Sins of the Mother: A Paranormal Prison Romance (Sinfully Sacrificed Book 2)

by Mary E. Twomey

  Gray’s grip on my shoulder tightens. “It’s not worth it to be in the mix. Arly’s safe in the infirmary. We’re fine if we keep under this table.” He jerks his thumb to his chest. “You’re in my pack, which means I protect you from unnecessary injuries. This fight is unnecessary.”

  “Your elbow’s in my spleen,” Cassia complains, and we all do a job of scooting around to make room.

  The fight is heightening in its aggression, and more people are joining the fray. A scalpel flashes in my limited view, and for the life of me, I cannot recall the name of the inmate who’s holding it. “Someone’s got a weapon!”

  “We wait it out under here.” Gray’s hand on my shoulder steadies my growing dread. It reminds me of the many times one of my guards shoved me back when the crowds got overexcited. Only Gray’s hand isn’t antagonistic. It’s clear that he’ll stay by my side through the whole thing. “You keep an eye on that brawl over there, Paxton. If it comes nearer, hold onto Charlotte’s arm so they can’t grab her out.”

  And that’s when it hits me that we’re finally in this together. I’m not a lilting boy to be treated like I’m too fragile for direct eye contact. I’m a part of this team. Gray is trusting me with a job of great importance.

  My chest swells. When he squeezes my shoulder, I feel the pulse of brotherhood connecting us.

  Cassia is itching to go it alone. “It’s only getting crazier out there. I need to put a few people on the floor; then it’ll calm down.”

  Gray is resolute, his jaw tight. “We’re waiting here.”

  That would be a good plan, if some of the more surly bunch weren’t on the hunt for Arlanna. Everyone knows that the best place to find her is by Gray’s side, so when he’s spotted, I know that no good can come from this. Hands scrabble under our table, gripping and tugging at any limb they can reach.

  “Hand over your whore!” one of them demands.

  I punch at random, hoping to get the hands off of Gray, who’s done nothing more than be a shifter, and not shun Arlanna with the rest of them. His face is pained, but I can tell it’s not from straining against the person’s harsh grip. His teeth are gritted because I’m fairly certain he’s trying to talk himself down from shifting in the middle of the cafeteria.

  “That’s it!” Cassia warns the second someone grabs at Charlotte. “I’ll see you all in a minute.”

  “No!” Gray shouts for her to stop, but it’s no use. She’s already absorbed enough shadow from being under the table to meld easily into something undetectable and entirely other.

  Within seconds, the hands that grab at us are yanked away. I hear confusion mingled with hard-earned “oof” sounds.

  Cassia’s true nature is finally free.

  It’s an incredible thing to watch her work the shadows. As I grip the metal bench supports, I can tell she’s in an in-between state, which means she has shape and can be touched, but cannot be seen. No matter if she’s in shadow or out of it, she’s absorbed enough of the dimness to incorporate it into her being.

  I’ve read about shadowmelders in history books, but that strange magic was alive so long ago that I never gave credence to what it would look like in real life. I can’t close my mouth as I do my best to track her stealthy movements.

  Someone is bent over, grabbing his stomach.

  Then a woman who was wreaking havoc is spontaneously bleeding from the mouth.

  A bloody nose to the next one, and so on as Cassia works her way deeper into the tangle of sweaty bodies who just want out, cooped up as we are.

  They’ve treated us like criminals, and thus, we’ve become them.

  It’s like Cassia can finally let her anger at the world breathe. Though Gray wants her back under the table, I won’t rob her of her rage.

  It’s only when the guards multiply and descend on the crowd that I shout to Cassia. “Get back here!”

  I don’t know if it’s my voice that finds her in the fray, or if she was already on her way back to us, but when she slides under our table a moment later, we all heave a collective gust of relief.

  Except for Gray, who’s livid. “That was dangerous. You could’ve been killed, and then what? We search for your invisible body?”

  Cassia materializes with a winded grin that isn’t going anywhere, despite the chaos blistering out around us. “That was fun. I haven’t been able to really stretch my legs with this new magic. Or old magic, rather. That was brilliant! Were you able to see me at all, or was I a shadow the whole time?”

