by Aline Ash
I lose sight of her as I tuck and finish my roll, but just as I’m getting to my feet, I hear a sharp cracking sound that’s loud—too loud. It’s followed by the sound of a wet splatter and a low keening. And then everything is still. It wasn’t until that moment that I truly understood the meaning of the phrase silent as a tomb.
Seeing the looks of shock and outrage on the faces of the other five Gargolians in the cell, I know something is very wrong. Slowly, I turn around and feel my eyes grow wide and my mouth falls open, as a creeping horror dawns on me. The Gargolian is on her belly, up against the stone wall of the chamber, her head and neck bent backward at an unnatural angle.
Those cold, reptilian eyes are still open, but they’re lifeless and dull, fixed on some point well beyond the world of the living. My eyes are riveted to the thin trail of a dark green fluid seeping out of the corner of her mouth. I’m morbidly fascinated by it and watch the rivulet slide down her cheek, her neck, eventually spilling onto the dirt floor beneath her.
I dimly become aware of the sound of heavy footsteps and passively watch as one of the Gargolians in a black tunic, one of the guards, kneels down next to the body of the woman. Two guards flank me, their large hands clamping down on my shoulders like iron vises, holding me tight and I’m forced to watch as the guard who’s kneeling reaches out a gloved hand and touches the fallen Gargolian gently. Almost – lovingly, as if she was more than just a prisoner but this guard. I see a dark rage blend with the anguish on his face, and I realize just how fucked I am.
The Gargolian gets to his feet and approaches me, hate blazing in his eyes. My head is snapped back as his fist connects with my face and bright lights dance before my eyes. But I see the darkness creeping in at the edges of my vision, and my head feels light enough to float away. My body is numb, which is good since I barely feel the Gargolian drive his massive fist into my midsection—I’m only aware of the breath being driven from my body in a loud and noisy burst.
A low guttural laugh issues from the two guards who are are holding me up, and as I slump forward, a high-pitched wheezing coming from my throat. I feel like I’m hanging onto my consciousness—hell, maybe even my sanity—by the thinnest of threads. I watch numbly, too terrified to even tremble in fear as the third guard draws a long, curved dagger from the sheath on his belt.
“G’rin, you can’t kill her,” one of the guards holding me up says. “You know the rules.”
The male holding the blade stares at me hard, the air between us crackling with the promise of violence. I should be terrified. And maybe somewhere under all the pain that’s gripping my body I am. But I can’t feel it. In the moment, all I can feel is the resignation to my fate. I’m going to die. I just want it all to be over quickly and painlessly.
“She’ll be punished for this outrage tomorrow,” says one of the others. “If she survives the night.”
“Yeah, if she survives the night,” the other says. “Our orders are to lock her up with the Beast tonight.”
The two guards holding me let out those harsh and guttural laughs, but G’rin just stares at me. He looks like he wants to disobey their orders and slice me open right then and there. But he reluctantly sheaths his blade, though the fury in his eyes never abates. He looks up at me again and drives his fist into my face once more, snapping my head back violently.
This time, the darkness that had been hovering at the edges of my vision comes rushing in, pulling me under, and swallows me whole.
Chapter Two
Kon
The hard clank of the door to my cell being unlocked wakes me. I roll over in my sleeping pod and cast an eye toward the door. I do not usually get visitors this late at night. When the door slides open, I see a pair of Gargolians silhouetted by the dim light in the corridor and a smaller, more delicate looking figure held between them.
Curious, I sit up on the edge of my sleeping pod and watch as they haul the smaller figure into my cell. Even though my vision in the dark is excellent, it is still too dim for me to make out any features. I can tell the figure is female. And that she is neither Gargolian, nor of any other familiar species, is covered in neither scales, nor fur, and has only two legs and arms. I don’t know what she is, as I’ve never seen anything quite like her before.
“We brought you a playmate, Beast,” growls one of the Gargolian jailers.
