Womb of the New World by Mira Noire

Author:Mira Noire
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BookBaby
Published: 2013-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

***

Weeks pass. He wants me fully healed and prepared for what is to come. I hear him tersely yell orders at his monsters. He tells me in my language that he commands they lay no finger on me on pain of death.

Clanswomen from other tribes that do not speak my language enter, mute and beaten down, not looking me in the eye as they bathe me daily and clean me. My bleeding comes to pass, and I’m given no herbs, and I feel a fear clutch at my core. I can’t escape this. There is no escaping this.

One night, I wake to find him staring at me from the other side of the gate. My entire body is ringing with the look on his face, which should have no expression for a monster beyond depravity, but instead I see hunger. Loss. Lust.

I am confused. I sit up and pull my legs close to my body, trying to hide my near nakedness. I have been given light simple robes, and there is a thin mattress on top of the stone slab that serves as my bed. It is high like an altar, and the position of it is not lost on me. These monsters are giants, towering above. I am tall for my tribe, coming to stand taller than most men, but I am still not as tall as this creature.

“Are you ready?” He has never asked my name. He stares at me from the other side of the gate, and I notice the halls of these cages are silent. I no longer hear the clinking, wild screams, or moaning I am used to hearing.

“Where are the others?”

“I have moved them all to other quarters.”

“Why?”

He doesn’t answer, instead watching me with lids lowered. He is wearing a loincloth, and nothing else, his powerfully muscled lower legs sliding into strong calves and large feet with short claws at the tip of each digit. I am used to seeing him in rough breeches and some sort of crude armor.

I swallow, looking quickly past his loincloth to his eyes. They are so dark and quiet I feel a panic building in my chest, and try to breathe.

“Calm yourself, I won’t hurt you.”

“You can’t promise that.” Why does he know what I think or feel? Or am I so transparent?

A long silence. Then, “You’re right. But I will try not to. It has been a while since I mated with a human.”

“Please, can’t you—“

And then that fierce, pungent, dark scent, like mushrooms in the dark and sex sweaty under blankets, fills the room. My eyes unfocus and refocus, seeing the muscles of his body, the flexing of his flesh, and my lips open.

“Can you feel it?” He whispers, and I moan, watching him watch me.

“What … what is this?” My whole body feels heavy and slow, and as if the slightest touch might hurt or feel good, I can’t tell which.

“Science.” He remains on the other side of the bars, and does not move, but my flesh is alive and tingling all over.

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