Savage Lands (Savage Lands #1)

by Stacey Marie Brown

  “Did he tell you Santa Claus was real too? The Wolf is nothing but an exaggerated and glorified tale, inflated every time he is mentioned.”

  But the man himself just walked by me. The stuff of myths and fables—ghost stories told around a campfire, setting fear in your blood. The rumor was he did not consider himself loyal to any side. No one knew anything about him personally, only that he moved like a ghost and killed in silence. A true enigma.

  But he was real. Here.

  The man whose last name meant “Wolf” ruled the House of Death.

  “Prisoner 85221!” A gnarly voice coiled down the dark hallway, sounding similar to broken glass ground on pavement. A huge creature stepped into my path, and I sucked back a wheeze of fear. Not all fae were beautiful or had a sultry voice, luring in their prey. Some were scarier than nightmares.

  Dressed in all black like the rest of the guards, with weapons hanging off its belt, a monster more than nine feet tall stomped up to me, the ground shaking under my feet. Patchy gray skin, scarred and cut, covered its thick muscles; the shirt was so tight against its chest it looked as if it had boobs. Its shoulders brushed either side of the corridor, and its head bowed to keep from scraping the top. It had teeth like a wild boar, and its nose was smashed in, forcing the thing to breathe out of its stinky mouth. It snarled down at me. I couldn’t tell what sex it was, but I knew it was at least half ogre. I’d seen many pictures of them.

  “Come with me.” The mitt-sized hand clamped down on the back of my neck, shoving me forward like I was a little kitten, causing my feet to stumble. “Move it!”

  The ogre’s grip felt like it cracked the bones in the back of my neck, pain lashing down my spine. The guard rushed me down several corridors, finally reaching a room the size of a small warehouse, buzzing with the hum of sewing machines and dripping with fabric. Steam rose from one side of the room where dozens of people scrubbed clothes on washboards in huge barrel buckets, their faces beet red and twisted with misery. Another group hunched over old-fashioned sewing machines as guards walked up and down the aisles, whips in their hands.

  “Prisoner 85221,” the ogre grumbled to the guard closest to us. He was slight but alluring in a way I couldn’t define but felt in my gut. Dark hair. Yellow eyes. Demon. A powerful one.

  “Put her on the machines.” He pointed toward the back at an empty spot.

  The ogre pushed me hard, my body barely keeping upright as I slammed into a table of people hemming items by hand. They peered up at me, glaring at me as though the disruption was my fault.

  “Get to your station.” The demon pointed to the chair. “Don’t dally.”

  I righted myself, looking at the machine with aversion. This was not a skill I had been taught. I could drop a man with a pinch of my finger or wield a spear, but sewing was not in my arsenal of talents.

  “I don’t sew.”

  The room went silent, everyone stopping what they were doing, eyes landing on me with shock. Their expressions of “oh shit” made my stomach sink to the ground and my neck tingle with fear.

  “Excuse me?” The demon stepped up to me, tapping the switch in his hand against his palm. “Did I ask you if you could sew?”

  My throat bobbed.

  “Answer me, 85221.” His voice sounded like spikes covered in chocolate—smooth, delicious, but dangerous underneath.

  “No, sir.” My response croaked over my lips.

  Crack!

  The whip sliced across my face without warning, and fiery pain burst from my eye to my chin. A scream pitched from my gut, my bones thumping to the ground from the force as I fell in a lump.

  “Say ‘I’m sorry, Master.’”

  Not able to catch my breath from the agony throbbing through me, I couldn’t respond. I cupped my cheek, blood gushing from my split skin, my face feeling like it had been lit on fire.

  Crack!

  The whip belted across my torso, striking my still tender gunshot wound, anguish clawing up my throat.

  “Say it!”

  The words barely escaped my mouth.

  “I didn’t hear you. I want this entire room to hear you.” He cracked the switch against my ankle.

  “I’m sorry, Master,” I spit out, blood pooling on the floor.

  “Get up,” he yelled at me.

