I know for a fact it’s right, because I once got into a tussle with some of those harpies, but then we became fast friends once they realized I liked to cause mayhem just as much as they do. His wife will be under their wings of protection in no time.
“And that’s it?” he asks me, his gaze growing a touch leerier.
I offer him a wide smile. “That’s it, Chuck. Just a one-time thing like I promised it would be. I mean, we can still be friends, of course. And if a friend wanted to give another friend some Pop Rocks every once in a while, there’d be no objections, but we’re square.”
Chuck’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows down his nerves, and then in a flash, he hurries away from me.
Making friends is so much fun.
I wait a minute or so and then round the corner and head back toward Zen and the others, my mind taking in all the info about Rook. As though my thinking of him suddenly summons him, Rook steps out of a door that leads up to the tower in the corner of the yard where more guards keep an eye on the perimeter. He closes the door behind him and immediately looks up, his stare landing on me. We both watch each other for a second, and I ignore the heat that dips dangerously low in my belly.
Could he really just be a coincidence? Everything I’ve unearthed at this point says that he is, but I’m still skeptical. As much as I’d love to think the universe has finally taken pity on me and offered me this visual gift as an apology for all the years of fuckery, I can’t let go of the feeling that it’s too good to be true.
As he watches me, Rook wiggles his head from side-to-side, and the moment his movement registers, both of our eyes widen in shock.
Did he...Did he just head wobble me?
Rook’s cheeks light up with a bright blush, and he shakes his head like he’s somehow answering my unvoiced question. His hands flap up at his sides, and he looks even more distressed as he slams them back down and speedily starts to walk away. I watch him hurry through the yard and disappear around a corner, a smile creeping slowly over my face.
Oh my sweet color spectrum, he totally wobbled!
I recall the last cockatrice gathering I attended and pull up the memories of the dance that male cockatrices do when they’re trying to intrigue a female. Yep. First comes the head wobble and then the arm or wing flap. Toss in some tail whips, and then the holy grail of color flashing, and you’ve got an interested male cockatrice.
Rook likes me.
My smile spreads even wider. So this attraction isn’t just one-sided! He’s totally been thinking about cocking my trice. Smirk.
After I saunter back to Zen’s group and sit back down on my designated piece of broken concrete, I am looking mighty pleased with myself.
“Hey Lizard-bird, your tail is wagging.”
I look over at Sophie and then down to my scaly tail. The orange and yellow feathers on the end are flicking back and forth like a pleased cat. Flustered, I quickly grab my tail and stuff the end of it into my pocket, inwardly chastising it.
Stop it, tail!
It’s one thing for Rook to wobble, it’s another entirely for my own instincts to start getting jiggy with an answering tail flick. Male cockatrices love a good tail flick. It draws their attention to our feathers. I snagged many a fella in my rebellious teenage years with my super bright orange and yellow feathers. I’ve been told that the plumage on my tail is fantastic.
Zen leans in. “You know, if you’re looking for information, I have a better source than Up-Chuck over there.”
I raise my gaze to her, giving nothing away. I’m really glad I have her as a sort-of-ally right now, but I wasn’t born yesterday. Everyone in here is a criminal, Zen included. And inside prison, everything comes at a price. You can only count on yourself, and trust is just a banking term.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I tell her.
A smirk kicks up at the corner of her lips. “You’ve got more than just a citrus grove sprouting out of that colorful head of yours, I’ll give you that,” she says before unfolding her legs and getting fluidly to her feet. “Walk with me, Sinclair.”
It’s not a question, and Zen isn’t the kind of person you deny. I get to my feet, dusting myself off, and make sure my tail is still tucked securely into my pants pocket. I don’t want to trip over it, and I can’t trust it not to go all flick-happy in case I see Rook again. I’d rather keep the upper hand and make him think I’m not interested. Nothing drives a cockatrice crazy like a one-sided mating wobble.
Oh man, I’m going to have so much fun with that.
“So, Sinclair Denali,” Zen begins as we make our way around the rec yard, keeping to the fence line. “I’ve heard some things about you.”
AKA, she’s been asking around about me just like I’ve been asking around about Rook.
“Yeah?” I say noncommittally. Several of the other inmates and guards watch us as we walk, but I have no idea if me walking alone with Zen around the yard is supposed to be significant or something. I haven’t been here long enough to know all the ins and outs.
“Your lounge of cockatrices is a humble size but strong. Your matriarch and patriarch have ruled for over fifty years. You were set to be next in line.”
“I was,” I answer with a nod, not really knowing where she’s going with this.
She stuffs her hands into the pockets of her gray uniform pants. “It’s weird that your matriarch would sell you off to a rival pack leader for mating, instead of allowing you to choose your own patriarch to mate with within your own lounge and groom you for leadership.”
Again, not a question, but Zen is careful with her wording. She makes it sound like we’re just having a friendly convo, when really, she’s showing me how much she already knows about me. I’m not sure if it’s a warning, a challenge, or something else.
“Yeah, my mat and pat are a real piece of work.” That’s putting it mildly. I have a very…combustible relationship with my parents—my mat in particular.
Zen gives me a sidelong glance. “I’ve heard rumors that the Denali lounge owes a lot of money. It’s one of the reasons why you were given to Alpha Bowen. Maybe to settle a debt?”
Anger causes my feet to stop in their tracks and spin to face Zen. “Where did you hear that?”
Instead of being affronted by my snippy tone, she just shrugs. “Like I said, there’s better sources to get information from than Up-Chuck.”
I have no idea how she heard something like that, but it pisses me off. “That’s bullshit. My lounge would never borrow money, especially not from Alpha Bowen,” I say, although doubt trickles into the back of my mind.
Is that why my mat and pat drew up a mating contract without even discussing it with me first? But why? We had money of the white and the black variety. At least, I thought we did. Our lounge has always been stable. We have businesses and all sorts of schemes in place. Why in the world would they have been in debt? And why the fuck would they have reached out to Alpha Bowen for help?
The cockatrice alpha is rumored to be a power hungry whoremonger with a thirst for war with other lounges. Every year, he always takes over another cockatrice lounge, forcing them to merge into his own. The moment my mat informed me that I was to mate him, I knew that I was doomed and that I was going to have to be very creative in order to get out of it. That’s why I chose Nightmare Penitentiary; I’m out of reach, but it’s not a situation my lounge would be forced to go to war over.