I love the strength of his moral fiber. I love how determined he is to be in control of himself. I guessed before, but now I know that Gray is a good man.
I close my eyes and send a wish to Rafe in my mind. I know he can’t feel it. I know it’s silly, but the need to comfort this poor anxious animal stirs in my veins. “Easy, pumpkin.” I’m saying it like Rafe is a puppy, but I have no idea how big he is. Still, I call to him in my mind, wishing I could soothe him. “I’m right here. Can you see me? If you can see me, you’re near me. I’m not far at all.”
Gray jerks his head and narrows his eyes at me. “What are you doing? Are you petting him?” He measures the distance between us with his gaze. “How?”
I hold up my hands. “I’m not touching either of you.” I dip my chin. Now it’s my turn to be embarrassed. “I was talking to him in my mind. Like, what I would say if he could hear me.”
Gray frowns, gripping the fabric stretched across his sternum. “Well, he heard you. He wants you to pet him again.” His jaw tightens. “Don’t, Arly. He has to learn. I don’t know how you did that, but you can’t.”
It takes me two seconds to collect my thoughts, but that’s one too many.
The doors unlock, and we’re expected to start our day as if nothing at all has changed.
As if the rules of the entire world aren’t breaking before us.
10
Rafe’s Watchful Eye
Gray and Cass glue themselves to my sides. Charlotte follows behind with her pleasantly bland expression as we move through the lunch line.
Each time I reach for something, Gray meets me halfway and then pulls back, his brows furrowed. I can tell he’s having a silent conversation with Rafe, who wants to fill my plate for me.
Gray is a good guy, so he keeps his animal instinct on a leash so I can make my own choices. Still, it’s clear the dynamics are fluctuating between us, so we’re both treading with the utmost care.
“You alright?” I ask quietly.
Gray’s tight nod is less than reassuring. “He’s worried you don’t have meat on your plate.”
“I’m a vegetarian,” I explain. Then I try to think of terms a dog would understand. “Meat makes me sick, Rafe.”
Gray’s tray clatters to the ledge. He shuts his eyes and grips the sneeze guard on the buffet, shuddering through what looks like a very intimate moment he’s playing out in public. “You can’t say his name. It’s too much.”
I wince at the misstep. “I’m so sorry. Here, I’ll give him some space. Would that help?”
Gray looks like he’s choking as he waves me away toward the salad bar.
I move quickly, so Cass and Charlotte can stick close to him and help him through the bomb I almost just set off. This is trickier than any of us thought. Charlotte’s happy that I’ve unlocked us and set our magic loose, but there’s been no plan on how to hedge the fallout.
This isn’t just normal magic returned to us. I can psychically pet and speak to Rafe. As far as I know, that’s not a thing.
If Gray shifts out in the open like we are now, whatever plan we had will be shot.
During sewing detail this morning, Gray practically glued his chair to mine, and Cass took the other side while Charlotte sat opposite me, keeping an eye on the inmates for us. I could feel Rafe’s calm when we were close, and his frustration when the detail ended and we were separated by five whole people in the line to go to the next activity. Though I’ve still never seen the wolf, I feel him calling to me. It’s not a howl, or even a whine. There’s an unspoken undercurrent of need that beckons me closer. He has to keep tabs on my whereabouts so he knows I’m safe.
Sloan was the same way, so the watchful eye feels like home.
Gray never forces his way closer, but holds his ground with Rafe, training his animal from scratch, it seems. Poor puppy’s been locked away the entire time Gray’s been wearing those awful magic-muting shackles. He’s got his hands full, but if there was ever a more capable man for taming what should be wild, I’m not sure I know him. Gray has a steadiness to his fluid movements, and a calm command that I know will settle Rafe in due time.
Until then, Rafe needs me in his sights, so he knows all is well.
The lettuce before me is limp, browning and all iceberg, but it is what it is. At least there’s an option for me. Suzette, our family’s chef, would be horrified to see the meager spread. I smirk at the memory of her cute fretting.
