BLURB
After pissing off the head of the supernatural lab, failing at befriending my fellow inmates, and pitching a temper tantrum in the underground cafeteria, it was only a matter of time before I had to do something about this whole captivity thing.
For me, Cassandra Thorn, being born as a human, raised by an elite group of supernaturals, and struggling to reach my twentieth birthday was far more fun than this.
Then again, anything would be.
In this case, "this" refers to being taken against my will—kidnapped—and trapped in an underground lab for supernatural shifters. Pretty ridiculous, considering I was a mere mortal.
Or so I was told.
Turns out there are a lot of things I was told, not all of them true. Now a family secret has been revealed and destiny is just waiting for me to fulfill it…but I was stuck in Prison Boringville with a bunch of not-so-friendly detainees.
Being a supernatural inmate isn’t my style, so with the very new powers bestowed upon me, I was getting my booty out of this hellhole. Unless Adonis the sexy incubus, Dominick the deadly fae master, Otis the death-seeking vampire, and Tristan the sly shapeshifter bust me out first.
Supernatural Inmate is the first book in the Supernatural Captivity series, a Paranormal Prison Romance.
PSYHIC PRISON MAP
Lingerie Shopping With My Supernatural Brothers
"Cassandra? How long does it take you to get your ass into a pair of hipster panties? I’m going to die from starvation."
"Stop complaining, Tristan. I was trying to concentrate!"
"On what? Your butt?"
"Yes! On my butt. Now shush so I can concentrate!"
Men. Never understand the importance of having your eye on the prize.
"What's taking our Princess of Lingerie so long?"
I smiled at Dominick's inquiry, knowing damn well he'd join in the bickering. As long as Otis was still roaming around the five-level clothing store, I was safe to continue my detailed observation.
"Cass is trying to determine if her ass has expanded by a centimeter." Tristan let out a long sigh. "I’m hungry. Save me."
"You eat too much," Dominick commented. "And didn't Cass start her squat challenge like three days ago?"
"And then ate an entire cake yesterday." Tristan’s comment made me open the door wide, the two of them turning their attention to my red-and-blue lace bra and hipster panty combo. I put my hands on my hips in defiance as I stared between the two of them.
"Just because I started three days ago, it doesn't mean anything! Progress is progress!" I angrily emphasized before pointing at Tristan, who was sitting on a fluffy pink chair with his legs on one armrest, while the back of his head hung over the other side.
He had a bored pout on his attractive face.
"Also, yesterday was my birthday! I was allowed to eat cake."
"Allowed to eat a slice of cake, my dear. Not the whole damn thing. Couldn't even save some for the four of us."
I flicked my long brunette locks and gave them an unapologetic look.
"I regret nothing."
"Madness, I tell you." Tristan shook his head. "You gained weight in your thighs, by the way."
I stood there for a full five seconds and Dominick sighed.
"It's like you want us to die early."
"No regrets." He shrugged. "I can shift into anything. I have the highest survival rate."
"You know you can still die, though, right?" Dominick reminded.
"Oh..." Tristan frowned and gave me a sheepish smile as I narrowed my eyes at him. "Thick, beautiful one. Don't kick my ass...or kill me...or punch my face. I still need to look good to ace that job interview on Monday."
"Asshole," I huffed, and turned around to check the mirror. "I only gained half an inch. You're lucky I'm in a good mood or it would be game over for you."
Looking at the mirror, I assessed my overall appearance and grinned.
A little bit of thickness doesn't bother me anyway.
Sweets were the devil when it came to making me gain weight in my thighs and hips. If not for the "Thorn metabolism" blessed to me by my biological parents, I was sure I wouldn't still fit into my size six jeans.
Stretchy size six jeans. A girl needs room for ice cream and chocolate.
Cassandra Thorn was written on the birth certificate left in my basket that fateful night my parents abandoned me, having decided I was too much to handle in the middle of the 2035 financial crisis period.
Stocks for human companies plummeted as the supernatural races' soared in comparison, leaving most humans out of work in the heart of winter in New York City.
It was at that time that supernaturals took over with a snap of their fingers and proved their superiority by fixing the chaos created by the greedy humans running the place. That simple move on the supernaturals' part left us humans with two choices: submit and work along with the supernaturals or hide and try to find a way to fix the financial crisis.
It ended up being a fifty-fifty split, and my parents decided that finding their way back to independent financial stability was far better than working alongside any paranormal race.
Which meant bye-bye, baby Cassandra.
The only problem with that plan was that I, their not-so-beloved child, was human, just like them.
Where did that leave me? Luckily, not on the harsh streets of NYC, because Everett A. Johnson with his big heart of gold took me in.
Anyone could have done it for the bonus government paychecks, but as I grew older, I came to realize that he was genuinely a loving man who took in shifters from struggling families or abandoned corners of the dangerous streets.
Everett was a supernatural, just like the majority of the children he took in. As a bear shifter, he was inherently nurturing. He always said that he got the most hate when he took me in but paid no mind to the background talk. It was all rubbish to him when it came to helping someone in need.
An outlook that could have potentially gotten him killed, but his ongoing generosity over the last few decades had earned him immunity and enough money to hire protection.
Being in his care brought me into the circle of four supernatural powerhouses, and together, we were raised under one roof. How did the little human me survive a home with four bratty boys?
Tantrums, chocolate, and using the puppy eyes technique as a final resort. Let's be real. No boy nor man can stand it when a woman cries.
However, with my anger issues, all bets were off if I reached a certain point of blinding rage.
I had an actual diagnosis for it: Blind-sighted Tantrum Syndrome. BTS for short, and I was not referring to the greatest KPOP band in history. It might have been the reason my four supernatural bros were actually frightened of me when I got mad.
Doesn't stop them from picking on me half the time.
"I think her butt actually got firmer, though," Dominick said. "If you look very closely, you can see a one percent difference."
"I feel as though you keep forgetting I'm a shapeshifter, Dominick, and not a fae with supernatural eyesight." Tristan put his hands behind his head and kicked his legs up and down. "Can we go yet?"