"What the fuck was that?"

"The mewing or the growl, you pussy?" The sick, sleazy bastard laughed at the illusionist mage guy as my eyes went to a nearby crate hidden under a layer of junk, home to what appeared to be some unlucky cat-like creature.

"I don't give a shit . . . of fuck you, Ravel."

"Looks more like you are the one who never fucked a beast gal. They love to show their fangs and claws, right twat?"

The way the bastard said it, right next to my ear, gave me goosebumps all over my body and sent a shiver down my spine.

"Don't you dare touch me or Ria," I growled, spitting out the taste of vomit.

"See, what I told you. They love it," the sick bastard sneered, stood up and kicked me in the side with disgusting glee in his eyes.

This time, it was a whimper that escaped my throat. Lame and pathetic, but better than lunging for the bastard's throat like a feral animal. Letting my inner beast have its way, I sure would, and that was scaring the shit out of me. That wild, feral urge I never wanted to experience again was once again tickling my insides, threatening to overwhelm me and turn me into a bloodthirsty murderer.

"You’re a sick bastard, Stom," the woman snorted and scowled at the illusionist. "What are you staring at? Tie that brat up. She's gonna fetch us some coin, too."

'What?!' That bitch couldn't be serious, could she?

"And you say I'm the sick one, huh? But you're fucking right. I have hated that brat ever since I laid eyes on her. So why the fuck not make more while we're at it, right Kif?"

"It's true that the brat got on my nerves. If it weren't for her, we could've busted this cunt a long time ago. So . . . "

"Have you lost your fucking marbles?" The illusionist guy shook his head in utter disbelief. "She's a guide - people will be looking for her, people like the Master Guards or worse, Rayden. Kif, think about it and tell those two that it's fucking nuts."

"Well," the shithead grunted, stomping me to the ground as I regained some strength and tried to sit up. "The thing is . . . "

"You're considering that, too? That’s not what we agreed to."

"I don't remember us agreeing on anything."

'What? No! No, no, no, no. Were they really considering . . . selling Ria to . . . ' Another growl escaped my throat at the thought, and my fangs actually grew in size. No doubt this whole mess was my fault. Because I didn't stay in the forest, a cheerful kid like Ria was about to suffer. Because of a freak and weakling like me, she was to be branded for the rest of her life - just like me. The guilt made me sick, and I threw up again.

"L-let her go, p-please."

"Shut up, cunt, I'm trying to think," the shithead barked, pushing me harder to the ground with his leg, making my ribcage creak. "Ravel, tie her up - tie them both up."

"With pleasure, boss," the sick, sleazy bastard grinned and held out his hand to the woman. "Rope."

"Why the fuck do you think I have a rope? You're the one into a bind stuff."

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

"Kif? Stom? Seriously, no one? Whatever. Shame about the skirt . . . well, not really," the bastard said, licked his lips, and began to cut my new piece of clothing to shreds. Just two strips of cloth later, and he froze upon touching Sage. "Well, tickle my balls. That's some good stuff."

"The fuck, Ravel? Cut the crap."

"I knew you were a sick bastard, but this . . . ?" the bitch sputtered, as tired and disgusted by the bastard's nonsense as much as the shithead was. Not that it made the sick, sleazy bastard stop; instead, he grinned from behind Sage's fluffiness. "If you give it a try, you two would shut up. This twat must have been a pleasure slave or something. No wonder they want her back."

"For shit's sake, Ravel, be serious for a moment and do your fucking job," the shithead growled, shifting his weight, lightening a little pressure off my ribs.

"My job? Why the fuck is tying the twat my job? Besides, I'm serious. This tail is unlike any I've ever held. Maybe I should cut it off and wear it around my neck. What do you think, twat?"

'That you're a bloody psycho!'

Of course, I didn't dare spit that in his face when he held a dagger to Sage’s root. That would just be plain stupid, asking to have my tail cut off. Sure, there was a tiny . . . a tiny little chance that I might be able to grow my tail back. But, no. Instead, I lay there on my belly in shock at how hard the idea of losing Sage hit me. It shouldn't have - I dreamed of getting rid of my mutations. All of them! There was no other way if I wanted to get my life back and be me again. I simply couldn't go back home to Earth looking like this.

Yet here I was, frozen in fear that the bastard would live up to his word and bring me closer to the look I longed for.

'No! No, no, no, please. I don't know . . . I don't know if I can grow her back.'

That panic-stricken thought echoing through my skull said so much, reflecting not only how pathetically weak I was already giving up, but also how much my tail had grown on me. Yet another reminder and proof that no matter what I wished and what my Grid said, deep down, I was a beast - and not just any beast. Unlike the human me, a dangerous one, one that I felt was waiting once again for it to pounce. All I had to do was surrender to the wild ferocity now coursing through my veins, demanding to be released.

There was blood to be spilled and taste - the need to show these fools who was the hunter and who was the prey.

'Why? Why did it have to be this way?'

Because that was how the world worked. There were those who were strong and those . . .

'Why did I have to be so damn weak?'

"Do you hear me, bitch?" the sick bastard snarled, pulling hard on my tail. "Put your fucking hands behind your back. Or do you want me to go play with that brat over there? I honestly wonder if her tail is anything like yours."

"That's enough, Ravel? Can't you see she's scared shitless?"

"You'd better mind your own shitty magic, Stom. It wouldn't do any good to have your illusions shat their pants like you do."

The shithead smirked along with the bitch's cackle and turned to look at the mage. "The illusions? Do they hold?"

"Who do you take me for, Kif? Of course, they do. All the folks outside see is a narrow, empty, dirty alley. No, my illusions are not the problem - your prattling is. Can't you keep it down, for Traiana's sake?"

"The fuck? You can't blame me for getting a little excited . . . we're gonna be filthy rich. Here, tie the brat up, will ya?" the sick bastard said, handing the bitch the strips of fabric. "What? It was your idea to sell the brat."

'She's not a brat!'

"Fucker, you're enjoying that one too much."

"Why shouldn't I? This twat’s corpse is worth two hundred fucking golds. I'm getting a boner just thinking about what we'll get for breathing one."

"Then keep dreaming and go wank in a corner, you sick asshole. First we have to figure out where to hide her," the illusionist snapped, disgusted, handing the unconscious Ria to the bitch. "Not to mention that there's not a single mention of her master on that notice. Who do we hand her over to, huh? Did any of you stop for a moment and think about that? No. There's no one in the city that'll give us that much for a runaway slave, not even the Tender Way."

The helplessness wrenching my guts was sickening. Once again, I was considered nothing more than a thing, a slave. Once again, I could do nothing but watch others get hurt - worse, this time because of me, because of what I was: a freak, a weak-ass freak, a coward scared shitless of the only thing that could stop this madness.

Once again, I was being pushed into something that went entirely against my nature - my heart.

'But what other choices did I have?'