Piling up my plate takes no time at all. It’s keeping my cool when Malrick sidles up beside me that takes considerable effort. “Princess Arlanna Scarlett Valentine,” he mocks with a grand bow. Then he straightens, feigning horror. “Missing your boyfriend in here? I’ve heard Prince Paxton hasn’t visited you yet.”
“Probably because he’s not my boyfriend. I haven’t seen the prince in person since I was a little girl.”
I can’t believe those rumors are still circulating. Despite there being no verbal or photographic evidence that the prince and I have ever been in the same room together, many think I’m in a committed relationship with Prince Paxton.
Whatever.
The last time I saw him was when I was six years old, and he was crying at our dinner table.
But sure. Apparently the two of us have been hot and heavy for years. Makes sense—the mafia princess and the prince of the free world totally belong together. We’re a match made for the sappiest of children’s bedtime tales.
Malrick refuses to lose whatever game he’s playing with me. He balks at my tray, his blond hair falling forward. “Oh, no. I see too many calories in that salad. Is that a crouton? Can’t have you getting fat in here. They’ll want to photograph your daddy blubbering all over you when you get out.”
I don’t have a response in me—or more truthfully, I have several, but they’re all beneath me. The only thing that flies out of my mouth is a gasp when Malrick punches his fist down on the edge of my tray, sending my lunch flying.
It’s not the fact that he messed with my meal; it’s the punching and the eye contact that tells me there’s more intended to this than a simple hazing of the unpopular new kid.
He wants me to feel unsafe.
I will not engage. I step back and put my hands behind my head as Officer Johnson trots over at the slowest pace ever. “Okay, I saw that one. You’re going with Officer Ferrell, Malrick. You got a freebie yesterday, but game’s over.”
I guffaw that Officer Johnson admits to his poor enforcement of peace yesterday, but that’s the most I’ll carry on about it.
Mostly because Gray’s glaring with barely-chained rage in Malrick’s direction.
“Easy, pumpkin,” I say to Rafe, hoping he can hear me, and feeling a little foolish for believing he can. But I have to try to calm him. I can’t have Gray shifting in the middle of the cafeteria. “Look at me, Rafe. I’m completely fine.”
Gray lets out a strangled cry, and then turns, grabs the ledge and bashes his forehead to the metal.
I scream as his body crumples to the floor. Maybe I’m supposed to stay where I’m at, but I can’t. I run to Gray and drop to my knees, lifting his torso in my arms and cradling him to my chest. He’s bloody heavy, but the moment he’s in my grip, I know that’s where he’s supposed to be.
I don’t care that people are watching; I’m concerned only with his limp form. If he’s going to make it his business to look out for me, then I’m not going to hold back taking care of him. Sloan kept me safe, and I made sure we always stopped for his strawberry shakes.
“No, Gray! Why’d you do that?”
But I know. The moment I ask, the answer unfolds in my heart.
He knocked himself out so Rafe wouldn’t retaliate and go after Malrick.
Gray’s lashes flutter. They’re dark and long, sweeping with drama and beauty, standing out against his russet skin. “Did I do it? Did I stop him?”
I know he means his wolf, so I nod. I try to keep my rattling emotions locked away, so he doesn’t have to dwell on them when his
vision can barely focus. “You were amazing. But you’re going to have a lump on your forehead.”
There’s chatter and controlled chaos around us, but in this moment, the world consists of only Gray and only me. This sweet man hurt himself. He’s a tower of muscle, gathered like a pup in my arms.
My finger sweeps back the dark hair from his forehead. Then I take a chance and caress his cheek, relishing the prickle of his midnight-hued scruff.
His torso is unbelievably heavy, but I can’t bring myself to part from him. He’s vulnerable and exposed like this. I can’t just trust no harm will come to him.
His hand is clumsy, but it reaches up and cups mine, swallowing my fingers in his large, lax grip. “I’m okay.”
The urge to kiss the softness of his lips is strong, but I know that’s insane. He has fangs. I wouldn’t even know how to maneuver something like that. We are two different species.
