Page 2 of Sins of the Succubus

"Good night's work," he says, not bothering to look at me. "But you're getting soft around the middle. No breakfast for you tomorrow."

"But I haven't eaten since yesterday morning," I protest weakly.

He finally turns, his dark eyes flashing dangerously. "Are you complaining? Do you know how many human women would kill to be in your position? Married to a successful businessman, living in comfort?"

I bite my lip, holding back a bitter laugh. Comfort? Is that what he calls this life of constant degradation and hunger?

"I'm sorry," I whisper, hating myself for the words. "You're right. I'm grateful for everything you've done for me."

Thaelar nods, satisfied. "That's better. Now get some sleep. You've got a long day ahead of you tomorrow."

As he leaves, I curl up on the thin mattress, wrapping my arms around myself. Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away. Crying won't change anything. It never has.

I lie awake on my cot, staring at the cracked ceiling. The faint sounds of the bar below filter through the floorboards, a constant reminder of my prison. My stomach growls, protesting its emptiness, but I ignore it. Hunger is an old friend now.

"There has to be more than this," I whisper to the darkness. "Doesn't there?"

But even as I voice the question, I know the answer. On Protheka, human women like me are little more than property.We have no rights, no power, no choices. I've tried to change my fate before, each attempt crushed more swiftly than the last.

I remember the time I tried to learn to read, sneaking glances at patrons' newspapers and books. Thaelar caught me tracing letters in spilled ale one night.

"What's this?" he had snarled, grabbing my wrist. "Trying to get ideas above your station?"

The beating that followed taught me to keep my eyes down and my mind empty.

Then there was the time I attempted to save some of my tips, hoping to buy my freedom. A barmaid named Lyra had told me about a secret pocket sewn into her skirts.

"It's how I'm gonna get out of this hellhole," she had whispered, eyes shining with hope.

I had been so inspired, I spent weeks carefully hoarding every copper I could. But Thaelar, ever watchful, noticed the discrepancy in his books.

"Where's the rest?" he had demanded, looming over me.

"I-I don't know what you mean," I stammered, heart pounding.

His backhand sent me sprawling. "Don't lie to me, you worthless whore!"

He found my pitiful savings easily enough. That night, he made me watch as he burned every coin, the flames reflecting in his obsidian eyes.

"This is all you'll ever be," he had hissed. "Accept it."

A tear slips down my cheek at the memory. I brush it away angrily. Crying solves nothing.

"Focus on the little things," I tell myself, voice barely audible. "Find joy where you can."

It's a mantra I've repeated countless times. The warmth of sunlight on my face during my rare moments outside. The taste of fresh bread when a kind-hearted cook slips me an extra roll.The fleeting camaraderie with other girls trapped in similar situations.

These small mercies are all I have left. They're the only thing keeping me sane in this nightmare of a life.

2

NEELA

Istep off the stage, my skin crawling from the lewd comments and whistles that follow me like a pack of hungry wolves. My feet ache, throbbing with each step, and sweat trickles down my back as I hurry to the cramped, dimly lit changing room. The stale air in here is hardly better than the smoke-filled bar, but at least I can breathe for a moment.

"Nice moves out there," one of the other dancers says, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. I can see the same exhaustion and desperation in her gaze that I feel in my bones.

I nod, not trusting my voice. How can I explain that their admiration feels like acid on my skin? That each catcall and groping hand chips away at what little self-respect I have left? Not that I would have to help her understand any of it.