The Beta's Prize

It has been a week since I was kidnapped. The first three days involved rolling around in the back of a van with a black cloth bag over my head. There were several other captives in with me although nobody dared talk much above a pained whimper. The stench of sweat and cigarettes warned us that at least one of the thugs was sitting in the back with us. 

Whilst we travelled, the buzz of the electric cattle prod against one wailing girl told me to bide my time. Struggling would not get me anything but injuries. Instead I tried to decipher the chatter of the drivers whenever my tied up body rolled close enough to listen.

"Shame about the redhead from last month. I'd hoped she was left behind so I could have a go."

"Get yourself in the Cage then, win one for yourself," a man with a throaty rasp answered.

"Nah, I'm happy with sloppy seconds if I don't have to risk getting my throat ripped out," as a dirty, sleazy laugh followed. A wave of nausea hit me.

“What do you think they do with the ones too fucked up for another month?” the muffled, rasping voice asked.

A snicker followed by a, “sewage pit I heard. If they don’t pass out from the fumes they drown in it. Cruel but-”

“Efficient. Don't forget the power of shifter healing, it takes a lot of punishment to truly finish even the most ruined ones. This new batch should last a few months at least.” 

The interrupting voice carried a cold seniority. Exactly what they were in charge of, I had no idea but I could read the room. Even with a bag over my head. Men don’t kidnap young women to work down mines. 

When the truck finally stopped, we were hauled out and the bags roughly whipped away from our heads. All of us instinctively winced and tried to raise our hands, blinded by the cheap, brash strip lighting above. We stood in a cold, concrete hall, our pitiful situation only emphasised by the clanking of our handcuffs as we began to shiver in fear. 

There were eight of us. All young, wide eyed and frantic with fear as we naturally bunched together. A petite little thing with long brown hair, shook so violently her handcuffs tangled on a button of her clothing. 

I didn’t recognise anyone, the only thing we had in common was our youth.

At the sound of a buzzer, a large metal door opened and a gaggle of women in tunics came forwards. Older and haggard in their beige sackcloth tunics, none would meet our eyes as we stared desperately at them for help.

"You know the drill," the guard with the electric cattle prod spat. He was a huge bald beast of a man, clad in grey, matching the misery of the room. "All the checks. Let me know if any are not fit. The team deserves the best."

"Of course Sir," a dark-eyed, wrinkled brunette answered with a small bow.

"You bitches," he said, turning to face our miserable line up, unveiling a large silver blade. "Shift form and you die. That is a promise." Before he could follow through on his threat the older lady roughly took my arm and guided me through the metal door she had just arrived from.

Somehow my legs moved. I heard sniffling sobs behind me, from the short brunette as we weaved further into the buildings warren of corridors. I made myself lift my eyes from the floor. If I was going to get out of here I needed to know my surroundings. Crying could wait for now.

As it turned out I had plenty of time for crying. There was no way to memorise a route through realms of concrete grey tunnels. After being hosed down and given a plain grey tunic to wear it had been days of silence. 

Abandoned by all but two rotating guards, we sat in plain, stone cells. The silence was excruciating apart from the gentle cries and sobs for home late at night. Talking was forbidden. One girl tried it and found herself severely beaten, with the bag placed back on her head.

“She’ll heal by Friday,” the guard had grunted when questioned about the state of her, crumpled in a shivering heap on the floor.

I turned over the events in my head, trying to stop my pulse running away with me in fear. 

I shouldn’t have even been in the Shadowlands that morning. Too busy trying to impress my father and brother by demanding I join the attack. I insisted I join because too many villages were being robbed, too much land being seized. We had armed ourselves with thick clothing to mask our scent, plus silver bullets and machetes then headed deep into the northern counties. Shifter territory.

We were looking for a battle, not an ambush. Certainly not poisoning or whatever the hell they used to knock me unconscious.

For every minute I spent worrying about my survival I spent the same wondering if my brother and father were dead. Obviously it would be easier for the bastards who took me to leave no trace by killing them. I hoped I was wrong, with every piece of my soul. The idea tortured my heart with stabbing pains that left me breathless.

"Go to hell!"

My last words to them before I headed down a wooded trail. Turns out it was me heading towards damnation, for where else could this be except hell? Trapped in a constant grey misery with only soft weeping and the grunts of unseen men sparring in the rooms above us.

Finally, day seven, one night before the full moon the cell door opens and the clutch of older women reappear. "It's time to get ready,” they solemnly declare.

The short brunette is promptly sick on the floor. Before a guard can stop her she screams, "I won't be a whore for a murderer! I will never be a prize!`` The electric cattle prod swiftly silenced her. 

My mouth hung open, numbness spreading through my limbs.

She was still down, twitching and frothing at the mouth as we left the dank cell and the door slammed behind. I heard a familiar rasping chuckle. A lean, spindly man with yellowing teeth shouted out to an unseen companion. "Told you I'd get one this time!"

Tears stung my eyes as we had to leave her to her fate. There was nothing we could do and it tore at my soul as we walked away. In a sparse changing room, with guards outside every door, the female helpers silently washed and preened us. 

Now it was my handcuffs that loudly jangled in fear against the metal frame of my bench.

"Catch the Inferno's eye," one of the ladies furtively whispered as she applied mascara to my eyes. The briefest, lowest of whispers that I briefly wondered I’d imagined the noise. 

"What?" I whispered back, my eyes searching her wizened face for an answer but she waved her hand as though she was shooing a bug and moved further down the line to another girl.

The Inferno? The word “prize” burned in my mind. We were to be given as trophies to some shifters. How would I ever be able to tell who the guy is? I doubt there will be any introductions.

I did not cry when I realised I was taken. 

Nor did I cry in my cell, I chose not to, to remain as strong as I could. But right now, standing barefoot in a cavernous grey hall, my blonde hair curled, harsh makeup applied, naked under a garish full length silk negligee…I am simply too terrified to cry.

Roars from a distant crowd begin thunderously echoing around our waiting area. All of us waiting women gasp, wondering what that fearsome noise means for us.