Moon Chosen Box Set: BBW Werewolf Shifter Romance

Chapter 3

3

“f**k,” I heard Bree mutter.

“That’s the understatement of the year,” Carey quipped.

“Shut up,” Bree growled.

“Come on, guys. Now’s not the time to fight,” I called from my cell. “Maybe we can find a way out.”

I sat up and looked around my small prison. It was a seven by five rectangular room with stone walls and the wooden door. The ceiling was seven feet above me. All the walls were solidly built. I couldn’t even see a rat hole, not that there was much light to see by. The only source was from the torches, and they created only a glimmer that shone beneath the door.

“I’m not seeing anything. What little I can see,” Bree shouted to me.

“Why don’t you two girl scouts just give up?” Carey insisted. “We’re not getting out of these cells until they take us to get picked or whatever it was.”

“Chosen,” Bree corrected her.

“Whatever. All it means is their selling us as slaves to some fat, balding, rich guy who will have his way with us,” Carey replied.

“Sophia?” Lillian’s quiet voice interrupted us.

That sounded like the cell next to mine. I shuffled over to the wall and placed my hands on the cold stones. “Yeah, Lillian?”

“Are they. . .will they really do that?”

I leaned my forehead against the rocks and sighed. “I don’t know, but I do know that whatever happens we all have to try to escape. No matter where we go, we have to keep trying.”

“Never give up, never surrender? Please, that sounds so stupid,” Carey retorted.

“Not as stupid as your giving up,” Bree argued.

“Yeah, well, we’ll see who’s stupid tomorrow. In the meantime I’m going to get my beauty’s sleep. If there are rich men waiting to buy us than I’m going to make sure I get sold to the richest,” she quipped. Her voice fell silent.

“Sophie, we’d better think of something fast tomorrow when they open these doors,” Bree told me.

“We’ll all try to, but right now I think Carey’s right. We need to get some strength back or it won’t matter what we think of,” I suggested.

“All right. Sleep well, if you can,” Bree replied.

I lay my back down on the pile of hay and winced when the dry stalks poked me in the back. “Yeah, if I can. . .” I muttered.

My thoughts wandered to what the man had told us. Marriage, mates, werewolves. It all sounded so ridiculous, so insane. I wondered if we’d been trapped by a colony of s******s-laden men who intended to have one last thrall before they died of the disease.

I pursed my lips and rolled onto my side. My active imagination was darkly influenced by my dreary surroundings. I needed sleep, rest, and a bite to eat. Maybe in a few hours I would think of something.

It turned out that being kidnapped and dragged to a god-forsaken island had an exhausting effect on the body, or perhaps there was something more than hay in our beds. I lay my head on the scratchy straw and fell immediately to sleep.

What awoke me was the march of boots. The feet vibrated through the floor and into my head. I opened my eyes and sat up. Around me were the same four stone walls, and beyond the door was the march of the boots. The metal bar on my door slid aside and the entrance opened along with those of the other girls. One of the cloaked men stood on the other side, and behind him I saw more of his companions pull my fellow captives down the hall in the direction of the hill.

He swept inside and knelt in from of me. In his hand was a key, and he soon released me from my manacles. My wrists and ankles were bruised and rubbed raw by the confines. Once freed, the man grabbed my arm and with one clean yank he pulled me off the straw and into the hallway. We were near the end of the group that marched forward to a large door at the end of the passage. I was relieved to see Lillian ahead of me, and that she had strength enough to walk on her own. Through the door was a winding stone stairway that wrapped around a column of chiseled rock. The stairs led up and down. We were dragged upward over countless steps. I grew dizzy with the winding steps and was relieved when we reached a flat landing. The stairs kept going, but we were marched onto a wide stone hall. This hall, too, was lit with torches, but there were far more than in the lower passage.

The new hallway led to the left and right, and at both ends it joined other passages that ran in perpendicular directions. Far down to our right and left I glimpsed pane-glass windows set in arched borders. The view showed a bright full moon in the dark night sky.

A pair of large wooden doors sat on the opposite wall to us. The sounds of revelry drifted through the doors. There was laughter and talk, and even the clatter of mugs against one another as people drank a toast. Bright, cheerful music produced by flutes and violins mingled with the voices. I noticed the lieutenant of the cloaks was at the head of our little group. He strode up to the doors and knocked loudly on them.

The music and voices died quickly. The doors opened into the room, and I saw it was a banquet hall that lay beyond the entrance. We were marched in one at a time and lined up beside each other with our captors behind us. We were a dirty group of quivering, frightened women set before a room full of men.

I glanced behind us and saw two dozen long wooden tables with benches for seats. To our right were heavy silk curtains dyed red. They partially hid large stone balconies that looked out on the night sky. I couldn’t see what lay beneath the wooden railing. On the bench seats were men, and only men, who also wore cloaks, but of finer quality than even the men who held us. They looked on us with curiosity and, in some cases, an immodest interest.

Unfortunately, at the far back of the room sat the men from the truck and ship. They were as filthy as ever, more so in comparison to the cleaner folk in front of them. The burly one sneered at us, and he directed his particular hatred at me.

I faced forward and gazed upon a strange sight. Ten feet in front of us stood a wide, short platform. The podium was covered in a thick layer of soft cloth like oriental rugs. On the podium sat three chairs. The center chair, with its wide arms and tall, pointed back, was like a throne, and on that throne sat a man of about sixty. His hair was graying, but his gray eyes were still keen. He sat erect and over his shoulders was draped a large fur coat. On his head was a garland of branches from an oak tree.

