Demon Possession (Shadow Quest Book 1)

Chapter 1

Analia crouched in the shadows of the docking bay—shaking with fear, anticipation—hidden behind a large pile of cargo. Heavy adrenaline coursed through her veins. Damp blond curls tangled around her face, falling toward her ragged excuse for clothing and dirty bare feet. She struggled to steady her breathing, afraid someone would hear her. Her body threatened to collapse under the weight of the ship's artificial gravity, as fatigue began to set in.

The sounds of the ship, like a living thing, enveloped her. Embracing her, both as an old friend and hated foe.

Soon she would be free.

She hoped.

It was the only thing that drove her on.

She'd known a merchant ship would be docking today. Two or three ships were scheduled every few days, in order to maintain a variety of stock. In space, no two merchants offered the same supplies, which meant many ships were often commissioned simultaneously.

She watched with frustration as the blond guard stood sentinel mere feet from her. She mentally retraced her steps, hoping she hadn't left evidence of her spontaneous and unplanned escape.

As usual, she'd been in the middle of a punishment. Locked in a room for two weeks—no food and little water—with another week of the same to look forward to. The punishment had been the result of trying, and failing, again, to refuse Darius' advances.

Captain Darius of the Extarga, a.k.a the Hell Ship, had become full of rage at her continued resistance and ordered her locked away until she could accept her lot...accept him. Something she would never do.

She could never give her heart, body, or soul to someone like Darius. He was heartless and brutal.

As she had crouched on the floor of her cell, a man entered. She'd seen him before. He'd tended to her many times. Each time, she attempted a conversation, with no reciprocation.

She couldn't fault him, though. Darius strove to keep her isolated on Extarga, hidden away from most of the crew. Those few who had come into her presence—to bring her food or a fresh change of clothes—were ordered not to speak with her, or be disciplined. None had risked themselves for her conversation. Not that she didn't continue to try.

"How is your day?" she would say to whoever had been sent to her room. It was a phrase she'd heard before, through stolen moments from the ship's surveillance. "What is your name?" she would ask, hopeful for a response.

When they ignored her, she would only continue as if the conversation were two sided instead of one, telling them anything that popped into her head: her thoughts of whatever room she was in at the time or how she missed the view of space. She hadn't been allowed to see it in decades.

She drew some satisfaction from the one-sided conversation, if only a little. It always meant something to her when they lingered slightly, as though they were listening.

But in that moment she hadn't been interested in conversation, eyeing the scraps of food the man had brought for her. Scraps not even fit for an animal, but she'd take it. She was growing thin from hunger.

Though the man hadn't said a word, he had watched her as she ravaged the scraps. The first bite of food she'd eaten in a week and it had not been enough to fill her belly. She'd barely tasted it, which, by the way it had looked, hadn't been a bad thing.

Wiping her mouth, she had looked up at the man, surprised he was still there. There'd been something in his expression she had never seen before. Was it sorrow? Shame? Did he pity her? Probably. Who wouldn't?