by Helene Gadot
We finally reach the front of the line where two guards stand, one with a clipboard and quill, the other standing in front of a box full of ugly ass gray uniforms.
“Name?” The one with the clipboard asks.
“Gavyn Shields.” I give him a false surname.
They certainly don’t need a record of my real identity in this place. Especially since it’s the wrong one.
He scribbles my answer onto his paper without looking up at me. “Monster type?”
I grit my teeth. “Incubus.”
We’re not fucking monsters. They are.
We’re older and more powerful than they are.
And yet somehow, they’ve taken power and control with the help of traitorous mages and new technology. These collars they’ve trapped us became a massive blow over two decades ago, and they’ve been in charge ever since.
No more peace or equality like it used to be. So long ago, I don’t even remember it.
And these camps of death, where they send Arcanes to work themselves into an early grave, acting as free slave labor for all of Ravenswood.
Now here we are about to be given a job for the good of the country.
Utter bullshit.
The guard studies me for a moment before his quill scratches against the paper. “You’ll be assigned the kitchens.”
Cooking is not my strong suit, but it’s clearly pointless to argue. I accept the bundle of thin and faded clothes shoved in my chest without complaint. We’re supposed to lay low for now, out of trouble.
Which Sterling and Archer have already screwed up.
Archer is assigned the mines, which I guess means they don’t want to kill him too soon. Vampires don’t burn or burst into flames in the sun like some legends claim, but the sun does sap their energy. And without a source of blood? He’d be dead in two weeks.
Maybe less.
It’s impossible to completely hide my amusement when they decide Sterling is going to help in the gardens.
Maybe they think his unicorn side means he’s at one with nature. Too bad he’s the complete opposite.
He’d do better in the mines with those muscles.
Archer perks up when he hears the guard, laughing under his breath at Sterling’s wordless grunt.
Relief whooshes through me at seeing Archer finally with some color in his cheeks. I want to hurry and get us to wherever they’re going to send us so we can finally feed him more than small sips here and there when the sentries aren’t looking.
We’re sent out of the strange building and lined up again, this time in front of a crumbling well.
A prisoner wearing the same ugly gray rags as the ones in my arms lugs bucket after bucket of water, splashing it over each new inmate, a pile of clothes growing behind him.
Guards watch with narrowed eyes as they order our new group to strip.
My balls try to crawl up inside my body when the bucket of icy water hits me in the face, the autumn wind making it even worse.
My feet splash in the mud puddle, splattering my shins and calves with the brown water. This is supposed to be our bath?
I grit my teeth at the way they’re trying to make us even more like the animals they believe us to be. Standing there with my comrades, naked and shivering and pathetic, I wonder if this was the smartest plan.
Maybe I should’ve come up with something else.
Chapter Six
Allegra
IT’S MIDDAY BEFORE I see my new mates. We don’t get breakfast here, only an afternoon meal and some bread and this strange sludge of a drink before we’re locked up every night. They claim it’s healthy, but I work in the kitchens and know it’s this gray powder we mix with water.
Everything’s gray here. Or sun-bleached brown. There’s no bright, vibrant colors. Even the garden is usually wilted and faded, unable to flourish in this dry, rocky soil.
The only bright bursts of color I get to see are the sunrises and sunsets when blues, purples, scarlets, and golds are splashed across the sky.
The new inmates troop into the refectory, eyes wild and wide, shock and fury fighting for dominance.
The welcome committee isn’t great. They try to break you down as soon as possible here. The slightest infraction will swiftly have someone lashed to the whipping post. Granted, it doesn’t take much for them to do the same to those of us who are old-timers.
Maybe the guards are bitter because they’re stuck here, securing us in this stink-hole instead of out there in the world, enjoying life, so they take their misery out on us.
But really, I think they’re just cruel bastards who hate us and enjoy getting to punish us and make us miserable.
A lot of them are jealous of the abilities we have, the things we’re able to do they can only dream of.
Though I’ve never had the chance to really explore what all I can do. Not that my nightingale side has a lot of power, but eighteen years and I’ve never soared through the painted sky, never spread my wings.
They clipped my wings a long time ago. Literally.
I was four when they forced me to shift and took away my ability to fly. According to Tahira and some of the bird shifters I’ve met here, I’ll heal if I’m able to shift for longer than an hour, they’ll grow back, but the doctor has never let me shift that long.
They don’t let any of us spend much time with our magical sides no matter how starved and weak we are. The ones here who have incredibly powerful magic or animals inside them are never released from their collar no matter how injured.
I keep my head down as I fill bows with the soup I’ve been trying to make taste like something other than slop not even fit for pigs all morning. But the guards get all the decent ingredients, leaving whatever’s shriveled or half-rotted for us to attempt to turn into something edible. Thankfully, Tahira is a wonder with herbs and she’s taught me a few tricks.
The wild garlic I found behind the punishment cages hopefully made enough of a difference. It smells better than usual.