  Gray speaks through a clenched jaw. “You were invisible, and your lip is bleeding. Is that what you were hoping would happen? You had absolutely no backup out there!”

  Cassia shrugs, still catching her breath as she swipes at her lip. “You could’ve set Rafe loose. He and I could’ve torn this place up.”

  All of us balk at her. Gray grimaces and holds his chest like he’s in physical pain at mention of his wolfish counterpart. He’s doubled over, pressing his head to the concrete.

  Charlotte casts her girlfriend a scolding look. “You can’t say his animal’s name so casually; he already wants to burst out to protect us. That would set everything back, and it would get Gray in a lot of trouble.”

  I’ve never heard Charlotte correct Cassia before.

  Charlotte rubs the shifter’s back as whistles blow throughout the cafeteria. “Gray, you’re doing great. Breathe through it.”

  He’s inhaling through his teeth, clutching the fabric over his chest like he’s trying to keep his heart from exploding. “Rafe needs to go to Arly. He can feel that she’s scared!”

  I have no experience in helping shifters. I have no experience with shifters, period. But I know how to be a friend.

  I also know what it is to be certain of Arlanna’s misery from afar and be able to do nothing about it.

  I take Gray’s hand away from his chest. “Squeeze my fingers, okay? We’re all safe. You did a brilliant job, getting us under the table. I didn’t even think of that.”

  When a hand reaches under to grab at Cassia, I’m livid that any fool would bother us at a time like this. Indignation mingles with rage when he kicks Cassia’s ribs, eliciting a sharp cry from her. The sound contains more anger than pain, but fury flares up in my core all the same.

  “Enough!” I shout.

  I feel the command roll through me, unveiling a new side to myself I didn’t realize I was allowed to have. I’m permitted to politely disagree (not with Father, but in general), but never to raise my voice in protest. That would make a scene unbefitting the throne. But I’m here now, and not only is my magic unlocked, but my voice seems to have been freed, as well. I’m not sure which will end up being my saving grace, but I’m grateful for the miracle that finds me, even if the sound is swallowed by the crowd.

  Maybe Sloan was right, all those years ago. Maybe I do have a right to my own voice.

  The assailant crouches down to tug Cassia out from under the table, sneering at her as he gains purchase on her ankle.

  Turning on each other is the most senseless of actions. None of us want to be here. None of us deserve to be here. We’ll be branded as ex-convicts when we’re let out, but that doesn’t mean we have to live up to that dreadful label. We were non-violent bystanders in the whole thing, connected to the wrong people by happenstance. Creating violence because society has labeled us poorly is no solution.

  I’m not sure if I’m sad, scared or irritated, but probably a mixture of all three drive me toward the edge of reason.

  My voice finds the air again. “Let her go!”

  When Cassia is violently jerked backward, my irritation mutates to rage. As if Cassia doesn’t have enough on her plate. As if any of us wants to be here, in the middle of this ridiculous mess.

  I’m furious, struggling to hold onto Cassia so she can’t be ripped away from us. My rage directs itself on the man’s hand, which won’t release her ankle. No part of her is up for grabs, yet he does as he pleases. Utter brute.

  A r
ush of purpose hits me when I realize that my friends are under my protection, however feeble that umbrella may be.

  I don’t understand what happens next as I glare at the grip that’s fixed on Cassia’s leg. I’m livid with this person, this stranger, who thinks he can manhandle one of the few friends I have in this world.

  Heat collects in my chest and then careens upward. It reaches my cheekbones in a millisecond, but then a cooling sensation melts over my eyes, not obstructing my vision at all. It’s as if I’ve just walked from an inferno into a freezer.

  In the next breath, the man who’s tugging on Cassia howls in agony. His body shoots back from hers as fiendish intent mutates to alarm out of nowhere.

  Terror hits my insides when fire explodes on his hand—the hand I was glaring at. He cries out but his shout is swallowed by my own.

  Did I do that?

