The Vampire King's Feeder

It's Best Not to Resist

Emory

I follow Clark down the stairs, deeper into the darkness, as they wind and twist. When we get to the dungeon, I take a deep breath, seeing dirty people in rags sitting in cages that are barely six feet by six feet. It’s no wonder that no one wants to be a feeder.

“These are the regular prisoners,” Clark explains, and I feel a lot better. I realize as he is speaking that most of these people are actually vampires, so they can’t be feeders.

Feeders like me….

I follow him as he goes to another door down a narrow hallway. This one takes a key, too, and from the looks of it, it’s a different key than the one he used to get us down here. More guards with death stares stand guard. The Vampire King uses a lot of security precautions when it comes to his feeders.

I wonder why….

We head down another flight of stairs, and as we walk, Clark answers my unspoken question. “Most of the members of court can be trusted to feed without killing when it comes to wolf shifters. They know their limits. The staff, however, that is a different story. Sometimes, they over indulge. For that reason, King Kane has established a system for draining blood from humans via a needle and tube that he uses to keep the staff fed. But just in case some of them, particularly the younger vampires, get a bit hangry, he keeps the feeders locked up for only those who can be trusted.”

I don’t ask the myriad of questions that fill my head. How young is young when you it’s so difficult to make any new vampires? Are their vampires here that have been made illegally? What happens if a feeder feels themselves slipping away and tries to fight back or beg for their life?

All of those questions fill my mind, but I don’t ask them.

I hope to make a confidant here. I think it’s too much to think of making a friend, but someone I can confide in, someone I can ask questions of, that would be nice. I was easily able to make friends with staff members back home, and because of it, Lola and I were always treated differently than the others. We were treated better—given little gifts, like extra meat pies from the cook, flowers from the gardener, having our beds made extra tidily, etc. Maybe I can find a way to make the workers here like me, too. Although, if they are the most dangerous, maybe not. I have to wonder about the guards. Surely, the Vampire King would only put the most trustworthy people as guards.

Maybe whomever feeds on me will like me and talk to me about what’s going on. I have no hope of escaping any time soon now that I’m down in the bowls of Castle Graystone, but I haven’t lost hope of getting out one day. I have to see Lola again. Her image flashes before my eyes, and I start to tear up, but I snuffle my tears back because I can’t let Clark or the guards see me cry—they’ll think I’m weak.

When we step out through another locked, guarded door that takes yet a different key, I gasp, and it takes a moment for me to will my feet to move.

This is… not as awful as what I’d witnessed above me, but it is not at all what I was hoping for either.

It’s the smell that hits me first. It’s hard to put one’s finger on exactly what it is. Being a wolf shifter, I have a more sensitive nose than most creatures. I can distinguish thousands of different aromas from one another and smell as much as a drop of blood from over twenty miles away.

But this? This is the first time I’ve been in a situation where I can’t distinguish exactly what I’m smelling. It’s… blood, urine, human sweat, some form of deteriorating tissue, mildew, damp concrete, dirty bedding, bed bugs, roaches, rats, rat droppings, and something else very distinct I don’t think I’ve ever smelled before all mingling together into some sort of funky potpourri. It’s the most horrid scent that’s ever coated my lungs.

“That smell?” Clark says, turning to look at me through his useless, wirerimmed glasses, “That’s the smell of death.”

I stare at him, blinking for a moment, as he begins to laugh and then walks forward.

The people here don’t look like people at all. They’re mostly wolf shifters, like me, though some are the humans he was referring to that can be drained by a needle, and at a glance, I’d say I can see at least fifty figures, but all of them look like zombies or ghosts. They wear white gowns that fall to their knees, stained, dirty, smelly clothes that others have probably worn before them, probably without a proper wash.

They sit in cells or in a public area where it looks like they are allowed to play chess or checkers, or participate in some other activities. I see a bookshelf with a bunch of old paperbacks that look to be falling apart. The sun doesn’t reach down here, and the bulbs that hang above our heads are dim, some of them flickering.

Their skin is nearly as translucent as the vampires’ They are dirty, with greasy hair and sallow cheekbones. None of them are at a healthy body weight. All of them have bags beneath their eyes. When my eyes meet those of another girl who looks to be about my age, it’s like there’s no life there. She stares at me, unblinking, not speaking, not reacting at all, as I follow Clark down another hallway lined with cells.

