The female, p.1
The Female, page 1
THE FEMALE
INVI WRIGHT
COPYRIGHT
Copyright © 2023 by Invi Wright
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, plots, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and nay resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
COMPLETED WORKS
by Invi Wright
***
The Professor
Her Awakening
Aine
THE FEMALE SERIES
The Female
Her Males
Their War
Chev’s Mate
Rock’s Bully
THANK YOU
***
The largest thank you possible to my husband.
Also, to my Patreon subscribers. Your support is the sole reason I’m able to do this, and I can’t even express into words how much you mean to me!
Inesha Thompson
Patience Isch
Kamira Evans
Kimberly Belbot
Brianna Kathleen
Emily Anne
Sharon Hartsoe
Bhavini
Ashleigh Drew
Maria Anderson
Verity K
Vanessa Turpin
Michell Wilson
Gigielle
Lone Hornbech Bünger
Dakota Lane
Lora Beth Farmer
Andi Shields
Alicia Salmon
Contents
THE FEMALE
COPYRIGHT
COMPLETED WORKS
THANK YOU
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
BOOKS IN THIS SERIES
1
_____
CHARLOTTE
MY FINGERS ARE bloody, but that’s nothing new.
I grab my hangnail with my teeth and rip, the pain barely registering in my mind. There’s a slight metallic taste as I remove my finger from my mouth and flip to the next page in my book, eager to see what happens next.
Not that I don’t already know.
I’ve read this book too many times to count.
My chest expands as my lungs fill with oxygen, and I hold the breath for a long minute before letting out a silent exhale. I squint to read the printed words, my reading light losing charge and growing dim. I tap the side, hoping it’ll brighten, but it doesn’t work.
Frowning, I bring the book closer to my face instead. This is better.
I work my way through three more paragraphs before realizing I haven’t digested a single word. Damn. It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes as I return to the top of the page.
It’s impossible to read when all I can focus on are the rats scampering within the walls and the stomping feet above my head.
My dad’s guests have heavy footfalls. It’s terrifying having people in our home, but it would look suspicious if my dad never welcomed guests.
He works with these men, and it’s been a while since they last saw my mom. It’s not often that ordinary men get to look at a female, and it’s considered rude of my dad to keep her hidden. I think that’s bullshit.
Mom was lucky to have been purchased back when women were scarce but still relatively attainable. Dad had good timing, and he bought her only months before the Seekers took over the auctions and prices for women skyrocketed.
Now females, at least young ones, are practically nonexistent. Whenever one is unlucky enough to be born, they’re taken immediately from the hospital to a facility. They’ll never know their parents, and they’ll be forced to live there until they’re of age to be sold.
Mom’s adamant there are many children like me, born at home and hidden without the Seekers’ knowledge, but I’m not so sure about that.
Things have gotten especially bad in the past twenty years. The price of women is so high, men are often forced to pool their money together to afford one. Just last week I saw a news segment on a woman who’d been sold to a group of twenty-seven men.
The horror is unimaginable, and it makes me wish my parents had handed me over when I was born and things were better. Now, I risk being sold to many instead of just one.
A particularly large bang has me jumping in my chair, my blood running cold until I hear the unmistakable sound of Dad’s laughter filtering down through the floorboards.
My hideaway doesn’t do much to block out noise. It’s both a blessing and a curse. I can hear everything happening outside my small, underground hole, but that means so can everybody outside it.
We’ve padded the floor and walls with cheap carpet to help prevent any noises from seeping out, and I’ve made a chair out of pillows so it’s not too uncomfortable.
Turning to the left, I deflate as I peer at the numbers on my small digital clock. It’ll probably be a few more hours before Dad’s guests leave. My back is already hurting, and I stretch it out before returning to my book. I’ve reached a steamy scene, and I contemplate masturbating to pass the time.
I just about died of embarrassment when I found the worn romance novels lining my shelf only days after my twentieth birthday. They must be a good hundred years old, probably written shortly before the female decline began. No books, especially romance ones, have been published since then.
The pages are yellow, and the cover is so faded it’s near impossible to make out the image of the shirtless man that covers it. Still, I knew what they were the moment I saw them.
They were paired with a note from my mom telling me that just because I may not be able to experience sex doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be aware of it or enjoy it.
She’s never asked me about the books or acknowledged their existence, but I’m sure she and my dad have noticed how weathered the pages have grown over the years.
I decide against touching myself and close my book just as another loud bang shakes the floor above me. What the fuck are they doing up there? They’re dropping things every ten seconds.
