Page 3 of Her Convict Wolf

There’s something magnetic about him.

Like he’s calling to me.

Calling? What?

I don’t know where that thought came from. But now it’s planted itself in my brain, I can’t get rid of it.

I’m no longer aware of anything else—the heat, the danger, the prisoners and guards. All my attention, my senses are focused on him.

Andholy crap, he’s looking at me, too. He’s at least thirty yards away, but I can literally feel his attention on me. The hairs on my forearms are standing on end and shivers run through my body.

“How about that one?” I don’t really want to ask the question, but I have to know. “The big guy in the middle.”

“That one—?” The guard sounds disappointed. “I dunno. It’s classified. But somethingrealbad I reckon. They keep him in an electric cage at night.”

Anelectric cage? Bars and chains aren’t enough to contain him? I try to cast a discreet glance at him, but he’s still watching me. He’s standing very still, and I feel like his eyes are boring right into me. Like he can see through my disguise. See what I look like under my clothes. My cheeks burn even hotter.

Is he a shifter? He reminds me of the guys who come into the pub—half man, half beast, with fierce eyes and gruff ways.

The first convict approaches the table. He’s gnashing his teeth and snorting like a rabid beast.

“Okay, I’ll be off now,” I squeak.

“Oh, no, sweetcheeks.Yewgotta serve ’em, too,” the guard whines.

“No, that’s not part of it. I’m just doing delivery. We’re a restaurant, not a catering service.”

He shakes his head sadly. “We’re not allowed to serve them. Prison protocol. It disrupts the power balance.”

I snort. “Better if an unarmed civilian serves them instead?”

“Up to you,” he says in a sing-song voice.“Yewdon’t feed them, they don’teat.”

Fuck.

Each one of them looks like he could tear my head off with his teeth. The thought of being in arms’ reach of them fills me with terror.

Definitely not what I signed up for. This situation is getting worse and worse.

“Go on, miss, they won’t hurt you. We’ll have guns trained on them at all times.”

I puff out my cheeks. I hate that this asshole is putting me in this position. But I also hate the thought that the prisoners will go hungry. I calculate. There are thirty of them. If each one takes thirty seconds to serve, I’ll be done in fifteen minutes. Then I’ll be back in my car and straight back to Perdue.

I take a deep breath.

“Okay,” I say.

My heart hammers as the first convict approaches. His nostrils are twitching ravenously.

“I’ve got beef stew. Chicken tray bake—”

“Food!!” he roars.

“F-food, right.” My hands shake as I shove a bunch of cartons at him.

He snatches them, tears the lid off the first one, and starts shoveling beef stew into his mouth with his hands.

“Get a move on, prisoner.” One of the guards jabs him in the back with the butt of his gun. He lets out a roar of rage, but keeps eating.

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