  From head to toe, every muscle seemed to go limp, traumatized by the assault.

  “I said get up, human.” The demon whipped my legs, forcing another yelp to get stuck in my throat. “Last time I ask nicely.”

  Grinding down on my jaw, I staggered to my feet, wobbling, but lifted my chin. It trembled with agony, but I bit back my pain and emotion.

  “Unless I ask you a question, you do not speak except to say yes. Understand me?”

  “Yes, Master.” The bitter taste of copper glided over my tongue as I spoke.

  “Good.” His yellow eyes glided down my figure. “You have a warning, 85221. Next one, you will end up in the hole. Now go to your spot.”

  My face throbbed, still leaking blood, but I turned around and went to the station, sitting down behind the sewing machine.

  “Idiot,” a girl in a gray/human uniform hissed at me from the station to my right. Keeping my head down, I ignored her. I had been beaten up many times in my life, bloody and bruised, with several stints in intensive care. This was different. There I felt powerful. Resilient. I could fight back. Here, I was deprived of humanity, robbed of anything that made me believe I was strong, leaving me feeling weak and defenseless.

  Fumbling with the machine, I heard a small cough to my right. At the third cough, I glanced over. A petite Asian girl with dark, silky hair tied back past her shoulders wore a yellow uniform. Her large, dark eyes drilled into me with intention, her head bobbing slightly to her hands.

  She moved slowly, with purpose, threading the machine, her delicate fingers tapping on things, subtly showing me how to do it.

  Tracking her movements, I copied them step by step. She would guide me with slight smiles or a shake of the head, her gaze always darting to the guards, watching so we didn’t get caught.

  Every time one passed us, her head would snap back down to her work until they walked off, then she’d return to helping me.

  The fact she was willing to risk punishment to help me, cared to assist a human, made my heart swell with gratitude, which confused me. A fae was helping me while the human on my other side spat and glared at me, leaving me for the wolves.

  The room was a mix of sexes and species, though I noticed a bigger ratio of humans here. This was probably all they thought we were capable of. Servant work.

  Hours went by, and I worked until my ass, fingers, and back throbbed along with my cheek and stomach. A healer had come in and crudely covered the reopened injury along my ribs and put cream on my face, bitching I was getting blood on the clothes I was mending.

  While others munched on moldy cheese and bread and drank a small cup of water from a dirty communal bin for lunch, I had to keep working, only getting one bathroom break before the dinner bell rang. Because of the lack of food, crippling pain, and loss of blood, I could barely stand when we were free to leave.

  “You all right?” A soft voice barely made it to my eardrums as I gripped the table, pushing myself up onto my legs, my body complaining and revolting against me. Turning my head, I spotted the girl who had helped me. She was no more than five foot two, her persona cautious and shy, probably hoping to dissolve into the walls. She didn’t seem like someone who’d be at Halalhaz.

  She nodded at my face. “Be careful of Hexxus.” Her dark gaze slid to the demon who had beat the crap out of me. He must be the top dog in here by the way the other guards bowed to his word. He had whipped three more people by the end of the day. “He gets energy from torturing people. Thrives off it. He actively seeks it out. Try not to give him a reason.”

  “I wasn’t trying to.” I hobbled for the door.

  “You won’t have to.” Her voice was so soft I barely heard
her over the jabber and movement of people heading for the mess hall. “It will find you.”

  “Find me?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “Danger and violence want you.”

  My head turned to the tiny girl who barely looked older than seventeen—not that you could tell a fae’s age by looking at one.

  “They hover around you.” Her black eyes almost made her look like she had no irises. “And you welcome them.”

  A figure clipped my shoulder, causing me to stumble. “Get the fuck out of my way,” a woman snarled, shoving past me. “Watch yourself, new fish.”

  It was the human woman who had sat next to me. Blinking, I watched her graying-blonde bun move through the throng, her brown eyes glaring at me. What the hell was her problem?

  “See,” the girl said next to me.

  I sighed, turning back to my fae companion.

  “I’m Laura,” I lied.

