“Here’s the Harem,” the guard said to her, unnecessarily, Alli thought, as he ushered her into the large underground room. “Pick a seat and wait. Your Master will come back for you when he’s ready, before the feast.”
As he spoke, Alli looked for a good place to sit—though every seat was about the same as every other. At least in terms of the Stepford Wife-like company she could expect, she thought.
Then she caught a motion from the corner of her eye. A beautiful girl with long black hair had a book in her lap. She was sitting in the far corner and she had clearly been absorbed in reading. But the moment she heard the guard’s voice, she flinched and whisked the book out of sight, under a fold of the gauzy pink garment she wore.
Alli felt a twist of excitement.
Ah-ha—somebody with a working brain in this zombie factory!
The minute the elevator doors dinged shut behind the guard, she headed for the girl and took a seat on the couch right beside her.
The girl was pretending to stare blankly off into space but Alli saw her glance over for a quick moment, as though wanting to see what her company was like. Taking a chance, she decided to try and strike up a conversation.
“Sure is gloomy down here,” she murmured, keeping her voice low, though the other Stepford Wives didn’t seem to notice much of anything going on around them.
The girl risked another glance in her direction.
“Who are you?” she whispered. “Are you an Immune?”
“A what?” Alli frowned and turned to her. “What’s that?”
“You know—someone who’s immune to the effects of Calm.” The girl glanced all around at the other concubines, all sitting and staring blankly into space. “None of them are—but you’re different.”
“So are you,” Alli pointed out. “I take it you’re an Immune yourself?”
The girl gave a quick nod.
“It runs in my family—it’s like a genetic resistance to the drug. There are others too—the Resistance. Haven’t you heard of them? You must have since you seem to be an Immune yourself.”
Alli shook her head.
“I don’t honestly know if I’d be immune to Calm or not. I’ve never had any.”
“What?” The girl frowned. “How can that be? Everyone gets it at least once a day—twice for those considered more likely to rebel against the oppressors.”
“Oppressors? You meant the Kru’ell Ones?” Alli asked.
“Shhh! Keep your voice down.” The girl looked around, her large, beautiful dark eyes darting from side to side. “I don’t think there are any around here but they’re so quick and silent they can sneak up on you before you know it.”
Alli thought of how quickly Kane could move and had to agree.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’m Alli, by the way. I’m here with Kane—my Master, I mean.”
“I’m Rachel,” the girl said. “So you’re already a concubine?”
Alli nodded. “My, uh, Master and I are just here for the feast.”
“That must be why you have a Peace Cloak on.” Rachel looked longingly at the royal blue cloak and hood Alli wore.
“Kane made the guard give it to me before I came down here,” Alli said. “But I wasn’t exactly sure what the significance of it was.”
Rachel’s dark eyes widened.
“You must not be from around here. A Peace Cloak is a sign to everyone that you’re off limits. Wearing that, you can go anywhere and do anything and none of the Kru’ell Ones will bother you.” She shook her head. “Your Master must truly care about you if he made certain you had one to wear.”
“I don’t know about that,” Alli said, frowning. “I didn’t think he did, but now I’m beginning to revise my opinion.” She stared intently at Rachel. “So the resistance to Calm is hereditary?”
“It seems to be.” Rachel nodded.
“But…how do you keep it hidden?” Alli asked. “I mean, can’t the Kru’ell Ones read your mind? I know my own, uh, Master seems to know my thoughts a lot of the time.”
Rachel shook her head. “Those who are resistant to Calm are also resistant to being probed. The two traits seem to go hand in hand, thank goodness! Otherwise they would have killed us all off long ago.” She leaned forward. “But tell me more about your Master—does he feed from pleasure or pain? Or a combination of both?”
“Uh…pleasure, I guess. That is, he’s never really hurt me. I mean, aside from uh, tying me up to Sting me,” Alli confessed, feeling her cheeks get hot with a blush as she remembered her many sessions strapped to the Stinging Frame.
“You’re so lucky!” Rachel sighed. “Kru’ell Ones who feed only from pleasure are so rare. I only hope my first Master is one of those.”
“So a lot of them feed from pain, then?” Alli asked.
Rachel nodded.
“Most feed from pleasure-pain—from sexual spankings and floggings, the use of nipple clamps and clit-torture—that kind of thing.” She spoke as though this was no big thing—a commonplace occurrence. “But then there are the others—the pure sadists.” She shivered.