“You’ve thought a lot about this.”
“Oh, yeah. I’ve been getting ready for prison for months now. I had to up my time table last-minute though, so I’m not as up-to-date on all the pruno recipes as I’d like to be, but it is what it is,” I tell her on a shrug.
Zen eyes me for a beat before she chuckles and jerks her head in the direction of a cement picnic-style table with a matching cement bench on each side. Immediately, two inmates grab their trays and move, clearing the way for her. She gestures for me to have a seat, her golden eyes gleaming. I cop a squat and take her in with a new light.
Hmm, Zen is someone here. I can tell by the way the other inmates react around her.
I shove a massive spoonful of coleslaw into my mouth and chew while I wait. She’ll either explain the deal around here, warn me, challenge me, or continue to size me up like she’s currently doing. Surprisingly, I don’t get a threatening or even a dominant vibe from her. But it’s clear by the way others are side-eyeing her that she should be added to my do not fuck with list.
I try the tuna casserole next, and I can’t help the face I make or the noise that sneaks out of my mouth. “So damn good,” I chirp as I swallow the delicious bite down and immediately shove in another. I know I should be getting the lay of the land right now, but this is delicious.
Zen chokes on the bite of cornbread in her mouth and gives me an incredulous look. Huh, maybe the cornbread sucks here? I make a mental note to avoid it.
“What’s your name?” she asks after she clears her airway of the offending bite. She opens a carton of milk and downs it.
“Sinclair,” I offer around another massive bite of tuna casserole and coleslaw. Man, this combo is fucking glorious. “But if you’re handing out nicknames, I’m a fan of Rainbow Dash, because...color, and let’s be honest, she’s by far the best pony. Or, if you want to go the other direction, I’m a personal fan of Baby Shanks. Speaking of, can you point me in the direction of someone who needs to be shanked? I have a sentence I need to get tweaked. I also want to get a shank shack going. Think people would pay good money for some nice shanks in here? I need funds for snacks.”
Zen stares at me like she’s not sure if I’m serious or not. Why do people keep doing that? Is it so hard to believe that someone might actually want to be here? I mean, with food like this, it can’t be that far-fetched of an idea. I take a bite of my pretty jello and groan. Yep, I’d shank a ho for this jello, no questions asked.
Zen smirks like she just heard that thought. She leans back and gestures over to something and starts to talk, but a flash of fluorescent green snags my attention. I watch as several guards enter the room and take up position where the guards who carried out Beast were previously standing.
Each of them wears crisp navy blue uniforms with their names stitched in white on Velcro-attached name tags over their left breast pocket. Their pants are tucked into black combat boots, and their waists are circled by utility belts with all kinds of goodies attached.
Some of them are beefy as fuck, and some are the definition of dumpy, but the one with the bright hair who’s slowly circling the perimeter of the lunch room has my entire focus. His hair style is trendy, a short crisp fade on the sides and a nice disheveled coif on the top, but the color is blowing my mind. It starts out fluorescent green at the front and graduates ombré-style into a darker jeweled green tone, then into turquoises, electric blues, and finishes as a deep royal blue at the base of his skull.
Those colors are drool-worthy. But as my eyes track down, I notice his tail, his scaled tail with the feathers on the end...just like I have.
Fuck.
I’m immediately drawn in and sucker punched. Because whoever this guard is, he’s a cockatrice, and that is a serious fucking problem for me.
I don’t recognize him, but that doesn’t mean anything. My kind doesn’t associate much with other cockatrices outside of our lounge. We have a get together every five or so years where lounges come from all over the world so we can keep an eye out for potential mates, but I’ve never seen this guy.
I’d remember him.
Bronze skin, forearms I want to lick, tall and muscled with a straight white smile, bright turquoise eyes, and fucking dimples. Dimples! What sort of female can go up against that?
I’m immediately on guard. My tail twitches with both interest and annoyance, and I sink down and hope I’ll continue to go unnoticed by him. He lazily makes his way around the lunch room as my synapses fire off with all the possibilities that could explain his presence here.
Could he be an Alpha Bowen henchman? Or someone my mat and pat hired to get me out of here and bend me to their will? Is the ether blessing me with eye candy? Or is his presence a simple coincidence, and I’m reading into it because that’s what I’ve had to do my whole life in order to survive? I simmer in my thoughts and paranoia, wondering what the hell I should do.
I stalk him like prey with my eyes as he moves through the hustle and bustle of the room. Fellow guards greet him as he passes and so do some of the inmates. More than one of the convicts in this room swoons and sighs as he graces them with a dimpled, gleaming smile.
I bet he smells good.
What?
I jerk myself away from those thoughts and try to figure out what to do. He’s making his way closer to where I sit, while Zen is still chatting away, but thankfully, he still hasn’t spotted me. I’m not sure what I’ll do when he does. He’s getting closer.
Will I see recognition in his bright turquoise eyes? Ten feet away. Attraction? Eight feet. A death sentence? Six feet.
Shit!
Just when I think I’ve finally escaped all the anxiety and stress, this fool has to walk in and ruin it. Four feet. Anger blooms in my chest as he gets even closer. Two feet. Nope. I can’t let him fuck this up for me. I can’t.
I meticulously fold my paper plate into a pie shape and move it and my milk carton to the table. He’s right beside me now but still hasn’t looked my way. I grab the empty tray with both hands, stand up, rear both arms back, and let ’er rip.
Smack!
He grunts as the tray makes contact with his head. I’m so fast that he doesn’t even get a hand up to help protect his gorgeous face.
Shouting sounds off all around me, and I’m only able to get in one more half-cocked whack before something presses into my side, and my body lights up with pain.
I drop to the ground and fold in on myself, electricity and satisfaction surging through me. I clench my teeth as my vision tunnels, and all I can see are pairs of black combat boots as they step into my shrinking line of sight right before I pass out.
3
I smack my lips together to combat the dry cardboard thing currently going on in my mouth. A rhythmic beeping calls my attention, but the feel of cold metal around both of my wrists seems like the more pressing issue to focus on. I groan and work to force my heavy lids open. I blink the room into focus and then jump when I realize there’s someone standing close to me...just watching. Creepy.
She has skin the color of cream with Kool-Aid red hair and brows. The intricate braids in her tresses and the pointy tips of her ears give her away as fae. But the vicious vertical scar that starts mid-forehead and runs down past her left eye, ending at the apple of her cheek, is not something most fae would have. Fae are vain as fuck, and they also have healers, so the scar on this female’s face, along with the glint of mania in her jade green eyes, immediately sets off the beeping monitor that’s recording my now rapidly pacing heart.