Possession

Chapter 1

Here I am; Part of a seriously twisted version of a chain gang of partially clad youths. The shackles chafe our wrists and ankles, the chains connecting us drag with each step. We are part of the human slave trade which supplies young, living bodies to wealthy undead owners, and that is about the only thing I have in common with the others in my line. Unlike them, I was born free. Two loving parents raised me; I went to school, and even had plans for college in the fall until my father sold me. My own flesh and blood used me to settle his debts with his bookie. That realization has been a hard pill to swallow. If my mother were still alive, I probably wouldn't be in this situation, but she's not. Right now, I'm a lamb going to slaughter and I mean that in the most literal sense. Today is the day we're put on display and sold off, if we don't get sold tonight we get sent to lower rankings, and if we still don't sell we become breakfast for any hungry vamp who wants to shell out a few bucks. I cannot believe I am hoping someone will buy me, the thought is so sick, but it's better than staying here and it sure as hell is better than an undignified death in the basement of this place. Even if I am bought tonight my days are numbered, most vampires drain their slaves with such speed that they end up with an entire new staff several times a year. Either way I'm screwed, but if I get out of here, I may get a chance to escape.

I’m staring at the back of the girl in front of me and her matted, peroxide blonde, chin length hair. I count the vertebrae protruding from her neck; a much-needed distraction. A male vampire leads us down the poorly lit corridor, the silence broken by the chains scraping along. The floors are grey concrete, the walls are painted grey cinder blocks, and the hall; lined with identical grey doors. The only variation between each door is the black number printed above each one. We stop at 23, and the vampire ushers us inside.

Compared to the hall, the room is white with blindingly bright lighting, but the same cold concrete is underfoot. I have to blink several times before my eyes adjust. The male vampire directs us to stand shoulder to shoulder facing the rear wall. There are several prospective buyers seated on the black couch, waiting silently. One of them has been staring at me with his piercing blue eyes since we entered the room. He is dressed like a typical vamp with a white shirt, the top three buttons open and black slacks. I try not to make eye contact.

All three of the potential owners carry riding crops, which is the trademark of a slave owner as well as a commonly used implement of discipline. I hope I never experience the business end of one of those. The vampires each walk down the line, stopping on occasion for a closer inspection. The one who has been staring at me is in front of me. He towers over me, not a terribly impressive feat because of my height, but when it's a vampire, it's a hell of a lot more intimidating. His topaz blue eyes roam over me, and I drop my gaze to the floor before his eyes can meet mine. He grabs my chin and roughly forces my eyes on him. He tilts my head to the left, and then the right and leans in close to my neck, inhaling deeply. He fingers a strand of my flaxen hair, a pleased look on his face as he turns to the vampire who led us here.

"I like the way this one smells, I'll take her."

The other vampire studies the tablet he carries.

"Five-Hundred Thousand. She's fresh from the humans, untouched."

The vampire with the blue eyes waves his hand dismissively

"You know price is of no concern to me Finn. I'll take her." The pleased look turns to a smug grin. Finn removes the shackles from my wrists and ankles and pulls me from the line.

"Here you go, Mr. Wyatt." said Finn as he shoves me toward my new owner.

"Thank You."

      Finn nods and leaves us. My new owner pulls a slender pink leather collar from his pocket, which would be cute if I were a dog. He fastens the collar around my neck, and then clips a black leash to it and drags me from the room. I keep up as best I can down the long passage and out of the nondescript warehouse into the night. I shiver; even though the month is June, grubby threadbare tank top and underwear do not keep away the chill. The first thing they did when I became a slave was replace my clothing with these rags. I’m not even wearing shoes.