I can feel my mates’ attention burning into my back and the side of my face, but I refuse to return it. If we single each other out now in front of so many, it’ll raise suspicions. Besides, I don’t want to give them any reason to believe I welcome this situation.
There’s no way I’ll be the cause of another mate’s death.
I barely survived losing Rowan.
My throat thickens with tears I’m unable to shed. I can’t seem to stop thinking about him today, ever since that thread bound me to those three males. He’s never far from my thoughts, but not like this, not this constant remembrance and ache haunting each moment of the day.
Zakar smiles at me as I spoon stew into his bowl as he moves down the line. I try to smile back, but my mates are only a few spots behind him and nerves make my chest flutter and hands tremble.
While the next few prisoners pass through the line, I work to control my facial expression, making sure there’s nothing but a blank calm. I’ve spent a long time perfecting the ability to hide my emotions.
Those who can’t learn the practice don’t last long here.
The angry unicorn shifter passes through, sneering at me and at the food I serve him. He’s the first unicorn I’ve ever met here and I’d always imagined they’d have a different aura, a little lighter and kinder.
He’s beautiful though — almost black hair falling in messy curls around his head, bright purple eyes curved at the edges, massive muscles packed onto a body so tall I barely come up to his chest.
I pick a spot on the wall past his shoulder to focus on instead of his violet eyes blazing fury at me, pretending like I don’t feel my nightingale chirping and stamping inside of me with more and more desperation.
The incubus is next through the line and his lips are set in a stern line, though he’s not angry like the unicorn, just stiff, weighted yet still somehow sensual and prowling. His vibrant green eyes are watchful and hooded, taking everything in and preparing himself for it.
He grimaces at the
stew, but his shoulders slump with a sigh. He doesn’t let on at all that there’s a connection between us, smoothly hurrying the grumpy unicorn through the rest of the line.
The vampire still looks a bit rough, though better than most of the vampires here. They’re treated the worst out of all of us in these prisons. Instead of being supplied blood, they’re forced to barter with the little food they’re given for someone to trade them blood. Few are willing since it’s such an intimate thing.
I’ve helped out a few and it always leaves me feeling used and empty, like they took something important, something I’ll never get back.
He ignores me until right before he moves down the line and he shoots a wink at me over his shoulder, his brilliant navy eyes searing through me.
I mutter a curse beneath my breath. He looks like he’s going to be trouble.
Hopefully none of them have been assigned the kitchens. They keep us so busy here, we don’t get a lot of time to spend with anyone other than those we work with.
The line finally ends and I can make a plate for myself to scarf down in the few minutes left of our break. Still ignoring my mates, I squeeze into the spot between Zak and a fox shifter I don’t know very well, not even her name. She keeps to herself, barely restrained violence and fury vibrating in the air around her. I scoot closer to Zak when she looks over at me with a scowl, ducking my head to avoid her eyes.
Even though I know the submissive move is a bad one, I can’t help myself. She’s terrifying. A growl rumbles in her chest and my pulse picks up.
Zakar wraps his arm around me and slides me over almost into his lap, scowling over at the fox with his own growl.
She smirks over at us. “Relax, jinn. I’m not going to harm your girl. But her skittishness makes the predator in me perk up. You’ve got to get a hold of that. Even here where we’re locked away from our arcane sides. I’m surprised it hasn’t gotten you killed yet.”
I’m not dominant enough to challenge most of the others here. The only thing I can do is submit no matter how much it grates. Sometimes it calms them, but other times like now, it makes them want to stalk, hunt, kill.
When your arcane side is a prey animal, it’s not easy to ignore those instincts.
Submit, hide, shrink, flee.
There was a time when I tried to fight back, to wrangle for dominance, to stand up for myself.
But all it got me were bruises, scars, and almost death.
So now, I keep my head down, my mouth shut, and stay out of the way of trouble. Something I worry will no longer be possible with the three arcane males staring at me across the refectory.
Chapter Seven
Archer
AFTER A QUICK COUPLE of sips from Gav’s neck when we had thirty seconds alone with Sterling using his bulk to hide us, I’m feeling much clearer and stronger, though still horny as hell.
So far, the guards don’t seem likely to provide blood. Which is going to be really fun while we’re trapped here. At least Gavyn and Sterling are willing to help me out whenever we can find a moment of privacy.
It’s not really something that’s done with an audience. Sharing blood is an incredibly intimate experience when it’s between two Arcanes. Humans only deal with mild discomfort and some memory loss when we feed from them. I’m just grateful drinking from Gavyn and Sterling is an enjoyable experience. If a bit awkward in the aftermath.
Being trapped here is going to be such a pleasure.
Though coming here has brought us something interesting and certainly pleasurable.
Our mate.
Though convincing the angry one and the brooding one to accept her will be rather difficult. Sterling is too snobbish to be thrilled at a nightingale mate and Gavyn is too consumed with responsibility to want more.
She’s a gorgeous thing too, if a bit starved and haunted.
My fists clench at the way she flinches away from the bratty fox and snuggles even more into the jinn friend of hers. They seem friendly.
