Chapter 3
Natasha's POV
My cap flew off, short curls whipping around my face as I stumbled over rocks. But the fog swallowed everything in seconds, reducing visibility to mere feet. I couldn't see the shore, couldn't see the path—
Davelina's hand found mine in the whiteness, fingers locking around my wrist with desperate strength.
That's when I heard it.
A sound like nothing in nature. Part growl, part breathing, but underneath, something that might have been words in a language no human throat should produce. Heavy footsteps. Multiple sets. Moving with purpose.
"Oh God," Davelina whispered. "Thomas was right—"
The black ship materialized like a phantom made solid.
Exactly as Thomas had described—massive, easily three times the size of any fishing vessel, with a hull like charred wood. No sails. No oars. No visible crew. But I could feel eyes watching.
Shapes emerged from the fog.
My bladder almost let go.
They were huge—easily seven feet tall—with bodies caught between human and beast. Thick fur covered muscular frames, and their eyes reflected light like animals. They wore rough-sewn hides and carried iron chains that clinked with each step.
One of them—mottled grey fur on his shoulders—spoke in English. But his voice was wrong, too deep, with an undertone of snarling.
"Two human females. Lucky day."
Davelina screamed. She tried to run, pulling me with her, but it was like trying to outrun a storm. Another creature cut off our escape. His hand—more claw than hand—closed around Davelina's arm, and she cried out.
"No!" I lunged for her, but other hands grabbed me from behind, lifting me off my feet.
The one holding Davelina tore at her collar with casual brutality, examining her exposed skin. She fought, kicking and clawing, but he didn't even seem to notice.
"This one's quality," he grunted. "Fair skin, right age, no obvious damage. Premium breeding stock."
Breeding stock. The words made no sense.
Another creature turned toward me, and terror locked every muscle. He grabbed my chin with clawed fingers, forcing my head up. I stared into eyes more animal than human. He barely glanced at my face before dismissing me with disgust.
"Just a boy. Labor crew is all he's good for."
He thought I was male. My binding, my clothes, my short hair—he'd mistaken me for a boy.
Before I could process that, cold iron bit into my wrists. He wrapped chains around me like cargo and started dragging me toward the ship.
"Natasha!"
Davelina's voice cut through my shock. She was fighting to reach me, but the creature yanked her back with bone-jarring force.
Then a massive hand shoved me forward, and I lost sight of her in the fog. They hauled me across the beach, my feet barely touching ground.
The black ship's hold was hell made real.
They threw me down a ladder into darkness so complete I couldn't see my hands. The stench hit immediately—unwashed bodies, waste, blood, and underneath it all, the sour smell of pure terror. As my eyes adjusted, I made out dozens of shapes huddled in shadows. People. Men, women, teenagers, even a few children. All bound with rough rope, packed like animals.
Sobbing echoed off wooden walls. Someone was praying in a language I didn't recognize. Someone else was just screaming, high and thin with total despair.
"Natasha?"
Davelina's voice. I crawled toward it, my chained hands making movement awkward, until I found her in the corner. She pulled me against her immediately, her whole body shaking.
"They're real," I whispered. "The stories—Thomas was right—they're all real."
"I know." Her voice was steady despite the trembling, and that scared me more than anything. "Listen carefully. We don't have much time."
"We'll escape. We'll find a way off this ship—"
"No." Her hands found my face in the darkness, holding it firmly. "You need to understand what they do with women. What they'll do to me." Her voice broke before she forced it steady. "Old Thomas—when he said Girl's Hell—he meant it literally. Those creatures use women for sex. For breeding. For their pleasure. Most women don't survive more than a night or two."
My stomach lurched. "Then we can't let them—I won't let them take you—"
"You don't have a choice." Her thumbs brushed my cheeks, wiping away tears. "But you—they think you're a boy. That's your protection. Your only protection."
"I can't do this without you."
"Yes, you can." Her hands moved to my chest, checking the binding cloth. It had loosened during the struggle. "From this moment on, you are Nat. Just Nat. A fisherman's son. Do you understand?"
She didn't wait for an answer. Her hands were already moving, untying the cloth. "This isn't tight enough. If it shifts, they'll see." She tore a strip of fabric from her own underskirt and began rewrapping my chest with firm, practiced movements.
"Tighter," she muttered, pulling the cloth so tight I could barely breathe. "It has to be tight enough that nothing shows, even if you move quickly or fall or have to run."
"Davelina—"
"Arms up." She adjusted the binding, checking for any telltale bumps or curves. Then her hands moved to my hair, tucking every loose curl under my cap. "Your hair is too pretty. It draws attention. Keep it dirty. Keep it hidden."
She pulled me closer, and I felt her fingers smearing something on my face. Dirt from the ship's filthy floor. "You need to look like a working boy. Rough. Unimportant. The kind they'd overlook."
"This is insane."
"This is survival." Her voice was fierce. "If anyone asks, you're sixteen—small for your age. You've always worked on boats. You know knots and nets and rigging. You're quiet and you work hard and you never draw attention to yourself."
The ship creaked and groaned as it began to move. I felt the sway beneath us, the pull of waves as we left the shore behind.
"Davelina," I whispered, reverting to the childhood nickname I hadn't used in years. "I don't want to lose you."
"I don't want to lose you either." Her arms tightened around me. "But at least one of us has to survive this. Promise me, Natasha. Promise me you'll live."
"I promise," I sobbed into her shoulder.
The black ship cut through the water, pulling us away from everything we'd ever known.
Around us, other prisoners wept or prayed or sat in numb silence.
Davelina held me tight, and I held her back, our fingers intertwined in the darkness.
