Page 14

A fter updating my files, I closed the desk drawer and tidied up my office.

I’d resolved a territorial dispute between two neighboring coyotes—both rogues without a family.

That took until noon. Then I got a call about a dead body by Casper Cliff, which turned out to be a rock climbing accident.

Once I’d identified the victim to be a Sensor from a nearby town, I called in the cleaners and notified their family.

My phone rang, and I saw it was Peter, our eccentric British guard who worked upstairs. “Yes?”

“Pardon me, but there’s a bloke in here who isn’t on the list. Says his name is Lucian Cross. Do you know him?”

“Send him down.”

The Breed jail was located off a private road and resembled a regular old home, but that was a facade.

Underground, we had offices, bathrooms, a kitchen, storage rooms, and jail cells.

Being a small town, we limited the number of prisoners to roughly ten.

Our duty was to review the facts of the case and determine a fit punishment.

If that individual was part of an animal group or was a Breed with a maker, the responsibility would fall on them, depending on the crime.

We also had a maximum-security area in the back for those serving a long sentence, but currently we only had two people in there. Sometimes we let troublemakers sit behind bars for six months, other times the charges weren’t serious enough to warrant jail time.

Peter alerted us of any unexpected visitors.

If humans dropped in for any reason, his role was to portray the homeowner.

Although Peter could charm people and scrub memories, we once had a police officer who received an anonymous complaint show up.

When Peter reached out to rip off his sunglasses, the officer pulled a gun and ultimately shot him.

While he was down, the cop called in for backup on his radio.

That complicated the situation threefold and required us to go to their jailhouse, erase audio, scrub memories, and waste a full day cleaning up all evidence.

After that little incident, my colleagues ordered Peter to only wear underwear around the house.

It made humans uncomfortable, especially with his large chest tattoo, and would deter anyone from taking up his time.

We developed a plan for unexpected police visits but didn’t anticipate any since Peter had charmed everyone who worked at the station to ignore our address if it was ever reported.

I felt bad for Peter, but it was an effective tactic.

The last time a solicitor rang the bell, Peter answered in his underpants, and the salesman left his card and walked off without another word.

For the most part, people didn’t drive up unannounced to homes in the country, but we couldn’t be too careful.

I glanced at my watch before stepping into the reception area.

The hollow space in the wall gradually filled with an elevator that lacked doors.

When Peter’s bare legs and white briefs came into view, I switched my attention to the man beside him.

The descending elevator revealed Lucian’s body like wrapping paper peeling away from a gift.

Fingers tucked in the pockets of his tight black jeans, a heather-grey T-shirt hugging his sinewy muscles, straight shoulders contrasting with angled cheekbones, disheveled coal-black hair.

Once the elevator stopped, Lucian stepped out with his lip turned up in a crooked smile. He glanced back at Peter. “Ask her yourself.”

Brushing his fingers over the letters on his chest that spelled Cursed, Peter gave an impish grin, his fangs on full display as the inability to retract them was one of his defects. The wedge of blue color in one of his black eyes was another.

It took me a second to figure out what they must have been discussing. “No cats,” I said to Peter, who was always getting visitors to ask us in his stead.

“You see?” Peter sulked as the elevator ascended. “Woe is me. Reduced to a lifetime of solitude.” His voice trailed off when he disappeared.

I chuckled at Lucian. “I suppose you have questions.”

“Not many. He basically told me his life story.”

“Peter’s defects make it difficult for him to get a regular job.

That’s why he’s the ideal candidate for this position.

We used to have trouble with guards who treated this post like temp work and eventually left when other opportunities came up.

The odds of that happening with Peter are slim, so now we don’t have to replace our front guard every six months.

We can’t afford to pay a whole lot, so this isn’t exactly a dream job for a Vampire. ”

Lucian strode toward me with his hands in his pockets. “Why the cat obsession?”

“I don’t know. Connor thinks he wants to eat it.”

“And you?”

“We’ve only speculated. I’m sure Peter has good intentions, but we can’t afford the liability.

Cats are sneaky, and prisoners would use a cat as a hostage.

Besides, if Peter fell in love with a pet, it could be disastrous.