  Cassia scuttles closer to me, screaming her surprise at the scene that also makes no sense to her. The flames rage a foot tall, consuming flesh quickly, like they know their purpose. It’s like they’re just as angry as I am at the man who snatched at my new friend.

  I have friends now.

  And now, thanks to this fool, I know how Arlanna completed my enhancement when she unlocked me. I don’t put people into comas with my gaze anymore, but apparently, I can light them on fire if they cross the people I care about.

  I’ll take it.

  “Fire!” Cassia cries, covering Charlotte’s body because, even though she was just in danger, Cassia is the kind of person who needs to protect the person she loves above all else.

  I did this. I don’t know how I did this, but that nameless man’s hand is on fire because of me. There was nothing else that could have done it. His hand holds the only fire in the entire cafeteria, and by the agony on his face, I’m guessing the spontaneous combustion wasn’t part of his plan.

  Was it mine?

  I didn’t mean for fire to heat behind my eyes and shoot out at him.

  Did I?

  This isn’t in my arsenal of tricks. I put people to sleep with my glare, and Arlanna’s “unlocking” seems to have fixed that dysfunction.

  Yet I know that somehow, I did this. I set this man on fire.

  I have to put it out.

  I race out from under the table, ignoring Charlotte’s tearful warnings for me to stay put, and dart toward the man. My panic is nearly as acute as his as I tackle him backwards, and then roll him over and over like a very heavy barrel. I help him smother the flames while he howls.

  Back and forth, I roll him, causing a few people brawling nearby to scatter.

  Once his shrieks have turned to sobs, I finally stop rolling him.

  I know I need to get back under the table, but I have to be sure. I grab the collar of his singed jumpsuit and bellow into his face like a lunatic. “How did you get lit on fire?” I shout, trying to be heard above the din.

  “I don’t know! It just exploded out of me! Ah!”

  Someone knocks into us, and we’re nearly trampled when a new scuffle heads our way. Both parties are splattered in food, and it flings everywhere with each punch.

  Though he doesn’t deserve it, I feel responsible for this buffoon who snatched at Cassia. He deserves a swift thrashing, not to be lit on fire and then trampled to death. I tug him over to the side of the cafeteria, and then charge back under the table to get back to my people.

  My people.

  Cassia is beyond being able to calm herself down, so she yells at me, spittle flinging from her lips. “Next time someone attacks one of us, you let him burn! You don’t put yourself in a vulnerable spot to save someone who was trying to take me down!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I reply, stunning her with my respectful tone. I don’t want to tell her that the fire was my fault. She could have caught on fire if he hadn’t been spooked enough to release her that quickly.

  I scoop up Gray’s hand, taking my post once more while he whines through his effort to stay human.

  “Everyone, on the ground!” one of the officers shouts through a megaphone.

  I watch in horror as a body that was running freezes mid-step. A taser shoots who knows how much electricity through his body, bringing a grim level of reality into the chaos of the cafeteria.

  Everyone screams, including me. More people are getting hit in the back of the head with heavy batons. It’s all I can do to keep calm, remembering that we haven’t done anything wrong.

  Other than when I lit a bloke on fire.

  “I can’t hold him in!” Gray shouts, squeezing my hand far harder than I anticipated might be possible. “Arly!” It’s not a protective howl, but a frightened one, like a toddler looking for his lost blankie.

  She calms him down, and she’s nowhere around.

  When someone gets body-slammed atop our table, Gray lets out a growl that can only be described as animalistic. The sound pours out of him like vomit he’s trying to hold back, but knows he can’t.

  Charlotte whimpers and Cassia swears, but I hold tight to Gray’s hand, meeting his eyes so he has somewhere to focus that isn’t the fight.

  That’s then I see that his irises aren’t their usual dark brown, but instead a horrifying and sickly yellow. The colorful circles expand, pushing his pupils to slits. His brows thicken in time with more hair sprouting all over his face.

  I’ve never seen a shifter mid-transition. His bones look like they’re popping out of sockets, his spine elongating and his snout pushing outward.

