Page 48 of First Offense
15
Auric
This place is so fuckingwrong, I thought, slamming my fist against the concrete wall of the shower.
After checking on Layla in the yard, I’d marched straight back to our cell for a much-needed shower. She seemed fine, standing at the cliff with that raven-haired female. I still didn’t know what the fuck any of this had to do withreform, and I was seriously starting to doubt that I would ever know.
Because this hellhole? Yeah, it wasn’t a reformatory at all. It was a fucking nightmare.
My entire body shook with rage. This whole situation had been building out of control, and now it was clear that not only was I not going to get to talk to the king, but somehow I’d found myself as an inmate with white wings.
I needed to figure this out, which meant I first had to calm the fuck down.
A shower would help.
So would some sleep.
Or a bit of rough sex.
I growled at the thought and let my head fall against the wall while the rivulets of cool water ran down my shoulders and back.Fuck.
I inhaled sharply through my mouth and squeezed my eyes shut. None of this made any damn sense!
I wanted to maim, kill, and fuck, in that order.
An instinct that only intensified as Novak’s scent touched my nose.
Leather and smoke.
Even after a century apart, he still smelled good. Not like a mangy mutt, but like a man of worth.
Yet the black wings at his back told the truth about his nature. Just like Layla’s ebony feathers.
However, after experiencing over a week of “reformation,” I could see why he hadn’t earned back his white feathers. It was impossible in this environment of death and blood.
“Is what happened yesterday normal?” I asked, rotating my head along the wall to glance sideways at him. He stood, leaning against the concrete siding, waiting for his turn with the shower.
Considering we shared a cell now, I supposed he had nowhere else to go to bathe. But I definitely needed the water first. Especially with my wounded leg. Not that he seemed to be complaining.
His gaze narrowed, his lips unmoving.
I arched a brow. “Is that your way of accusing me of something?”
Novak had never been the talkative type before, but now it seemed he never spoke unless he absolutely needed to. Instead, he let his facial expressions speak for him, and right now, they were telling me that I’d guessed correctly.
“What is it you think I’ve done?” I demanded, pushing off the wall to let the water run down my torso.
He watched the droplets weave along my abs and to my groin, my cock hard and ready to battle. I was a Nora Warrior. He understood what that meant—we thrived on violence and sex, typically in that order. Well, I’d indulged in my fair share of violence this week. But no sex.
So yeah, I was as hard as a fucking rock. And if he kept staring at me like that, I’d make him do something about it.
He unfastened his pants and kicked off his shoes, accepting the challenge in my gaze.
Or, perhaps, taunting me.
Whatever.
“I don’t know what you think I’ve done,” I continued. “But this place is fucked up. Are the other prisons like this, too?”