Too friendly.
My vampire and I don’t like to see his hands on her sweet body, his side pressed into hers, the trust in her eyes when she looks up at him, the protective set of his shoulders.
He’s clearly not her mate, but there’s something there — trust, affection, friendship, maybe more.
I don’t like it.
And no matter how much Sterling has been grumbling about the situation and her under his breath since he met her intriguing hazel eyes, based on the way he’s grinding his teeth and glaring over there, the unicorn isn’t as uninterested as he wants to be.
Gavyn is a harder read, glancing over at her every now and again, but keeping his expression placid for the most part. I’ve known him long enough to recognize his tell though, and the back of his neck is bright red, letting on he’s not as unaffected as he pretends.
I’d give them both a hard time over it, but there are too many interested ears and eyes aimed at the fresh meat, checking us out, taking our measure.
The soup our mate served us is barely edible and has way too much garlic in it, but I’m disappointed when the bowl is empty, my stomach still begging for more. There’s no way I can survive on this little food and blood plus spending so much time in the sun.
They may have assigned me labor in the mines, but I’ll still be spending too much time in the daylight.
We’ve got to get out of here as soon as we can.
And take our adorable little bird with us.
My spine stiffens and I suck in a breath when I notice a guard approach our mate. Her friend’s face pales, but our nightingale doesn’t flinch or show fear on her face even as she hunches her shoulders and keeps her head down. The jinn squeezes her hand before she’s dragged away by the guard, leaving a thick silence in their wake. No one looks up, no one tries to help, everyone except the jinn and the older woman who was with her earlier keep their gazes on their bowls and their mouths shut tight.
What the fuck is going on in this place?
Once she’s gone and some of the tension releases from the room, I ask, “What was that about?”
Gavyn frowns and scans the room with narrowed eyes. “I don’t know. Everyone’s acting strange though.”
“She’s their favorite subject.” A satyr informs us in a matter of fact voice, like it’s no big deal that a young woman who can’t be more than twenty was just dragged off and not a single one of us did a thing to help her.
“What do you mean?” Sterling’s grip on his spoon tightens so hard the metal cuts into his palm, blood raising on his skin.
He reaches over and lets it drip into my bowl, nodding at my muttered thanks.
The satyr shrugs and shoves another mouthful of food in his mouth. “She was born here, so they like to experiment on her the most since they have information going back to when she was a baby.”
Horror floods me and my spoon falls from my limp hand and clatters to the table. She’s been here her entire life?
They must have imprisoned her mother and she was born to captivity.
I can’t imagine the hell her life has been.
“What?” Gavyn’s voice is strangled as he stares at the satyr with disbelief.
The satyr waves his spoon at the three of us. “They’ll get around to you too. The doc here is always looking for new subjects, hoping he’ll eventually find whatever key there is to unlocking arcane power.”
We’ve heard rumors about those experiments happening in all the prisons, but didn’t want to believe them.
“What kind of experiments?” Gavyn asks, clearly trying to pull himself together, but still struggling with all the terrible knowledge being dropped on our heads.
The satyr shakes his head. “You don’t want to know.”
The gossipy nag is just fucking with us at this point. Maybe if I ripped off one of his ears, he’d stop sounding so bored and yet somehow gleeful at what my mate is on her way to suffer through while the rest of us sit here like assholes.
Gavyn
winces. “That bad?”
“Worse. You better hope he takes his time with that little bird instead of turning his attention on you. He’s a real sick prick.”
If I had my usual strength, the metal bowl in my hands would be crushed into a ball. Even without my arcane power, I still leave gouges in the edges, fury and nausea rolling through me.
My vampire hisses and screams for me to go find my mate and get her the hell out of here and drain all who get in my way.
But we have a mission.
I can’t threaten it for a mate I don’t know.
No matter how much I hate myself for it.
Chapter Eight
Allegra
THE GUARD’S GRIP TIGHTENS on my arm as he drags me to my least favorite place in the prison. The best maintained building here, made of gray and black stone at the far edge past the well and the little shack they use as a welcoming committee.
The scents of pain and disinfectant and blood grow stronger with each step.
My heels drag at the ground, but the guard only yanks on me harder, his free hand moving to his waist where he keeps his coiled whip ready for use.
I’d consider causing trouble to take the whipping instead of what’s about to happen, but I’ve tried it before. It doesn’t save me. I just end up suffering through both.
There’s nothing I can do to stop what’s coming. The doctor calls for me at least once a week. I wasn’t expecting it today though. Not with the new arrivals. Usually he likes to inspect them and see if there’s anything he hasn’t seen before.
The weight on my chest grows heavier and heavier as my trapped nightingale screeches and claws at me, begging me to flee.
But there’s nowhere for me to go.
This is my life.
This is my home. The only one I’ve ever known.
Black edges in at the corners of my vision and my breaths grow shorter as panic overtakes me. I’m so weak, so pathetic. I should be used to this by now. I’ve been living through this for nineteen years. But this is when my blank face and calm composure falters every time.
