Page 3 of Breeding Season
Chains rattled. Somewhere above, a single bulb hung from a beam and did a shitty job of lighting the space, casting jerky shadows across the walls. Restraints hung from the rafters—shackles meant for humans, not beasts.
This was the setup of a horror movie.
“Monsters! Oh, the monsters! Let me go,” someone screamed behind me, as if hearing my thoughts. The fear spread through the huddled women as her voice echoed.
The memory of the Beast who took me flashed to the forefront of my mind, and I shook my head. Chains clinked as the redhead scooted toward me.
“I’m dreaming,” she sniffled when our skin touched. I squinted as bulky silhouettes shifted in the distance.
“We’re not. Do you know how long I’ve been out?” There was a metal cuff around my right leg.
“I’m Ashley, and no, you were already here when I woke up,” she whined.
“Pele,” I sighed.
“My watch says midnight,” another called from behind me. I turned to find a Latina with her eyes closed. She wore pale pink shorts and a matching bandeau top. “Name’s Jania. I’ve been here for a while. They bring the women in one by one and chain them.”
“Is this a trafficking ring?” I asked the worst question imaginable. Ashley started laughing as the same woman from earlier yelled hysterically.
“Monsters! The monsters!”
“Shut her up!” Another screamed.
“I’d prefer a trafficking ring to a farm. I don’t want to be eaten,” Ashley cried.
“If itisa farm, they’ll eat her first because she’s loud,” Jania said, yanking her head toward the screaming woman. I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped.Ashley pursed her lips and hunched into herself.
“That’s not as helpful as you think it is,” she grumbled. Her blue eyes darted toward the darkness that stretched outside. Then she leaned close.
“Did I hit my head too hard, or did you see them too?” she whispered.
“See what?” I asked, though I already knew. My gut told me I hadn’t hallucinated, but part of me hoped we were all high on some drug, imagining the same thing. Monsters didn’t exist.
Before Jania could answer, a collection of snorts and guttural grunts echoed through the heavy stone chamber. Shadows morphed into massive forms, confirming they weren’t just shadows. The smell of damp hay and something wild, musky, and alive hit me. Breaths hitched and muffled gasps broke through the silence as beasts stepped into the pen.
They were easily over seven to eight feet tall, covered in brown fur, their heads crowned with horns that scraped the low rafters, and faces shaped like bulls.
Minotaurs.
Each held a pole tipped with a curved horn spike—a tool meant for livestock. The hysterical woman choked on her scream as their gaze swept over us.
Then one moved. The spike hooked onto a cuff, locking with a metallic clank. The unlucky woman at the front wore a chain around her neck. Metal scraped as they dragged her forward, lifting her onto wobbly feet. She caught herself against the gate, shaking.
In the monster’s other hand, it gripped a short whip of braided leather. It cracked against her shoulder. She joltedforward with a cry—thensnap!as a second beast struck another woman.
As more beasts prodded us forward, the truth settled in like ice. We were being herded. Like cattle.
As the first woman disappeared into the darkness, the rest of us had no choice but to follow. I couldn’t see anything as the shadows swallowed me, but the low growls and the heavy thud of hooves told metheycould.
As a light grew closer, a low hall came into view. Torches lined the walls and gave way to wooden pens, each marked with symbols—the one they ushered us into was marked with a flower. Once in, the air was heavy, and the space was limited. Ashley huddled close, back to my chest, hands entwined with mine. That’s when I noticed the dozens of eyes surrounding us—studying, assessing, hungry—and I could feel them closing in, turning the pen into a suffocating cage.
Clawed hands nudged and prodded, murmuring words like ‘prime’ and ‘ripe’ as we were jostled forward. I slapped away a hand that poked my stomach. The inspection was systematic, each touch and guttural grunt stripping us down to a single word.
Each human reduced to a single label: ‘Barren’ for an older woman, ‘Grîst’ for a few young men.
A man was next. I watched, recognition dawning as the leader approached him. He was the blond from the airport. He whimpered and tried to cower away from the Minotaur’s enormous hand.
The Herder’s disgust was clear. He didn’t inspect him, only nudged the man’s chest with a heavy staff. The Minotaur then uttered a single word in the Primal Tongue to his partner: “Sark.”