“I have asked you not to call me that,” I reply.
“Like I give a a shit about what you want,” he snaps back.
“G’rin says you don’t need to be gentle with her,” laughs the other.
“Why have you brought her here?” I ask.
“This one killed M’tyn,” the first guard replies. “Thought you might be able to show her the error of her ways.”
I smirk and shake my head. I am not here to do them any favors. I do find myself impressed though. M’tyn is tough, strong, and a ferocious fighter. Killing her could not have been easy. Especially not for one as seemingly fragile as this one.
“Have fun with this one, Beast,” the guard snickers.
They drop her unceremoniously into a heap on the floor and leave my cell. I remain sitting on the edge of the sleeping pod, studying the shadowy lump on the floor as I breathe deeply, inhaling her scent. Beneath the odor of sweat and her fear, there is an underlying aroma that is not displeasing. It is delicate, almost floral, and definitely feminine. It is hard to detect beneath the stench of Gargolian though.
“You need a bath,” I say.
She does not stir though. I check her pulse and hear her soft, shallow breathing, feeling strangely relieved that she is alive. I do not know what they did to her, but she is out cold. I take a moment to study her and take in her soft, delicate features. I touch the deep brown hair on the top of her head, gently brushing it back so I can look at her face. She has full lips, smooth, flawless skin, and even though she’s utterly alien to me, I find her very beautiful for - whatever species she is.
I look down at the shapely curves of her body. I run my fingertips along the swell and curve of her hips, then slide them up to cup her full, round breasts, squeezing them gently. They’re fuller and softer than Tabiean females, and something about them makes my jura stir and thicken. I am intrigued by the softness and yet at the same time, the firmness of her body. I am curious to know her species as she does not come from any world I know.
As attractive as I find her though, I cannot stand to be near her with the Gargolian stench so thick on her. Picking her up, I stand her against the wall. But her body is limp, and she cannot stand on her own, so I take her bound hands and attach the cuffs to the hook on the wall above her head.
She hangs there limply, looking so fragile and so helpless. I run my hands over her body, fascinated with the blending of the firmness and softness of her body. It is so contradictory and yet, so compelling to me. We, Tabieans, are hard. We are warriors. And there is very little suppleness to our bodies. We are built with utility, and not pleasure in mind. The same cannot be said for the body of this exquisite creature before me.
I take a step back and sit back down as I wait for her to come around. I cannot bathe her until she wakes up. As I wait, I watch her. Listen to the soft murmuring passing her lips. She sounds as if she is in distress. No doubt a result of the rough treatment she received at the hands of the Gargolians.
I know what the Gargolians want me to do with her. I do not usually enjoy having to share my cell, and I killed all the unwanted cellmates so far. She intrigues me, though, so I suppose for now, I will watch her and see what happens after that. Before anything else though, she will require bathing. I simply cannot abide the stink of these foul and vile Gargolians.
Chapter Three
Marissa
When I come to, I’m aware of the collection of aches and pains that are racking my body. It feels like every bone has been broken and then set on fire. I open eyes that feel swollen and heavy and find that I’m in darkness, though I can’t tell if it’s actual darkness or t
hat my face is so battered and swollen that I can’t actually see. But more disturbingly, I can’t feel my arms or my legs. Fear grips me like a cold fist wrapped around my body, and I am just barely keeping myself from descending into a terror-driven panic.
“Hello?” I call out. “Hello?”
I take a long, deep breath and let it out slowly. Freaking out isn’t going to help me. It’s only going to cloud my mind further. So as I take a few more cleansing breaths, my senses start coming back to me., Bit by bit, I find myself calming and it’s only then that I realize my hands have been chained above my head.
