Chapter Three:
The First thing I realized when I became conscious again, was that I was a live, not died. I was still breathing, still part of this world. But most of all I was still me. That was the most important thing.
My second thought was, Why was I still here? Shouldn't he'd have killed me? Who ever he was. Shouldn't I not wake up? isn't that what happens when you die? You never wake up? And even if you do, wake up, you don't remember your old life?
More slower than the barings of my mind I realized I was laying down. Not on the hard concert coffin I was laying on the last time I was sleeping on, this time I laying a lumpy mattress. A very uncomferable matteress.
Then I started to hear giggles. Giggles, can you believe that? Snapping my eyes open I look around until I found the source. It was a girl. Or a teenager Wyher, my age.
She was sitting in a bed across from the one I was laying on with her knees press up against her chest and a hand pressed to her mouth trying to make too much noise. Her hair was all one length, following down her shoulders and stopping right there. Her hair was the color of sand in the desert and eyes dark as mud. And skinny too.
It took a few moments but she composed herself enough to move her hand from her mouth.
"Hello," she said. "My name is Trixy and they told me I'm your charged. You know- too tell you all of the rules and stuff. What's your name?"
Slowly I sat up then answered her, "Roxy." and smiled a little.
Trixy jumped off of the bed, like it was a hot pan and she started to run to the door, opened it and said,"Well come on then, get up. We haven't all day, you know."
Slowly I placed my feet on the floor and walked over to the opened door. Instinctively I patted all of the places I had my stakes before I was kidnapped, and, a no brainier, they took them all.
Perfect. I was completely unarmed. the only thing i had to protect meself was my mad skills in fighting, fun.
They even changed my clothes. Again, perfect. They changed my clothes, my skinny jeans, my leather jacket and my stakes, into a dress. Out of everything that they could have changed me into, they chose a dress. Perfect. A dress, the only kind of clothes that I hate.
The hall ways were different than from regular house hallways, different from the ones I walked through all my life. Different from the ones I grew up in.
When I woke up the last time the ceiling was made of cement, in this hallway it was made of rock. Nothing more than rock. How that came about I have no idea. the walls looked to be walls from a cave, but where there house caves? There was furniture along the walls- if that's what you call them- same coffee tables some chairs and paintings hanged up on the walls made it look almost homey.
"Where am I?" I asked. Confused, after a while of walking down the halls.
"You, my dear, are in the Blood Drinkers headquarters." Trixy answered my question.
"The Headquarters? Are you serious?"
Trixy answered, looking confused, "Yes, why?"
"Why, your asking me why I'm freaking out? How long have you been here?" it wasn't uncommon for the Drinkers not to kill they're prey and put them into Slavery, it happened sometimes to humans (the weak minded ones, that is) or some Wyhers', if they could get their hands on us long enough. But usually they couldn't, we are fast little creatures.
Just like everything else, it was a law that if a Drinker cuaght a Wyher, then they could keep them as there pets. If a Wyher got away than that was fine, as long as the Drinker that they were in slavory for, didn't Brand them.
"Um….since I was born. I've done anything else with my life, been 'stuck here' as others might call it."
My eyes popped, "You've been here since you were born? Have they taught you how to fight? Protect yourself?" Could they even do that?
"No, I don't know how to do that. Why would I? I'm nothing more than a Slave, I've never known any other life. And, plus Slaves can't know that stuff, it would make us think we were better than this life. No, I don't know how to do that stuff. But don't you?"
I snorted. "Of course. Our race loves power and strength. We glorify in it. My Father is the Leader of the Race because of his power and techniques. Since I was seven I trained to becoming a fighter, a solider to keep our race free and powerful. Same with my brothers. Actually every youngster is taught how to, at least, to protect themselves if something was to happen."
"Oh," was all she said to that, but kept walking. I said nothing more and followed her.
Finally after awhile Trixy made a turn….right into the kitchen.
The kitchen looked to be modern with stainless steal frigerator, counters and other appliances. It all looked to be out of one of those American home magazines. Spotless, with nothing there that didn't belong, even the women that were working in the kitchen looked perfect, and like they belonged.
All together, with me and Trixy, there was nine other women that were cooking, baking, chopping or something to do with food. A women, the one closest to us looked up from her job and smiled.
"Trixy, dear, I was starting to get worried," she stated simply but was cut off by a snort.
"Starting to, its always starting to with your mama, girl. She was fretting, that she was, worried sick that something unpleasant had befallen you. We can never have some peace and quit with you gone. No, the moment you leave, girly, she starts to hypervinelatIng, she dose." an older woman from behind the other woman started to rant. On and on it went.
The woman that first started to speak, cut off the woman that started to rant, "Oh, hush yer mouth, Jonsie, if'n ye start with that I might as well quit. Trixy, m'dear, is this the new one?" she asked with a finger pionted to me.
Trixy skipped away from the door and went over to the woman, kissed her cheek, "Yes mama, this is Roxy. she was one of the 'Soldiers' so you can give her my job.- well for awhile at least."
smiling the woman walked over to me, wipping her arms omn her apren held her hand out to me to shake. "Hello Child. My name is Connie and I am the head cheft. Do you cook?" she looked friendly, her sandy hair, cool blue eyes and her plump body looked like one of those fairy godmothers that you read about in story and in disney movies. all in all, a friendly looking woman, a familair woman.
"Sometimes, if my mom makes me. But not offent." I answered.
The smile on Connie's face widened, "Your mother was the same way as a child. she could never figured out why i enjoied cooking so much." A sigh, "But then she was more into protecking the Race then cooking," a shug, "Now she has a daughter that looks and acts just like her, God help us."
Puzzeled, "You knew my mother?" Silly question, i thought to myself.
"Oh yes, we were beat of friends. my parent when i was little and her family took me in. We became insperable as we grew. I even remember your father, Daniel. Your mother was in love with him since a child. You should have her at their mating, she just couldn't stop smiling. Ahh, how i miss her."
"Connie Brown. Your the Connie Brown?" At her shake of her head i went on, " Mom and Dad talk of your a lot. my sister, Jamie, is a cook also. she got the idea of starting to cook after one of the many storys they tell about you. Wow." Connie Brouwn, i was actually standing in frount of the woman my dad and mom respecked unconditionally. the one woman that got them together the first time. the one woman that mom actually morned over when they thought she was dead.
I eyes widened at the thought, "Your not dead."
Connie frowned, "No, dearie i am not dead. sorry to disappoint but i have been here for the last seventeen years."
"oh." was all i could say.
Vocabuary; Brand- is a way for a Blood Drinker to say that a Slave is thier's and no one else can take their blood or use them a Slave, unless that Drinker that put the Brand on them, gave permission for another to use the Slave. Brands are rare but they have the most respect for the Slave that has one, because it means that the Blood drinker that put the Brand on the Slave is also giving their protection to that Slave. There are two different kinds of Brands, one is a Brand that means that the Blood drinker Respecks that slave a person, the other is that the Slave that gets the Brand means the slave is a Sex Slave and the Drinker wants that slave for only them selves. In the old Laws the brands meant that the slave that got one belonged to the Leader/King. A personal Slave for that Leader/King.