Chapter 4 Feral

"Hello?" I whispered.

"Go away," a voice rasped. It sounded human, but broken. Like someone who had screamed until their vocal cords snapped.

"Please," I said, pressing my face against the bars. "Where are we? Who are those men?"

The figure shifted, crawling into the sliver of red light that filtered down from a high, barred window.

It was a man. Or what was left of one. He was skeletal, his skin gray and covered in sores. His clothes were rags. He looked at me with eyes that had no hope left in them.

"We are in the larder," he croaked. "And those aren't men."

"The larder?" I asked, my stomach twisting. "Like… for food?"

The man laughed. It was a dry, wheezing sound. "For blood. For sport. For whatever the Lords want."

He pointed a shaking finger at my arm.

"You're bleeding," he said. "Bad idea."

"Why?"

"Because They can smell it," he whispered, his eyes widening in terror. "The scent… it drives them mad. If you bleed, they don't wait for the auction. They just tear."

"The auction?" I felt the blood drain from my face.

"The Cattle Auction," the man said, retreating back into the shadows. "New stock. They bring us in, test us, and sell us to the Houses. If you're lucky, you get a quick death. If you're unlucky… you get picked by a Lord."

He curled back into a ball, pulling his rags over his head.

"Cover the wound," he muttered. "Hide the scent. Or you won't last the night."

I backed away from the bars, terrified.

I looked at my arm. The blood was sluggish now, but still oozing. The metallic tang of it filled the small cell.

I took off my jacket. It was soaked and freezing, but I wrapped it tightly around my arm, tying the sleeves into a knot to apply pressure. I gritted my teeth against the pain, tears leaking from my eyes.

I sat in the corner furthest from the door, shivering.

I checked my pockets. My phone was dropped in the subway tunnel. My wallet was gone.

I had nothing.

I closed my eyes, leaning my head against the cold stone wall. I tried to think. I tried to plan. But my mind was a chaotic mess of fear and exhaustion.

The Red Moon. The black armor. The fangs.

Vampires.

The word felt ridiculous even thinking it. Vampires were movies. They were Halloween costumes. They weren't real.

But I had seen the eyes. I had felt the strength.

Time passed. It was impossible to tell how much. Minutes stretched into hours in the dark. The cold seeped into my marrow, making my limbs feel heavy and clumsy.

I must have dozed off, sliding into a feverish, uneasy sleep.

I woke up to a sound.

It was close. Right on the other side of the bars.

I opened my eyes.

Standing outside my cell was a creature.

It looked vaguely human, but twisted. It was hunched over, its spine curved. Its skin was pale and hairless, stretched tight over bone. It wore the tattered remains of a guard's uniform.

But its face…

Its face was a nightmare. The nose was gone, just two slits. The mouth was a maw of jagged, yellow teeth. And the eyes were milky white cataracts.

It was sniffing the air, drool hanging from its chin in thick strings.

"Sugar," it hissed.

It wrapped long, bony fingers around the bars of my cell.

"So… sweet."

I scrambled back, kicking at the straw. "Get away!"

The creature rattled the door.

"Open," it growled, clawing at the lock. "Let me taste."

"Guard!" I screamed. "Help!"

"Guards are gone," the creature giggled. "Shift change. No one watches the feral ones."

It shoved its face between the bars. Its jaw unhinged, stretching impossibly wide. It wasn't trying to open the door anymore. It was trying to squeeze through.

And it was succeeding.

The bars were wide enough for its emaciated shoulder to pass. Then its head.

"No," I gasped, looking around for a weapon.

I grabbed the heavy wooden bucket.

The creature wriggled, snarling, pushing its torso through the gap. It reached for me, its claws inches from my face.

"Mine!" it shrieked.

I swung the bucket.

I hit it squarely in the head. The wood splintered. The creature howled. Black blood sprayed from a gash on its forehead.

But it didn't stop. It just got angrier.

It lunged again, grabbing my ankle.

Its grip was like a vice. Its claws sank into my jeans, piercing the skin.

I kicked, screaming, trying to dislodge it.

"Come here, little treat," it hissed, dragging me across the floor. "Let me drink."

It pulled me toward the bars. Toward its mouth.

I was going to die. I was going to be eaten by a monster in a dungeon, and no one would ever know what happened to me.

No.

A surge of heat flared in my chest. It started at my collarbone, a burning itch that spread outward like wildfire.

"Let go!" I screamed.

I kicked it in the face with my free foot.

My boot connected with its nose.

There was a flash of light.

The creature flew backward.

It didn't just fall. It was blasted back as if hit by a cannonball. It slammed into the opposite wall of the corridor.

It slid to the floor, twitching, and didn't move again.

I lay on the straw, panting, staring at the empty bars.

My ankle burned. My arm burned. But my collarbone… my collarbone felt like it was branded.

I pulled the collar of my shirt down.

The birthmark, the faint red claw I had had since I was a baby was glowing.

I stared at it, my hands shaking.

"What is happening to me?" I whispered to the dark.

Before I could process it, I heard footsteps.

Real footsteps. Heavy, purposeful boots on stone.

A light appeared at the end of the corridor. Not the red glow of the torches, but a white, clinical light.

Three figures marched into view.

Two were guards. The third was a woman.

She was stunning. She wore a dress of deep purple silk that trailed on the filthy floor. Her skin was alabaster, her lips blood red. She held a handkerchief to her nose as she looked at the dead creature in the hall.

"Disgusting," she murmured. Her voice was bored, elegant.

She looked into my cell.

Her eyes were black, shark-like. She looked at me, then at the dead creature, then at the glowing mark on my chest.

A slow, cruel smile spread across her face.

"Well," she said. "It seems we have a fighter."

She gestured to the guards.

"Open the cell," she commanded. "Get her cleaned up. The King hates it when his dinner is dirty."

The lock clicked.

The door swung open.

I backed into the corner, clutching my jacket.

"Who are you?" I rasped.

The woman stepped into the cell. She towered over me, smelling of lilacs and death.

"I am Lady Odessa," she said. "And you, darling, are late for the auction."

She reached down and grabbed my hair, hauling me to my feet.

"Welcome to Noctyrr."