“Since you’re new, I’m sure you’ll be chosen by a nobleman or noblewoman soon enough. It doesn’t take long for new feeders to get used up. Expect it. But at least you’ll have some free time down here, unlike the other dungeon.

I don’t know what to say to that. I’m supposed to be thankful to be here?

He pauses at a guards’ station and asks, “What cell’s available?”

“Uh, fifteen,” the guy barks back, glancing down at a list on a clipboard. “Died this morning.”

“Perfect,” Clark says, tapping the wooden stand at the station a couple of times in thanks before he leads me forward.

I want to ask if fifteen has been cleaned since someone died in it, but I probably already know the answer to that and can’t bring myself to ask. Nothing will change whether it has been or not.

As we walk, Clark says, “You’ll get three meals a day here. Mostly protein mixture. I hear it doesn’t taste good, but you’re required to eat it and drink all of the necessary ounces of water to make sure you can continue to produce blood. You’ll probably get light headed when you’ve fed a lot of us over a short period of time, but when someone chooses you, you can’t say no. If you start to feel too sick, let the guards know, and they’ll see about getting a medic down here. Sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t.”

I want to ask him, if he knows all of this, why does he allow it to happen? Does the king know about this? I have to imagine that he does. He seems to know everything.

We arrive at a cell that’s probably ten by twelve if that. It has a cot in one corner covered in a sheet and blanket. It’s not made, and I assume that’s because it’s not clean. In the corner is a toilet and a small sink.

That’s it. That’s all there is.

While it does have walls and a door and isn’t just bars, the door is made out of see-through material, something thicker than glass. Still, if I pee, everyone is gonna see it who walks by.

“We’ll get you a uniform. You’re allowed to shower once a week. They’ll tell you which day. You can go out to the common area any time between seven in the morning and six in the evening. And remember, if you shift, you’ll be killed immediately. In a day or two, you’ll be too weak to do so, but before that happens, don’t try it. Down here, the only people you’ll be able to reach via your mind-link are the other prisoners, and most of them are too weak to respond, so don’t bother to try to reach someone to break you out. And as you saw, we have a lot of security they’d have to get through in order to get to you. It’d take the king ten, fifteen minutes to get down here and that’s with everyone reacting to his presence and letting him in.” For some reason he chuckles when he says that, but I don’t get the joke.

I have nothing to say, so I say nothing.

“I know you’re brave. Probably think you’re smart. Don’t worry. This place will break you.”

I turn and look at him as a cocky smirk spreads across his face. I don’t know this man, and I don’t know the king, but I have to wonder… does King Kane know who he’s trusting with such important tasks? I have to think that the other guy… Rainer… wouldn’t have treated me this way. I may be the daughter of their primary enemy, but I am still a person.

As he turns to walk out the door, he says, “Oh, and if the guards come calling, well, it’s best to just let them do what they’re going to do.”

That gets my attention. “Excuse me?” I ask, my body whipping around to face him as I feel myself being threatened.

His laughter fills my cell, and a tingling races down my spine. “Oh, I saw the way you and that other wolf were looking at one another. It’s not like you’re a virgin.”

My mouth drops open as I try to figure out how to respond to that. It’s none of his business, but I am a virgin.

“That’s it,” he says. “That’ll do.”

I close my mouth with a snap, wishing I could shift and teach him a lesson, but I’m not even old enough to have met my wolf yet, so I can’t shift to protect myself if I want to. He doesn’t need to know that.

I have other ways of protecting myself that don’t require me to have a wolf, and regardless of his advice, I know, if a guard comes looking for anything, even to feed off of me, he’s going to encounter some resistance.

When Clark leaves, I toss myself down onto my bed, pulling my knees up and leaning against the wall. I refuse to cry. I absolutely refuse. Crying will just cloud my judgment, and I’ve got to keep my head on straight.

Some time passes—I don’t know how much—and then, I hear footsteps approaching, and even though there are a lot of cells through here, I know they are coming to mine.

The snickers I hear tell me there’s more than one of them. And when shadows fill my doorway, I am ready to defend myself.

I’d rather die than let some nasty guard put his hands on my body. I wasn’t sold as a breeder or a w***e. I was sold as a feeder to the king—and I’m not baring my body for anyone. Not even him.