  I know I need to let go of him and run, but I can’t. He’s a good person. Gray’s scared, so I know I can’t drop his grip. If I do, he’ll be the only one fighting against Rafe. His wolf is snarling and ready to pounce, though not fully exposed. Charlotte’s murmuring something that could be an incantation of sorts, but to what end, I can’t begin to guess.

  “Hold onto him, Gray! I know you can do this!” I shout, barely audible above the screams. Inmates all around are running from guards and of course, being caught.

  There’s a high-pitched beeping sound that gives three short blasts overhead, and then a whoosh, like a balloon deflating.

  The screams rise impossibly louder, but then they begin to choke off into nothingness, though I don’t understand why.

  “Sleeping gas!” Cassia cries. No doubt we’re the only relieved inmates in the bunch as a cool, cloudy mist descends on the cafeteria, creeping under our table and sticking to our skin. In two breaths of sugary sweet smelling air, the mist drops us in a pile of limbs that are too tangled to be separated.

  I roll over so my back is flat to the ground. My eyelids are heavier than I can ever remember them being, but I manage to catch a glimpse of Gray as a tearless sob escapes his lips.

  His face begins to turn back to its normal human shape as he struggles against the sleeping gas. He collapses, partially landing on my arm, since my hand still hasn’t fully released his.

  With his last burst of wakefulness, Gray drapes his heavy arm over my torso.

  I grip his hand as tight as I can manage.

  He’s holding me, even as he drifts to unconsciousness. He’s protecting me with his body as best he can.

  Emotion jerks in my chest. There are so many things I want to say to this person who should hate me for loving his girlfriend. But that’s not Gray’s style. He’s not territorial, nor is he bothered by anything but keeping Arlanna happy, healthy and safe.

  In that, we’re the same. In that, we’re brothers.

  I drift to sleep, catching sight of Cassia doing the same for Charlotte, who’s fallen asleep with her head atop Gray’s butt.

  I’ve never had true friends before. Not like this.

  I loathe Prigham’s, but I love it here.

  17

  My Person

  Paxton

  Brick detail is cancelled for the night, as is chow for the rest of the day. We’re escorted back to our cells, and wordlessly locked inside. The doors open once in the evening to let us use the latrine and shower, but o
ther than that, we’re sequestered to a veritable “time out” through the whole of the prison.

  Charlotte dotes on Gray, sitting him on her mattress and hugging him as often as she deems he needs the sweetness—which seems to be every three minutes. “It’s okay, Gray. Let him out. Let him breathe. He’s had a hard day.”

  Gray shakes his head in sharp jerks. His eyes look haunted and forlorn. His arms are crossed over his torso as if he’s trying to physically restrain his wolf. “Not until she’s back. If Rafe comes out now, he’ll howl and try to tear the door down to get to her.” He shudders, and I can’t help but feel his strain.

  To be so wholly tethered in here, unable to shift—it’s cruel.

  When Charlotte tips him to his side to lay down on her bed, he doesn’t resist. She tucks him in and kisses his temple, smoothing the hair from his face while he curls up in the fetal position. Despite his bulk, he seems small like this. And Charlotte, petite though she is, appears eternally wise with her maternal compassion.

  I plunk myself ungracefully on the opposite bottom bunk, feeling restless and stir-crazy. The sheets have the slight aroma of Arlanna to them, so I make this mattress my temporary fort for as long as it’ll have me.

  There are so many details of her that I’ve missed, being separated from her through the years. She makes little cooing noises in her sleep each night. Each one of them tugs on my heart and beckons me closer.

  My bedroom at the palace is spacious. This cell feels like a broom closet, and far too tiny for this many people to share for more than a night at a time without turning irritable. Yet without our fourth, it’s cavernous and empty.

  Perhaps I’m carrying on too much. I can accept that I come with a bit too much melodrama on rare occasion. But being incarcerated with Arlanna has turned every steady thing in my sternum to chaos. I used to call the cabinet to order—the most powerful people in the country waiting for me to bang the meeting in. Now I’m a lovesick teenager. I guess it was foolish to think I’d skipped over that part of my development. Turns out, it was only delayed, and waiting for the proper trigger to turn me into an utter sap.