Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
But I’m in the program, just like innocent Manda and cute Jenny. I guess because my scarred ass can wear a pair of panties just like anyone else.
I shrug. “The new lord’s a pervert. He’s into sniffing panties. I’ve heard it’s a thing.”
Jenny leans in. “I heard he’s a wizard.”
I scoff, taking another bite. “He’s not a fucking wizard.”
“Why not? There are dragons,” she protests, eating. “Why not wizards?”
“I’ve seen him,” Manda whispers, toying with her spoon. “He does look creepy and kinda wizard-ish.”
I just shake my head and keep eating. Manda’s not wrong. Lord Azar does look a little strange. I’ve only glimpsed him a few times and each time he looked…colorless. Remote. Kinda like one of those elf lords in the old Lord of the Rings movies.
But he keeps us safe and fed, so he can sniff my panties all he wants. “Just because he looks different doesn’t make him a wizard. You think it makes me one?”
“You don’t look different,” Manda says sweetly. She’s lying.
I shoot her a look. “Just eat your food.”
“He might be a wizard,” Manda says around a mouthful of gruel. “Haven’t the dragons stopped attacking since he showed up? Now they just hang out.”
“It’s weird,” Jenny says with a shiver. “I wish he’d make them leave.”
They’re not wrong; the presence of so many dragons who don’t attack is distinctly unnerving. I try not to over-analyze things, though. I can’t control the dragon situation so I try not to think about it at all. “Doesn’t make him a wizard. If he was, he’d be doing more wizardy shit, wouldn’t he?”
“How much more wizardy does he need to be?” Jenny asks. “He’s controlling dragons!”
I hate that she’s got a point. Even so…I’m not sure what a wizard would need with the panties of three dozen women.
After breakfast, we quickly dress in our uniforms. The women in the “program” are given shift dresses that are little more than simple, long, sleeveless gowns with no waist and a hem that goes to the ankle. It’s like wearing a long pillowcase, and since they don’t provide bras, most of us just slip the dress over our sleep shirts. We line up with the others for daily orders. One girl’s whining about how she only got a few bites for breakfast. She’s new. She was reluctant to hand her clothing over the other day and I imagine that hasn’t changed. She’ll learn that if you want the full bowl, you show up and hand over your panties early.
There’s no place for modesty in a fort.
I eye the soldiers that file in with envy. While we get to wear these ridiculous dress-things, they’re wearing crisp-looking khaki uniforms that seem freshly laundered and pants and boots. They’ve even got belts. I’d kill for a damn belt and some boots. As it is, the old, grubby sneakers I have are back in my quarters, and they’re so patched-together that the bottoms are being held together with duct tape. I’d happily wear a uniform and tote a gun, but Fort Dallas has made it very clear that the militia is a boys’ club. Even with the new guy in charge—Lord Azar, the panty-collecting pervert—things haven’t changed all that much.
The dragon attacks have stopped. Six blank-eyed dragons patrol the car barricade at all times. But other than that? Business as usual. People still starve in the streets. People still scramble to make ends meet and to find something to trade for food. Same old shit, new master.
“Orders today,” one of the guardsmen calls out, pulling out his clipboard and a pen. He stares at the list with boredom, then begins to mark off names. “North quadrant—Amber with Marcos, Regina with Hamm, Misty with Cooperman, Janet with Smith. Any questions?” When no one says a thing, he goes on, reciting the names of women and the guard that will be assigned to them today. I wait patiently for my name as he goes through east and then west.
“South quadrant,” he calls out finally. “Crystal with Burr, Rachel with Brady, Jenny with Quinn.”
I flinch, glancing over at Brady, my least favorite person in the world. He’s leering in my direction, clearly pleased with the day’s assignment. Ugh.
“Assignment is as usual,” the guardsman with the clipboard calls out. “Scout the perimeter. Look for scavenged materials. Report back on what you find. Dismissed.”
There’s a low murmur of conversation as women pair up with their guard for the day. Jenny and Manda shoot me sympathetic looks, because they know I’ve been stuck with the absolute worst of all guards, and I get to spend the day alone with him. Some days, I think this program isn’t worth it, no matter that they give me two meals a day and a safe place to sleep.
Most of those days are Brady days.