A small smile spreads across my lips as I realize my parents are probably tipsy. They seldom drink nowadays, but I enjoy it when they let themselves have a good time.
Their constant stress is aging them quickly, my father balding while my mother goes gray. They don’t seem to appreciate my old people jokes, their concern about what will happen to me when they die almost always ruining the fun.
I’ve long since come to accept that I’ll spend most of my adult life in this house, and despite what they may wish, I’ll be forced to turn myself in when they die. My only other option is to stay here and wait to be discovered by the scavengers who would undoubtedly break in the moment they heard the house was abandoned.
I just need my parents to survive until I’m no longer fertile. Women unable to get pregnant aren’t sold, and they’re allowed to live out their remaining years in secure facilities.
My back still hurts despite my stretching, and I set my book on the ground before grabbing my discarded headphones. I’ve read this book too many times, and it’s growing stale.
It’s risky to watch video on my phone, but I should be safe if I wear my ear buds and keep the video on low volume.
Dad assured me tonight’s guests are humans like us, so they shouldn’t be able to hear any light noises from me. It’s only when stronger breeds come over that things get risky. Humans are at the bottom of the food chain, and our senses are nothing compared to most others.
My heartbeat could be enough to give me away.
Grabbing my phone, I plug in my earphones and navigate my way to the news. I keep the buds out of my ears and turn the volume down before selecting the live feed. It takes a minute to load, but once it does, I click the volume up a couple of notches to ensure the audio is coming through the wires and not blaring out of the phone.
Once I’m sure it’s safe, I pick up the buds and slide the right one in my ear, purposefully keeping the left out in case the phone becomes disconnected and the audio source switches.
It’s better to be safe than sorry.
Two over polished human men chat mindlessly about the disputes between the demons and ogres, laughing as they place bets on who they think will come out on top. There are quiet rumblings that the demons have begun to produce females again, and the ogres are demanding a census be taken.
The demons are refusing, specifically the Wraths, and now everybody else is growing suspicious of their numbers.
I’m not sure if I believe it, though.
I can’t let myself believe it.
Getting my hopes up that more women are being born and I might be able to live a normal life will only lead to pain and disappointment. It took me a long time to accept that this is the life I’m destined to live.
I grab a granola bar as the conversation between the men switches to the humans. We’ve been relatively good about staying out of the public eye recently, most everybody losing interest after our last known female was born ten or so years ago.
It’s disappointing that everything nowadays is about the capture and cost of women. My books suggest that we used to care about arts and culture and passions, but that’s no longer seen as important.
Now you are either male or female, purchaser or purchasee. Nothing else matters.
At least for the humans, I suppose. I don’t know much about the other breeds.
The men on the screen grow excited as they disclose the capture of over fifty human women. My jaw goes slack as they speak the haunting words, and my snack is long forgotten as it drops to the floor.
Over fifty?
Tears fill my eyes as they show footage of women being dragged and pulled from a giant underground hideaway, all crying and screaming as the Seekers force them into large, armored vans.
The men explain that they’re being taken to the last remaining human facility and are scheduled to be sold next month. They make jokes about traveling there to buy one themselves, claiming this to be the largest find in over forty years.
The Seekers rarely come to the human realm, leading the women to feel a foolish sense of security and travel out of their hideaways. The men laugh and explain that the women would peek outside and expose their faces to the sun, and they praise the Seekers for being able to catch them with just that.
My blood runs cold with each word, fearful that I, too, will be caught like the rest of these women. I’m more careful on a bad day than they appeared to be on a good one, but occasionally, I have ventured close to an open window, and one time, I even took a step into the sun.
The Seekers don’t share the details surrounding their technology, but I know enough to fear ever stepping on open land. They know everything that happens outside.
My stomach roils as I pull out my earbud and turn off my phone. I can’t watch any more of this. Not when I’m hiding in my hole waiting for men to leave my home.
A capture this large is going to put so much attention on the humans. If I had to guess, I’d say we’re going to spend the next five or so years under careful watch. I’ll need to be extra cautious.
Despite the loud stomping from upstairs, I force myself to close my eyes and keep my cries silent. I wish I were one of the happy women in the books I read about.
I wish I were my mother.
She’s married to a good man. My dad doesn’t treat her like she’s some sought-after property to be purchased and paraded around. He’d rather die than hurt my mom or me, but I fear that men like him don’t exist anymore.
If I’m lucky, I’ll be purchased by a man wealthy enough that the offers from his peers won’t tempt him. I’ll be fortunate not to be passed around by hundreds of grabby, desperate men.