I feel the steel shackles around my wrists, and when I look up, I see they’re strung up on a hook. I shake them hard but can’t break loose. My eyes finally start to adjust to the dim ambient light, and the details of the place slowly begin to resolve themselves to me. I’m no longer in the large chamber they’d originally thrown me into. This chamber is small—maybe fifteen feet by fifteen feet, but looks as if it was carved out of the same rough, jagged rock as my last cell. There’s also the same strong alkaline stench here so I know I’m in a different room of the same place.
But being strung up like a Christmas goose for God knows how long, has made my shoulders feel like they’re on fire, sending a fresh wave of agony washing through me. I groan and close my eyes, trying to shut the pain out of my mind. But as I hang there with my eyes closed, adrenaline coursing through my veins and my senses heightened by fear, I hear the words of the guards echoing in my head. I recall hearing them say they were throwing me in with the Beast.
I shudder and feel my heart beating a staccato rhythm as I think about what kind of creature has those monsters calling it a beast. In my mind’s eye, I see scales and fangs, claws, and a face that looks like it came straight from the pits of Hell.
Opening my eyes, I scan the darkness around me, my heart racing, and my breath quickening. And then I see it—him. It’s just a shadow in the darkness, but the creature’s form is massive. It’s got shoulders that are broad and sloped. And shockingly, I see the suggestion of the triangle ears of…some kind of animal.
That is all I can make out though, as the shadows hide its other features from me. Whoever—or whatever—this thing is, it’s just sitting there, silently staring at me. It’s the creepiest fucking thing I’ve ever experienced and takes my level of fear and turns it up to eleven. A low, rumbling growl floats out of the darkness that nearly stops my heart in its tracks. I have visions of this thing tearing me to pieces, eating my flesh, and drinking my blood.
“Wh-who are you?” I demand.
It says nothing. It simply sits there and continues to stare at me, as if it can see me in the darkness. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, doing my best to gather my strength and my courage—or to at least slow a heart that feels ready to burst straight out of my body.
“Who the fuck are you?”
My voice echoes around the small stone chamber, sounding impossibly loud. As my voice fades away, another sound fills the air around us—laughter. It’s not as harsh or grating as the laughter of the Gargolians, but this creature’s voice is deep and gruff. Although I’m terrified still, the voice of this thing in the shadows doesn’t sound evil. I can’t explain it, but ts laughter somehow sounds friendlier and not at all like the malevolent sounds that come from the Gargolians.
And then it rises. As the thing stands up, I get a look at just how big it is and feel my body grow weak with fear. Like the Gargolians, it’s near seven feet tall and seems to be just as wide. It’s massive. I open my mouth to speak but find that my throat is dry and I’m so terrified, I can’t form a single word. Not anything that’s coherent anyway.
The creature steps forward, into a thin beam of silvery moonlight that spills in from above, and a small, strangled gasp escapes me. Like other male prisoners, the creature wears dark breeches and boots, but he is bare above the waist, showing off tight abs and a broad, hard chest. He’s got arms that are thick, and corded with muscle. They’re as big around as my thigh and end in hands tipped with sharp, curved claws.
The skin of his torso is a bit of a lighter purple color and looks soft and downy. But the skin that covers his back and arms is a darker shade of purple. It has the look of crushed velvet or a very short fur hair and seems soft to the touch. When I raise my eyes to his face, I’m startled. His features are animalistic. In addition to the triangular ears, he’s got a flat, dark, almost triangular nose, thin lips, and a mouthful of small, sharp teeth and fangs. He even has short whiskers, further accentuating his feline features. He’s got the look of a dangerous predator. A beast. I shiver at the thought.
As big and intimidating as he is though, it’s his eyes that catch and hold me fast. They’re almond-shaped, and icy blue. And as they slide up and down my body, my skin pebbles with goosebumps. They’re unsettling as hell, and he seems to be looking straight through me. He seems to be laying me bare and can see all of my deepest, darkest secrets with just that penetrating gaze.
“What are you?” he asks. “Your species?”
