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DEVIL IN THE HOLD
1
AGATHA
He was a fascinating, terrifying sight, like seeing the remains of a horrific car crash on your way home from the supermarket. You knew you shouldn’t look but you couldn’t help it.
His head was angular and square, his chin thick and muscular, his huge lat muscles so broad he might as well have had no neck.
He towered over Lily who greeted and ushered him toward her “wares.” That was us, the Prizes the fighters could choose from.
I thought Lily might share a little more camaraderie with me considering we were from the same species but was met with disappointment.
I had quickly learned we were not alone in the universe. There were as many intelligent species spread throughout the galaxy as there were creatures on Earth.
As a trained scholar, I had a fascination with history. When the other girls told me about their species, I found a treasure trove of new fables.
It was the stories I loved, the way they grabbed an audience and held them suspended during their telling and invoked emotions that enthralled. The girls told me all about their species. They were very open and excited to share their cultures. But the discussions always ended the same way—with them turning sad and no longer wishing to speak with me.
Reminiscing about the past could have that effect, I supposed. The stories kept me entertained while the beasts took me to their cells and used my body for their vulgar purposes.
Sometimes I enjoyed it. Most of the time, I didn’t.
I floated away into the worlds of other cultures, finding solace in knowing how small I was and how there were billions, possibly trillions, of lives out there, keenly unaware of my existence. It made me aware of just how little I really was in the grand scheme of things.
The monster that leered at each of the Prizes now was a species I was unaccustomed to. He was huge and his body was brandished with scars from countless battles. Gold rings hung from his nose and the fringes of his ears. Where the other girls shied away from him, I peered at those ornaments and wondered what they meant.
My curiosity had gotten me in more trouble than I cared to admit. The prisoners took my interest to mean I was attracted to them and not their scars and tattoos spread across their bodies.
I tugged on the arm of my sheer fabric dress to reveal the dark bruise on my arm. I got it from falling out of a prisoner’s bed the day before. It was sore to the touch and hadn’t yet turned purple on its way to healing itself. I was desperate for a night off. Perhaps this imperfection would convince the monster surveying the girls to pass on me.
The monster snorted, still a little tired from his earlier battle. His eyes finally came to mine. I quickly looked away and cursed myself for losing track of myself again.
He pointed at me with a hand home to a nest of sharpened black nails.
“That one,” he growled.
Shit.
I stepped from the dais. The monster didn’t wait for me to join him. Instead, he turned on his hooves and marched toward the hallway. Before I could step forward to follow him, one of the other girls grabbed me by the arm.
“Careful,” Harper said. “He’s Egara.”
Egara.
I turned to peer at him and appraised his muscular frame head to foot. In good shape to be sure, but no better or worse than a lot of prisoners.
I shot Harper a look. Concern was etched clearly on her face.
The rumors about the legendary “Egara” were as terrifying as they were fascinating. He was what the girls referred to as a “jackhammer.”
Once he started, he didn’t stop, pushing each of the girls far beyond their usual physical capabilities. He used them for his own pleasure but unlike many of the other inmates who might talk the talk, Egara could actually walk the walk.
He’d been with many of the girls on the stage and liked to pick a different “flavor” each time he won a fight.
The girls talked. We were all aware of the challenge he provided. I wondered if I would fare as badly as they had.
“Take this,” Harper said, taking something from one of the other girls.
