Although spoken tenderly, the weight of his words hung like a dagger over my head. Master continued stroking my hair like he hadn’t issued a threat, a threat I knew was just as every bit a promise.

“Yes, Master,” I answered weakly. Master sighed happily in response.

He turned his face to mine and began peppering kisses up and down my cheek. “You smell and taste so good, petal,” he murmured.

I closed my eyes and let him do as he pleased. But I realized, as I lay in his arms, that I did not like his touch. Although this male was handsome, there lurked a cruel monster beneath. If I was the petal of a flower, then he was most certainly the thorn.

“Come,” said Master finally, after minutes of running his hands over my body. As his now flaccid length was withdrawn from my body, I rolled to the side and allowed him to rise. As he stood up from the bed, he pointed to something in the dark side of the room. A door then opened and the chiri from before entered the room. A guard had let her in. A guard who, I quickly realized, had watched Master take me.

The Night Wraiths, a faint echo in my head stated. The thought fled as someone took hold of my elbow and guided me to a sectioned-off room. When I looked down, I saw the person’s nape; the identity tattoo read 000. The chiri.

“Come, miss,” she urged, and pulled me into what appeared to be a bathroom, a gold gilded opulent bathroom. A toilet, basin, and extra tub filled the vast space on one side. On the other was a plush seating area.

The chiri pulled me toward the tub. Wetting a cloth, she began to wipe away Master’s seed from my thighs and core. I stared at the stone wall before me, dazed, fighting the fuzziness that still occupied my mind.

After the chiri dried my thighs with a soft towel, she led me to the seating area and guided me down to a seat. She made quick work of opening a large set of double doors. I looked up to see rows and rows of dresses, beautiful vibrantly colored dresses.

The chiri pulled another out and I stood as she clothed me. As I looked down at this dress, I saw it was a deep green. I idly thought how beautiful this color was. I frowned, wondering if I had ever noticed the color of anything before. Currently, the images in my head were revealed only in gray scale. As I scanned this room, I realized that life here was lived in color, yet it did not hold within it any form of beauty the vibrant colors should bring.

The chiri backed away two steps and nodded her head. “You look beautiful, miss. Master will be pleased.”

On hearing the chiri’s words, I stared at her. Her head was downcast. I could see a blush on her neck, creeping to her face. Stepping forward, I placed my hand on her shoulder. She tensed. “You don’t need to bow your head to me, chiri.”

But the chiri didn’t raise her head. Instead she replied, “I’m a chiri, miss. We are below everyone. Master commands it to be so.” She paused, then added, “And you are High Mona, miss. You are elevated in status. From whatever that was. This is who you are now. There’s no going back once Master commands it.”

My hand fell from her shoulder, and once it did, the chiri scuttled out of the room, waiting in the doorway for me to follow. Knowing that I had no other choice, I followed. We entered the room where Master was waiting. As soon as he saw me, his eyes flared and his lips tightened as though he was fighting for breath.

Once again he was dressed impeccably in his suit, not a hair out of place. Master held out his hand. Forcing my feet to move, I walked to where he stood, placing my palm against his. Lifting my hand to his mouth, he placed a kiss on the back of my hand and pulled me beside him, linking his arm through mine.

Turning us to the only door in the room, he paused, looked at me, and declared, “You look beautiful, 152. Like a vision.”

Bowing my head, I replied, “Thank you, Master.”

Leaning in close, he brushed a strand of hair from my neck, placed a single kiss over my pulse, and added, “And a quick study. Let’s hope you stay this obedient. My High Monebi have a habit of breaking my trust and consequently losing their lives.” He nuzzled his rough cheek against my cheek and said, “I would really dislike it if you forced my hand. I’d hate to see such beauty fall.”

“Yes, Master,” I whispered, my hands shaking.

Master straightened and smiled wide. “That’s what I like to hear.” Securing my arm through his, he led us out the door, past a guard dressed in a jet-black uniform. I glanced back at the guard, just to see his hard eyes staring at us as we left.

A trickle of ice-cold shivers ghosted over the nape of my neck as an image sprang to mind of two children—an older boy and a younger girl hiding under a bed. A deep sense of sorrow followed. I racked my brain, fighting to keep tight hold of the memory, as Master guided us through a dank, dark hallway and down a set of stone stairs.

Guards lined the hallways every so often, and as we passed, they stood attention and saluted Master. He paid no heed to their obvious show of allegiance and respect. He just kept his head high and his attention straightforward.

As the faint sound of clattering metal and shouts increased in volume the farther we walked, I began to wonder where we were going. I didn’t have to wonder long, for as we turned a corner, the mouth of the hallway revealed the answer to my question.

I stared, gaping at the vast expanse before me. A space so wide that I struggled to interpret exactly what I was seeing.

Master stepped forward and held out his free hand. “The Blood Pit,” he announced, his voice laced with pride and conceit.

The Blood Pit … My eyes struggled to absorb the many males, segregated into hundreds of small sand pits. And they were fighting. Weapons of all descriptions were being used. The males were of all shapes and sizes, but most were huge; muscle packed upon muscle as they circled one another, sparring and drawing blood. They were all dressed the same: bare torsos, bare feet, and black pants.

Guards lined the sides of the pits. Most held metal prods, sparking at their tips with what appeared to be arcs of blue fire. If a male stepped out-of-bounds or stopped fighting, he was struck with the prod. Most fell to the ground in obvious pain, like boiling-hot lead was scalding them from within.

Suddenly, the image of the scarred male that had plagued my thoughts since I’d awoken filled my mind. I could see him, as clear as day, standing before me as a boy, a large tattoo on his chest, as he was forced to fight … forced to fight as I was forced to watch … just like this.