His voice is deep and rumbling, his gaze unflinching, and his eyes seem to glow with some inner light. I open my mouth again but am still unable to form a word. My tongue feels thick, like it’s too large for my mouth, and my throat is as dry as it’s ever been. I can barely work up enough saliva to swallow. All that comes out of my mouth is a dry, choked rattle.
I can hear a thin stream of water splashing into a small pool, just like the one back in my original cell. I try to work up enough saliva to get my mouth working to ask for a drink, but he seems to know what I need and fills a metal cup from the stream and thrusts it to my lips.
“Drink,” the cat-man says.
I rattle the chains above my head and swallow hard, trying to lube up my throat enough to speak.
“Going to be a little difficult without my hands,” my voice is dry and hoarse, I almost don’t recognize it.
Rather than uncuff me though, the giant beast-man thrusts the beaten metal cup, though tiny in his hands, seems more like a bucket to me, to my lips and pours. I try to drink as much down as I can before I start to cough and sputter. The creature returns to the spring and refills the cup before coming back to me. He turns the cup over and dumps the cold water over my head.
I scream as the water rains down over me, plastering my hair to my face and making the shredded tunic I’m wearing stick to my skin uncomfortably. The air in the cell was cold to start with but being soaked to the bone is making it ten times worse. I start to shiver uncontrollably as the cold seeps into me.
“What the fuck was that?” I scream, suddenly finding my voice as I’m filled with rage. “What’s your fucking problem?”
The creature doesn’t reply. Instead, he reaches forward and tears the tunic off my body, leaving me standing there utterly exposed. I thrash against the chains, desperate to cover my nakedness, but to no avail. The beast returns to the spring and fills another cup and takes a piece of cloth from his sleeping nook. I’m still shivering when he comes back and gripped by a terror more profound than I’ve ever known as I stand before him, naked and vulnerable.
“Stop it,” I growl. “Leave me the fuck alone.”
The beast dips the cloth in the water and steps over to me. I struggle and writhe but can’t break free of the chains. He runs the cloth over my body gently—surprising given how large he is. And I feel his skin really is as soft as it looked, very much like velvet. It is the strangest sensation and the strangest thought to be having as this - thing - is molesting me.
“You stink of Gargolian,” he grumbles.
He takes the wet rag and slides it up my arm, rivulets of water sliding down my skin. It tickles and sends a shiver down my spine. He leans close as he gently slides the cloth down my arms, his breath warm and smelling of fruit.
“Wh-what are you?” I ask.
“I am Tabiaen,” his voice rumbles across my skin, sending an unexpected rush of warmth through my center.
“What are you?” he growls, his voice low and husky. “I have not smelled your like before.”
“I’m human,” I whisper. “From Earth.”
“Human,” he says. “I am not familiar with your species.”
“Yeah, I keep hearing that.”
My breath catches in my throat as he leans forward, his breath warm against my neck. He leans so close that the fine fur on his face brushes my skin, sending a delicious shudder rolling through me. He draws in a deep breath and closes his eyes, seeming to relish the scent of me.
“You are a female,” he concludes, taking a longer sniff as if enjoying. “Your scent is intriguing.” he purrs. “But you still stink of Gargolian.”
He steps back and rinses out the rag again, sliding it down my body languidly. He picks up my leg with one hand and runs the wet cloth from the center of me down to my toes and back again, his fingers leaving trails of fire upon my skin. The heat burning in my core grows brighter and hotter. I close my eyes and bite my bottom lip, trying to resist the feelings welling up inside of me.
This is wrong. I did not consent to this and yet, I can’t force myself to make it stop either.
He washes my second leg the same way and despite my best efforts to resist, I feel myself growing wet beneath his touch. He sets my leg down and drops the cloth with a splash, then turns to me. There’s a strange glint in those icy blue eyes of his that makes my heart do somersaults in my chest.
I clear my throat. “Wh -- what is your name?”
“I am called Kon,” he says. “What are you called?”