Unless it’s a mating ceremony, people don’t visit us in the best of moods.

Imagine the chaos if Peter murdered a Packmaster for kicking his cat.

” I glanced down at the folder in his hand.

“I like a man who comes prepared.” I collected the folder and set it on a desk, wondering why everything that came out of my mouth suddenly sounded like an innuendo.

“I have one more important job to complete before we get started. Do you mind walking with me?”

“Where?”

“Prisoner release.” I unlocked the door that led to the central hallway. “One of my colleagues got pulled away, and normally he processes the releases. I was going to ask Peter to come down to assist, but since you’re here…”

I walked the length of the hall, the bathrooms on the left and offices and a kitchen to the right. Lucian fell back a step, curious as most people were when they came down here.

“Don’t you have other security guards?” he asked.

“One downstairs, and he rotates shifts with another gentleman. They also handle food prep, and he’s busy with tonight’s dinner.

The last time we pulled him out to help us with something, the kitchen caught fire.

It would’ve been a disaster if we hadn’t gotten it under control.

Don’t worry—I’m not asking you to do anything but watch.

Prisoners are less likely to act a fool when there’s an audience.

” After swiping my security badge, I opened the heavy door and stepped into the primary holding tank.

Straight ahead was another short hall that led to maximum security, but on the left and right were standard jail cells.

My heels clicked against the cement floor as I approached the last cell on the right. “It’s your lucky day, Mr. Seaborn.”

“You were supposed to let me out an hour ago,” he grumped in his thick country twang.

Lucian hung back by the main door.

No sense in arguing about the time. Marcus Seaborn was a Mage and possessed the ability to sense time as well as direction.

He had been in our custody for two weeks after he was caught juicing from a Sensor without consent.

Energy exchanges aren’t illegal if consensual, but most people aren’t eager to let a Mage steal their energy for a high.

Consequently, light addicts often target intoxicated people outside bars.

Lucky for the Sensor, he lived. But we locked up Mr. Seaborn to drive our point home that we don’t allow perverse behavior in Storybook.

Marcus looked worse for wear. He hadn’t seen a razor in two weeks, let alone a hairbrush.

We had to be careful with contraband since anything could be used as a weapon, and he had been an obstinate prisoner from day one.

Thick patches of grey and white whiskers dusted his face; deep lines etched the corners of his eyes.

His stout body could easily overpower me, which was why I’d asked Lucian to come along.

After unlocking the cell, I stepped aside. “No more illegal juicing. If we catch you doing it again, we’ll increase the time to six months. This town has no place for juicers. Each subsequent violation will add more time to your sentence.”

He cleared his throat. “That’s a bunch of bullshit. You can’t lock me up unless there’s a dead body.”

“Fuck around and find out,” I said with an artificial smile.

He stepped out of the cell and scowled. “You better watch your back.”

Lucian blurred past me and slammed Marcus against the wall. He pinned the Mage by his wrists and growled so fiercely that my blood chilled.

Marcus kneed him, and I winced. When Lucian lost his grip, the Mage blasted him with energy, knocking him back several feet. With lightning speed, the two men crashed into each other in a tangle.

My heart stopped when Lucian’s canines punched out. His eyes were still gold, which meant he hadn’t flipped his switch. He used his whole body to pin Marcus against the wall, firmly gripping his wrists to prevent another energy attack.

The Mage blanched when Lucian’s fangs closed in on his neck.

Chitahs possess a venom powerful enough to paralyze or kill a Mage, depending on how many teeth puncture the skin. Their venom doesn’t affect any other Breed, so that made the two Breeds natural enemies. Four punctures with injected venom is fatal, and anything less is excruciating.

Instead of panicking, I coolly walked up to Mr. Seaborn.

“If you want to go back in that cell, it’s up to you.

But I think you’ve learned your lesson. That’s why you’re going to shut your mouth and put one foot in front of the other until you’re out of my sight.

Or… I could let you and Mr. Cross work it out privately. ”

Lucian snarled, his face so close that Marcus whimpered. “Apologize.”

“S-sorry,” Marcus stammered, his voice trembling and eyes wide with terror. “I was just talking shit.”