On his right was a smaller chair, but identical to his in appearance. A woman of roughly forty sat in it. She had long blond hair that was adorned with a garland of lilac branches. They still held some of their purple blossoms on their tips. She wore a dress of shimmering silver and sat straight, but her soft face was more welcoming than the hard, wizened one of the man beside her.

On the man’s left was a simple chair of wood, and in that chair sat a young, handsome man with long black hair that was tied behind his back. He was muscular, clean-shaven and had the same gray eyes as the man beside him. The young man had an indifferent expression on his face that marred his natural beauty.

On the far side of the platform, beside the young man, stood the leader of the cloaked men. His eyes watched the room and one hand lay on the base of a protruding sword hilt.

The woman looked over us with a smile on her lips, but that faded when she glanced across the throned man at the other, younger man. Her smile faded and a sad look swept over her face.

We stood in an empty area between the benches and the platform. The men behind us whispered until the older man stood and held up his hand.

“We are gathered here to perform the Choosing where any man of age may place his blood in the Choosing bowl and see if any of these women are worthy of you.” He turned his attention to us. “My fair ladies, you are privileged to have been brought here-”

“Against our will,” Bree spoke up.

The man’s thick, bushy eyebrows crashed down. “You will learn what we have to offer, for we are not mere men. We are lycan, or what you would call werewolves.” I wasn’t the only woman to shrink back at his pronouncement. This was the same bullshit crazy talk as last night.

“You’re crazy,” I spoke up.

A wisp of a smile slipped onto his lips. “I assure you we are not, but know that we will not harm you.”

I snorted. “Like we’re going to believe a bunch of psychotic, kidnapping monsters.”

A deathly silence arose from the audience. The old man stiffened and pursed his lips. “We are not like you would see in the movies. We don’t become mindless beasts on every full moon, and we don’t hunt prey unless threatened. We are as civilized as any in the human realm.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of dating sites?” I bit back.

“We do what we must to continue our race, and then only sparingly, but I will not argue the point with you any longer. You’ll see for yourselves what manner of man or monster we are once the Choosing is finished.” He signaled to a pair of men nearby, and one of them brought forth a bowl with a cloth over the top. The other one held a eight-inch long needle in his hands. The old man swept his hand over the room. “Anyone who wishes to join in the Choosing must submit their arm for the bloodletting.” He then resumed his seat.

Dozens of men stood and navigated through the tables to the bowl. Even the cloaked man beside the younger, seated one joined the line. Most men passed around us without stopping, but a few paused and studied us like we were cattle put up for auction. One curious man got too close to Bree. She lunged forward and snapped her teeth at him before her movement was arrested by her jailer. The man stumbled back and the others burst into laughter.

“Don’t touch the merchandise!” one of the men jeered. That made the men laugh louder than before.

I noticed the woman on the smaller throne frowned. She leaned to her left and touched the man’s arm. He pursed his lips and stood.

“Quiet!” the older man yelled over the sounds of amusement. “Stop showing yourselves as fools and give some dignity to this ceremony!”

The men quieted and each one stepped into line in front of the bowl. Each man rolled up his sleeve and held it over the bowl. The man with the needle stabbed the bottom of the arm, and a prick of blood dropped into the bowl. This was repeated for all of the men until there were no more in line.

The old man turned to the younger one by his side. “Will you not partake, my son?” The young man’s frown deepened and he shook his head. A flash of anger swept over the older man’s face, and he turned away from his son. He stepped off the podium and up to the pair who held the bowl between them. The leader grasped the edge of the bowl with one hand and swept his other hand over the contents. “We have all who wish for a bride. Now which bride should begin the Choosing?”

“The loud-mouthed one!” the burly man yelled from the back of the room. The room erupted in laughter.

The old man held up his hand and there was silence. His eyes fell on me and he gestured with his hand. “Come here.”

I pursed my lips and buried my feet into the floor, but the man who guarded me shoved my back. I stumbled forward and he led me over to the bowl. The old man turned to the man with the needle, and he produced a small cup. Their leader dipped the cup into the concoction and held it out to me.

“Drink, and choose,” he told me.

I pressed my arms against my sides and glared at him. “Go f**k yourself,” I snapped.

The old man frowned and looked past me at my guard. My arms were yanked behind me and my back I was pulled against his chest so I couldn’t move. The old man stepped forward and grabbed my chin. He forced open my mouth and tipped the contents of the cup into me. It spilled down my chin and throat, and I choked on the vile, rust-flavored drink.

Then I knew pain. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced. My whole body was awash in a fire I couldn’t hope to douse. My skin crawled and shivered, and the heat swelled inside me until I thought I would be consumed. I threw my head back and screamed, and felt the man release my arms. I fell onto my knees and slammed my hands onto the floor. My fingers and palms left cracks in the rocks. I hunched over and gasped for air.

The pain sped through me like a wild forest fire. The flames focused on one spot on the upper part of my arm. I clapped my hand over the searing flesh and could feel the heat bubble just under the surface. A faint glow appeared beneath my hand and it felt as though an invisible pen was etching something deep into my flesh.

“See what house it is,” the old man ordered.

The man behind me knelt and grabbed my hand. He wrenched it from my arm and pulled my flaming arm up so the old man could view what was there. My vision was blurry from the pain, but I could see as the old man leaned down. His eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly. His voice came out in a soft, stunned whisper.

“My house.”