The Lonely were dangerous beings once likened to zombies that first began in the East.
They were people that now wanted flesh and blood, could withstand most deathblows and sought the life of others. Most did not survive their attacks, but the ones that were bitten and lived would turn slowly but surely into Lonely.
They'd once assumed that the Lonely would only turn those they had touched, and then later had deemed it a virus that spread from proximity to the beasts. But the women of No-Man's land had proven in the three years where they'd lived in those lands that it was not the reason for the change.
And the growing numbers from the New Kingdom were proof that it was more than just a bite or something in the air.
It was a problem that seemed to occur in their genetics, an issue with their DNA that only began during the war, after the books. And Quinn would take running and fighting Lonely to being captured by the Omegan kingdom of her seven any day.
With her lips curled, she looked at the Alphas with a generous amount of pity twisting through her guts; stared at the empty gaze, the unseeing eyes as they glanced aimlessly into the beyond. They were considering their new predicament, internalizing the stamp on their arms, the burn on their flesh. Both would signify their abilities to be a perfect breeders; of their abilities to slave away; their quality as cattle; of the taste of their blood, emotions and fluids.
They were branded like beef, pork or chicken, and then stamped with a rank.
She had never been so thankful for the limits of her new body, of the lack of Rut, of her inability to produce a good enough scent to entice. Her disabilities in this new world were now her weapons, and Quinn's lips had twisted then stretched into a smile that she hid from the others. '
Omegas could never hold her down the way they could with an Alpha. They would not have that power over her mind, would not turn her begging and whimpering for a taste. She would not yearn for piss, and would not need an Omega's touch.
It was a blessing to be a Beta.
But Quinn frowned, her mind spinning over their words on the comments of a need. There were secrets they were hiding, secrets in this little arrangement of a thousand women. And Quinn didn't give a fuck about them as long as it wouldn't hurt her. Her gaze had shot downwards, unable to look, unable to meet the eyes of the people who would no doubt kill her.
The four men Euodia had wronged.
And God, she could hear them laughing and giggling from here, so gleeful that it was as if this were a party and the deaths had simply been spilt drinks over an already sticky rug. Quinn didn't give a damn about it all, didn't care for the squeaky laughter, or the cheery loud-bellied guffaws, or the low baritone chuckles. It was the mellifluous giggles that made gooseflesh pop over her skin, made her heart sink and her chest hurt.
And her expression paled, fists clenching, a strange disappointment clouding her heart. The feelings of betrayal were hot and wild within her, and there was a breaking of something she did not quite understand. Her nose pinched and her body quivered with an upward tingling unease that spread across her limbs.
Perhaps, she had expected more from Helios, perhaps she had wanted–
Her face grew pinched. Impossible. There was nothing to want, not in this world of men.
They were led through twisting rooms. Blindfolded, and then left uncovered, allowed to see once they passed through stark white walls and empty spaces, and crossed the threshold where escape would have been possible.
There she tasted her lips, eyes roamed over a facility that did not expose the truth of their economy. Because the medical room was a stark, clinical white; had a string of chairs backlit by screens; medical equipment that hung with tubes and sensors, and before it all was a darkened neverending mirror.
Quinn was strapped into a chair, manhandled with a nudge of a baton upon her back, velcro tugged over her arms. And she watched as other Alphas were tased for their disobedience hissing as they were restrained, their collars buzzing from a moment of pause in their step.
But there would not be much of a fight from these sets of Alphas, and Quinn knew that with the rank stamped into their skin and their data flickering on the screens that showed behind them. They were spoiled goods for the wider purpose, were not meant to be bred and fucked the way the others were, and were not seen as Alphas that were quite as important.
Invalids.
But her eyes strayed to the ranks, and noted a difference. A jump. There were F-ranks and E-ranks but no Ds. Not one like Quinn. She silenced a groan in her throat. Standing out was not her aim in the grand scheme of things, but she had a feeling that her rank was higher solely because of her better scent and the lack of a Rut.
Her eyes shifted to the mirrors that flanked the walls.
No doubt a one-way view that concealed what could be a team that was watching and monitoring. And she could see it in the eyes of the guards, caught the looks that they shot towards the reflection as she was strapped down. Her stamp scanned upon their devices, their eyes reading the information, emotionless and quiet.
Quinn's focus strayed and rested upon the reflection of herself. She did not look much like Euodia with a healthy bulge of lean muscle. But the work of the shifters had resulted in a split lip and a purpling bruise to her eye, scraps that lined her face concealing beauty marks, and a bald head. And perhaps that would be a blessing, ending all possibilities that one would recognise her as the princess until she was fully healed and well.
Quinn would think about that later.
For now, she settled and watched as a needle was stabbed to her arm, a bag produced and hung by her side. No anaesthetic was provided for the huge needle that entered her flesh and for that she was strapped tightly to the chair, preventing any movement. A flinch from an Alpha to her left led to a heavy rush of electricity through her collar, and each twitch only led to a wider wound on her forearm. Quinn winced as she watched the Alpha pant, saliva dripping, urine streaming down her legs, the blood on her forearm frothing from the needle.
There was to be no disobedience. And Quinn stayed, silent and quiet, watched as the fluids of her life dripped into an unnamed bag. The red was brilliant in the light, a bejewelled ruby. The symbol of her ending freedom as it pooled and filled clear plastic.
Her blood was stamped with a rank, information hastily written by the soldier. Another bag was produced, and Quinn's eyes widened as more was taken from her, pushing the limits of her body. But there was no quiet for her to settle into the expel of her blood, for speakers from above crackled to life. They echoed a low groan that betrayed their age and quality.
They had pretty deteriorating things, was what Quinn quickly understood. And they didn't have the means to properly repair what was fully broken.
" You are all of the House of Fern."