Men like the ones upstairs who invited themselves to our house so they could leer at my mother.
Disgusting, dirty men.
2
_____
CHARLOTTE
MOM PUSHES HER thin gray hair out of her face before smacking Dad’s arm, her movements quick and decisive.
I laugh as he snorts and pivots away in a sad attempt to avoid her half-hearted attack. It’s been a few hours since their guests left, but the effects of the alcohol they drank still seems to be coursing through their veins.
Their laughter quiets as Mom rises from the couch and begins gathering my dinner dishes. I didn’t get to eat with them like I usually do, but there were plenty of leftovers for me to munch on.
“Thanks, Mom!” I beam, offering her a toothy grin as she takes my plate.
I can tell both she and Dad feel guilty about me having spent all evening in my hideout, and no amount of assurances on my end seem to be helping. It’s not the first time I’ve had to hide down there, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.
It’s a part of life, and I accept that.
Dad turns to me as Mom wanders into the kitchen, his brows pulled tight and lips pursed. I take a moment to look him over, noting the deepening lines that stretch across his forehead and the slight sagging of his cheeks. It feels like he’s aging in front of my very eyes, the healthy young man I still think him to be a painful contradiction to the one that sits here now.
If it weren’t for our matching brown hair and prominent noses, I doubt you’d be able to tell we are father and daughter.
“Come here,” he says after a moment.
Throwing out his arms, he gestures for me to squeeze into the small space between him and the edge of the couch. Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I stand from my chair and meander toward him. He does this every time he has guests over and as sweet as it is, the news of the human captures has me too on edge to pretend to enjoy it.
Dad lets out a low grunt as I plop down and throw my legs over his thighs. I lean against the sofa’s armrest as I get comfortable, my cheeks heating as I take in my dad’s pained face.
I’m not a child anymore, and his body isn’t exactly equipped to take the impact of a full-grown adult’s legs dropping onto his lap.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
Dad forces out a laugh as he grabs my shins, his hands warm and comforting.
“Don’t be,” he responds, giving my leg an affectionate pat.
As always, he takes a few moments to collect himself and set the mood for the conversation I’ve had with him hundreds of times at this point. We both know I don’t need to hear this, but it’s more for his benefit than mine.
He’s always so filled with guilt after having guests over.
The sounds of my mother messing around in the kitchen fill the silence between us, her quiet humming a comforting background noise.
“It’s important to me that you know I don’t think of your mother as property. I don’t enjoy showing her off like that and would never”—he pauses and turns to make eye contact with me, his solemn expression showing just how much he needs me to believe his words—“never let anybody touch or hurt her. I love you both more than anything else in this world.”
I nod, my lips twitching upward as I acknowledge his confession. I’ve never doubted this, and if I ever did, I’m sure it was squashed between the ages of five and fifteen when he repeated these words nearly every week.
My lips purse as we progress to the next part of the conversation, and my body tenses as I wait. Dad’s reaction is the same as mine, his fingers wrapping around my shin like he’s afraid I’m about to disappear into thin air.
I suppose, in his mind, that’s a genuine possibility.
“If you are ever taken from us, I want you to know that no matter what happens, you’re not property. You are your own person, and you deserve nothing less than to be treated that way,” he explains, his voice thickening as he continues. “Say it.”
Sighing, I lick my dry lips before repeating his words.
“I am my own person, and I deserve nothing less than to be treated that way,” I say, trying and failing to ignore his intense gaze on the side of my head.
If I were truly my own person, I wouldn’t be forced to spend my entire life in hiding.
“Dammit, Dave. I told you to stop making Charlie do this. She’s a grown woman and doesn’t need to be sitting on her father’s lap repeating self-assurances,” Mom says as she makes her way back into the room with a tray of tea.
I laugh, shrugging slightly as Dad moves over to give me more room on the couch. He grumbles something quietly in response, but he’s smart enough to keep his retort low so Mom doesn’t hear it.
She’s understandably in an irritable mood after having guests over, her patience run thin after spending all evening being leered at by my father’s co-workers. I don’t blame her and, if anything, commend her for her ability to stay so composed.
“Let me help,” I mutter, reaching forward and grabbing the tray of tea.
I politely ignore the tremor of her hand as I set it on the table and ready their drinks. Dad takes his with sugar, always has, but Mom’s easy and drinks it black. They both give thankful smiles as I hand them their cups, and I throw some sugar in mine before leaning back against the couch.
“We should discuss the repercussions of yesterday’s capture,” I say. I’m sure they’ve heard about it.
