Then a featureless face came forth. A brutally scarred, featureless face. The face of a monster, yet as scary as this huge muscled, scarred monster was, I felt no fear. In fact, it was the opposite—I felt safe. On seeing this face, warmth cocooned me. My hands stopped trembling. But the face remained. It gave way to a deep, raw voice assuring me that he would save me. At any cost. That he would come for me, wherever I was. That we’d once again be free.
I felt the soft, wet touch of a teardrop on my hand. Only then did I realize I was crying. My eyebrows furrowed, wondering why I was crying. Once again I racked my brain, trying in earnest to remember why this man was so important to me. I teetered on the very edge of this discovery, until the door to my right opened. I froze, as a young woman slowly entered the room. My eyes were wide and my breathing labored as I inspected her. She was small, dressed in a long, ill-fitted gray dress. She walked with a slight limp. When her head finally turned in my direction, I gasped audibly. The right side of her face was disfigured. No hair grew on that side of her head. The young female’s dark features were marred by thick, ugly scars.
On her back, I noticed the unique identity tattoo that betrayed her status: a chiri. One of the “plagues.” The lowest type of slave in the Blood Pit. Their tattoos read 000, denoting that they had no names. They were the shades of our world, the bit players who were so lowly they were not even worthy of a personal ID. I frowned at how I knew all of this information.
The Blood Pit … My mind raced with the realization of where I was. The place I feared most. I was in the Blood Pit. But how … where … why…?
As if feeling my shocked stare, the chiri’s dark eyes met my own. She stilled, then quickly dropped her head. A lump clogged my throat. She looked no older than a teenager. Maybe fifteen or sixteen?
The chiri turned to scurry to the other side of the large room, but I managed to call out, “No, please don’t.” I swallowed hard, feeling as if a million shards of glass were massaging my throat.
I coughed to rid myself of the unpleasant sensation. As I did, the chiri rocked on her feet with indecision. Finally, her shoulders slumped and she dropped the linens she was holding in her hands and rushed to my bedside. I watched her as she poured water from the jug beside me into a glass. Without lifting her downcast eyes, she handed me the glass. I tried to lift my hand to take the drink, but the pain of moving even a muscle was too great. Tears welled in my eyes. The frustration of my confusing predicament too much to take.
As a teardrop fell to the pillow beneath me, the edge of the glass was suddenly placed at my lips. When I blinked back the tears blurring my vision, the chiri was gesturing for me to drink. As soon as the cool liquid hit my tongue, I closed my eyes. I drank and I drank until I had emptied the glass. The chiri refilled the glass and I drank that, too.
When she went to fill a third, I whispered, “No, that’s enough. Thank you.”
The young female kept her head down and went to walk away. Before she could, I begged, “No, please stay. I…” I shook my head, wincing at the ache it brought. Pushing the pain aside, I asked, “Where am I? Why am I in such a room? I’m so confused.”
The chiri did as commanded, and without meeting my eyes, she replied, “You are in the High Mona suite, miss. Master commanded it.”
In a split second of clarity, I remembered what I was. I was a mona. A slave used for her body, to give males pleasure whenever they wished.
Ice replaced the warm blood running through my veins. Shivers broke out along my skin and traveled down my spine.
High Mona?
Master?
Suite?
Master Arziani. That name sent a rapid shock to my heart, its beat increasing in speed. I wasn’t sure why this Master scared me so, but again, I trusted my instincts, which told me to fear him greatly.
Dragging in a much needed breath, I asked, “I’m in the Blood Pit?” The question left my mouth, words laced with the confusion that still smogged my mind.
“Yes, miss. You were brought back six weeks ago. You have been gone awhile.”
Shock rippled through my body. “Six weeks? Brought back?” I questioned. The chiri nodded once in response. I racked my brain trying to remember anything about where I had been, any morsel of memory from the past six weeks, but there was nothing. Panic flooded my senses.
“I don’t remember,” I said hoarsely. “I don’t remember anything.” The blurred scarred face of the male flickered through my mind yet again. I tried to hold on to the image of his face. I remembered that he had blue eyes. Somehow familiar blue eyes. But before I could understand why, he had disappeared, sucked back into whichever black hole was stealing all conscious thought.
My chest constricted and the ability to breathe was taken from me. My dry lips parted as I fought for air. Despite the pain, my hand moved to my chest and gripped over my heart. Panic surged through me and my feet began to kick. But my traitorous body wouldn’t move. The aches and pains held it down. A whimper escaped from my lips. Suddenly, two hands gripped my arms and held me in place.
Frantically, I looked up. The chiri had leaned over the bed and was trying to keep me calm. “I … can’t … breathe…” I forced out. The chiri finally met my gaze. Her eyes were dark and large. She would have been pretty, I thought, if it had not been for the ravaged side of her face.
“You’re panicking,” she said softly. “It’s the drugs. You have been weaned off one and placed on another, a lower, less intense dosage. It’s why you’re in pain. It’s why you’re struggling to remember anything. Your brain needs time to adjust.”