Instead, I bat the ridiculous notion away and press my lips to his temple. I hope that whatever kindness is in me contains healing properties, though I know such a thing is silly to wish.
Maybe I am silly. Maybe I’ve gone over the deep end, fantasizing about kissing a shifter I barely know. But as I hold this beautiful man, I cannot deny the attraction neither of us seem to understand.
Hundreds of gasps and shrieks flood the cafeteria as my lips linger on his temple, but I don’t care. The fact that kindness is a scandal when it’s paid to a shifter is appalling. I refuse to play by those rules.
“On your feet, Princess,” Officer Johnson says. It’s a command, albeit one laced with squeamish discomfort, but I obey it all the same.
“He’ll go to the infirmary?” I ask, helping Gray to slowly sit up before I part from him.
“Of course. Anyone see who shoved him?”
No one speaks. Then it dawns on me that the entire cafeteria is silent. All five hundred inmates are gaping at me, like they can’t believe the scandal they just witnessed.
Forget that a man’s injured. Kindness is the horror.
I mean, honestly.
Gray takes his time getting to his feet and wobbles slightly. The officer’s talking to him in short sentences, but Gray is barely focused on him; his eyes keep snaking to me.
Rafe isn’t going to like the separation.
“Can I go with him to the infirmary?” I request, and then roll my shoulders back so it looks like I’m speaking with authority, and not as a mouse approaching a lion.
Then I remember that Gray gives away much of his earned money so the women have enough feminine products, since the warden won’t provide us with an adequate amount.
“If Gray doesn’t have enough money for a visit to the nurse, I’ll pay!”
Officer Johnson casts me a withering look. “Get your lunch and eat. In a seat. In the cafeteria. You are not a nurse.”
I expected as much, but my heart lurches in my chest when a second officer escorts Gray toward the door. “He’s not walking straight,” I mutter.
Cass is near enough to hear. “He’s going to see Nurse Jen, Arly. He’ll be okay. And Sloan is paying for our infirmary visits, remember? It’s all taken care of.” Her cadence is sympathetic, her volume quiet as murmurs break out across the expansive room.
Charlotte’s hand finds mine, and she walks with me to the salad bar, standing beside me while I assemble a new plate.
The three of us take our seats near the far corner of the room, this time not directly in front of an officer. We eat in silence for several minutes, digesting the many hiccups that have hit us in the first half a day of being unlocked.
This is far more complex than any of us anticipated.
The lettuce tastes like sand in my mouth. I didn’t bother with dressing, which is good, because I don’t want to taste anything. I don’t want any creature comforts. Gray knocked himself out. Nothing should taste like happiness until he’s back with a clean bill of health.
When did I allow myself to become this connected to him? Would I feel this strongly if it was Charlotte in the infirmary?
Part of me believes that yes, the four of us are linked beyond what anyone could have predicted. It’s only stronger with Gray because he’s two beings, so his presence is felt twice as much.
That must be it.
Finally, Cass speaks. “Whatever the plan is, we don’t move forward until we’re all on our feet.”
That seems like a given, but it’s an easy thing for us to all agree upon.
Charlotte’s voice still has a whispery rasp to it, but it’s more substantial than it was this morning. “We don’t need to plan anything, really. The plan will come to us.”
I don’t know what she means by that, but a shiver runs up my spine as I contemplate just how rough our lives are about to get.
11
Pacing and Panic
I can’t stop pacing, even after Cass harrumphs for the third time that I’m driving her crazy.
“Why isn’t he back yet? It’s going to be lights out in like, ten minutes. Was his injury bad enough that Nurse Jen felt the need to keep him overnight?” I can’t stop talking with my hands.
Or pacing.
My hair is wet from my shower and my arms are sore. I’m not accustomed to manual labor, namely, hauling bricks. Never in my life have I ever spent an evening moving bricks from a gigantic pile onto a wheelbarrow for someone else to tote to the barn to do who knows what with.
I’m going to be so buff after five years of this.
That’s right. Put a positive spin on incarceration. That’ll help.