  “You can call me Lynx.”

  “Well, thank you, Lynx. For helping me.”

  “Don’t die.” She blinked at me, then turned and walked away.

  “O-kay.” I shook my head and let it go. My mind focused on actually getting food this time. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t last more than a week, and I had a feeling I had only experienced the fluffier side of prison life.

  This was a game of survival, and winner took all.

  Chapter 13

  Cries, screams, chants, bellows, and stomping of feet boomed through the arena, ricocheting off the walls, creating a frenzy of noise in my head. I cringed against the smells of blood, piss, and sweat. Every sense was assaulted and overwhelmed, my eyes unable to take in all the commotion around me.

  “Fight! Fight!” Shouts were joined by the thud of stamping boots against the metal floor. I peered down into the pit as two people were shoved into the middle: a man in gray, the human, and the other man was the one who bullied me in line this morning, the bull-shifter, Rodriguez, who was three times bigger than his human counterpart.

  Rodriguez smacked his barrel chest, his nose flaring as the crowd cheered for him, his ego soaking up the attention, lapping at it like cream.

  The crowd hollered even louder. Even from my position way up, I could see the human shaking, urine staining his pants as he searched the arena for some kind of weapon. Rodriguez rolled his head around, a flicker of the bull underneath rippling to the surface.

  “My gods.” My hand went to my mouth, the manic energy shivering my body. “I thought there was no magic in here.”

  “There isn’t,” Tad yelled in my ear. “But that doesn’t stop their essence from showing. Underneath they are more beast than they are men.”

  “The human is already at a disadvantage. He has no chance against him.”

  “Exactly.” A woman slid next to me, bumping my shoulder, her navy eyes flicking to me with an evil smile. “Eliminate prisoners, especially humans, while you entertain the crowds. Perfect way to keep down the population in here, all while we keep cheering for more. Welcome to the gladiator games of Halalhaz. Where two go in and only one comes out.”

  The pit was set up resembling pictures I’d seen of the old Colosseum in Rome. Layered stands circled a dirt arena, where men and animals fought to the death.

  “Do the fae always fight humans?” Is this why there were so few left?

  “Not all the time. It’s survival of the fittest. Which usually means humans lose. The first fight is usually new fae versus human or human against human. But whoever wins moves up and fights the winner of the fight last week to the death. You keep winning, and you keep living, fae or human.” The demon shrugged. “As I said, humans usually die first. Since I’ve been here, no human has moved up.”

  Because fae were stronger, faster, and harder to kill. Humans stood no chance.

  “What brings you slumming with a Druid and human, Kek?” Tad asked, his attention on the match below.

  Kek, in the old Hungarian language, meant “blue.” Her hair and eyes were certainly that.

  “It’s my day of charity.” She shrugged, her attention halting on a group of demons located near the middle of the stands, their red uniforms resembling a sea of blood. Why wasn’t she with them? What was she after? Didn’t take a genius to understand you didn’t trust anyone here. Everyone was out for their own. “Plus, this girl is fucking hot. Nice to have some different eye candy around here.”

  Almost all fae were uninhibited sexually, not having limitations when it came to gender, but still could have a preference. Not something I had dealt with much in my walled world. Humans in my sphere had reverted to being very staunch about sex and sexuality.

  “Or could it be no one likes you. Not even your own kind,” Tad replied evenly.

  “They like me the same as they like you, old man.” She snorted. “People call me Kek, by the way.” She flipped her braid to the other shoulder.

  “Laura.”

  She burst out laughing. “Sure. Laura.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Lovely name. It’s just not yours.”

  “And Kek is yours?”

  It was Tad’s turn to chuckle. “Touché.”

  “All right, human.” Her eyes ran down me with appreciation. “You can play. I like it.”

  A bell chimed, directing my attention back to the floor. The human was darting around, panic controlling his actions. It was something they quickly drilled out of us in school, tossing us the first day into a mock situation. If you let fear control you, you “died” and failed the first level of training.

  This human was not a fighter.

