Nita brushes past me and into the first empty nook. “I’ll take this one,” she says, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
I wait for Skylar to investigate one of the other nooks, but she stays stuck to Cybele’s side. So I walk into the middle nook.
“This one is fine for me.” The mattress is thin, nothing at all like my memory foam mattress back home. Still, it’s a far cry from waking up on the metal floor of an alien slave ship.
Right. Because a brothel is so much better.
Ignoring my surly thoughts, I start to encourage Skylar into the last nook when the main doors are suddenly flung open, and a hunched-over woman pushing a cart strolls inside. Her white hair is pulled back from her face into a severe bun, and the scales covering her body appear to be turning from dark green to silver. Her eyes narrow when she notices us gathered around the alcoves, and her lip curls into a sneer.
“Madame Athea sent food,” she all but growls. When her gaze lands on me particularly, her eyes fill with hatred, although I couldn’t say why? She turns her attention to Cybele. “Madame Athea also included extra supplies for the—” her lip curls, and she snarls, “—girlsand reminds you of what she expects to be done.”
My attention swings to Cybele, who presses her lips into a tight line and inhales sharply through her nose. “Thank you, Ozma. Assure the madame that it will be done.”
My head swings between Cybele and Ozma.What will be done?And why does she need extra supplies?
Ozma lets go of the cart and slowly straightens her hunched back. Her eyes drag across Skylar and me before landing on Nita, where they narrow once more before she tips her nose up into the air and hurries out the door, slamming it harder than necessary on her way out.
“Ignore her,” Cybele mutters under her breath. “She used to be one of us, until she reached an age the males no longer wanted her. Now she is the madame’s lapdog.”
After the way she looked at us, I can’t seem to find it in me to feel too sorry for her.
“All things considered, the food here is quite good,” Cybele continues as she leads us over to the cart. “The cook here takes good care of us.”
Elara is uncovering the trays while Cybele hands each of us plates. The smell coming from the unusual dishes is pleasant, and my stomach growls loudly, reminding me I haven’t eaten since I woke up this morning, and a lot has happened since then.
“Dig in,” she instructs without waiting for us.
Skylar and Nita must be equally hungry because that’s exactly what we do.