“Would you stop pacing!” Cass bursts out. “If Nurse Jen wants to keep Gray overnight, that’s good. If he needs medical attention, he’s getting it. If he’s okay, someone will escort him back before lights out. Your pacing is doing nothing but driving me mad!”
I want to stop pacing and replace that habit with incessant tapping, or something even more vexing, but I decide not to be my worst self. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Either way, Gray will be okay. It’s just a lump on his head. He’ll recover.” I twist the skin on my fingers. “Or he’ll lose himself and shift smack in the middle of Nurse Jen’s office. They’ll fix his magic-muting cuffs. Maybe they’ll decide that he’s too much for Prigham’s, and they’ll send him to actual prison—the one meant for criminals who can’t afford the bill for Prigham’s, so they’re serving their own time. We’ll lose contact and he’ll be without us in a new place where no one will know how special he is.”
Cass lets loose a low whistle. “Dang, girl. You’ve got it bad for him. I know everyone secretly thinks he’s hot, but you only just met him this week. You need to calm down.”
I decide not to respond to Cass’ bating, mostly because she’s entirely correct. I barely know this man. Yet part of me feels tied to him. Chalk it up to me never laying in a bed with a man before. Chalk it up to my first week in prison going exactly as horribly as the haters were hoping it would go. Chalk it up to me being responsible for unlocking his animal, and possibly enhancing his magic without a safety net. Whatever the reason, I cannot quell the urgency with which I need to know that Grayson Knight will be okay.
The top half of my orange jumpsuit dangles around my hips as I lean against the wall. I force my mind to occupy itself with anything else, but no other topics are safe. We’ve agreed not to discuss any plan-related things unless we’re all together, and Charlotte made it clear that there is no plan, other than learning how to adjust to life without our magic cuffs for now.
I do what I can not to think about Gray, but my mind betrays me and goes immediately to the lost look his dazed eyes had when I held him in the cafeteria.
It’s an effort, but I finally manage to pry my brain from that seared image.
Of course, my thoughts go immediately to home, for better or worse.
Each time I force my mind to think about home, pain hits me hard. It’s not because I miss my dad, which I do. It’s that I don’t know what other murky sentiments are lurking in the b
ackground whenever I think of him. I don’t want to dip my toe into anger at him for sending me here. I can’t feel that. I’m not sure I could come back from untethering that dragon.
It’s thoughts of Sloan that break apart my ribs, shattering the structure built inside of me that keeps me upright. Is he okay? I don’t want to picture him in a dank hotel room, or worse, a motel room. Are there bedbugs? Is he staying at one of my favorite places? I doubt it. He doesn’t care about amenities. He cares about covering exit points and making sure nothing is wiretapped.
Charlotte lays on her mattress, setting the tone that this is the thing we’re doing now. We’re getting ready for bed, not standing around, obsessing about the worst things in our lives that we cannot control. “Do you want to lie in my cot with me? I know you don’t like the darkness.”
It’s the best thing she could say to me, other than telling me Gray’s on his way here at this moment.
I know I’m being a child, but a panic attack on top of all the weirdness of the day is beyond what I’m willing to put myself through at the expense of my pride. Being near someone helped last night, so I’m not going to fight it tonight.
“Thanks. I think I’ll take you up on that if he doesn’t come back.”
“You’re pacing again,” Cass informs me a minute later. Though this time, she’s less irritated. “I think we did well for our first day being unlocked. I mean, all in all, it could’ve gone worse. Gray could’ve actually shifted in the middle of the cafeteria. And you’re right, I bet they would’ve shipped him off to the more hardcore pen for legit criminals if that had happened, no matter what his parents paid to get him in here.”
“How are you feeling, Cass?” I ask her. Cass has been tight-lipped about her magic. Though, to be fair, none of us felt comfortable broaching the subject outside of our private lodging.
The corner of Cass’ mouth curves as she examines her hands. “I’m better than ever. Though, I’m looking forward to seeing how Gray’s doing, too. He hit his head pretty hard.”
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