  Bile burned at the back of my throat as Rodriguez moved in with self-assurance.

  “How do they pick who goes in?”

  “The first ones nominated are those who cause trouble. You get in the hole more than twice? Your name is up on the list. If you get on the wrong side of a guard, they can put up your name. If they run out of those, it’s by a lottery system,” Tad explained. “Some have even volunteered.”

  “Volunteered?” My mouth dropped open. “Why?”

  “If you win, you live like a king until the next fight. You win again, you become worshipped and can get away with so much more than before. To humans knowing they will die here anyway, why not go with perks? To most fae winners? They start believing they’re invincible. They think they can beat the top fighter. Rodriguez has won the last two times. His ego is impregnable. You keep working up to the top position. Fae after fae has died to achieve that spot, but only one has held it continually.”

  I glanced at the old man, his bushy eyebrows lifting.

  “Him.” He pointed, a knowing indication in his tone. My gaze followed his hand, landing on the man he was motioning to. Air clipped in my lungs. In a cushy chair in the middle of the stands, in a place of power sat Warwick, an emperor on his throne. No one dared to get near him, but many hovered close, drawn to him. His expression warned you to run the opposite way, like you’d be burned up if you dared look in his direction. But at the same time, you couldn’t stop from wanting to move closer, needing to be near him, even if it turned you to ash.

  He will kill you without blinking…and he’s so unbearably hot, you go willingly.”

  Once again, he sat with his legs parted, one up on the ledge, surveying his kingdom without moving his head. Dangerous and powerful didn’t convey the magnetism of this man.

  A cry from the pit drew my attention from him. The crowd repeated a word over and over as Rodriguez jumped down on the human. The man swung and scratched at the bull’s face, scrambling behind a box to hide. I noticed a few items you could use as weapons were placed around the pit—wood poles, blocks, and rocks—but the human didn’t seem to notice them.

  The chants grew louder, blending into one drum.

  “What are they saying?”

  “Blooding,” Kek replied. “It’s when the crowd is ready for blood to spill, blooding the ground.”

  Rodriguez snapped a wood pole in half with his foot. Twirling
it, he pointed the ragged end at the human. More urine soaked the human’s pants as he tried to hide, his body rolling up in a ball.

  “This is disgusting. Barbaric.” My throat watered with acid. “This isn’t a fight.”

  “Did you think the House of Death would be fair?” Kek’s blue-tinted eyebrows curved up. “That it was actually unicorns and rainbows in here?”

  “No.” I glared at her, motioning out to the pit. “But at least make it a fair fight.”

  “Fair.” Tad snorted. “You humans love to throw that word around.”

  “Bull. Bull. Bull!” The mob roared as Rodriguez went in to kill the human, the spikey edges of the broken pole getting within an inch of the man before he’d stop. Every time the crowd grew louder and more savage. His ego was drinking it up, loving the attention, playing the human like a toy.

  The man sobbed, rolling up tighter.

  My stomach squeezed at the sickness of this whole scene, the eager, excited faces in the crowd enjoying this cruelty.

  After several more times of Rodriguez taunting them, they started to get restless, booing him. You could see it in his demeanor, the shift, realizing he was losing his fans. He glared at the crowd and roared.

  With one last dramatic heave, the stick speared through the man’s chest, twisting and shoving it deeper. Blood gushed as his body violently flopped, and a gutting bellow ripped from the dying man’s throat.

  I twisted my head away, grateful the thundering crowd absorbed most of the human’s screams of death. Swallowing over and over, I forced back the bile trying to come from the depths of my stomach.

  The crowd’s chants of “Bull! Bull!” drew my attention back to the pit where a guard dragged the dead human out, a blood trail smearing the packed dirt. Rodriguez was up on a box with his arms open, rallying the crowd to chant his name. He would have probably stayed there until the last cheer, but two guards finally hauled him out of the arena.

  I thought the excitement before was intense, but the second Rodriguez disappeared, the stomping began again, people screaming and wailing with a chilling verve, the air clotting with brutal energy.