Page 1 of Dragon Flames
Chapter One
FELICIA
“Prisoner 779135—stand.” The sharp bark of the prison guard’s order silences the commissary like the crack of a whip.
I am so used to my inmate number that I barely remember my real name anymore.
Felicia Florence Albright.
Every morning, I whisper the name in my head so I won’t forget.
It’s the name of an innocent girl who died even before she set foot in this cesspit. Only a ghost of her remains, her screams haunting my nightmares when I can’t fight them off anymore.
A hush falls over the crowd as eyes swing back and forth between me and the group of fifteen guards waiting by the door. Silverware clatters and trays scrape when prisoners in the immediate area jump to their feet and beat a hasty retreat, some in such a hurry they even leave behind their food.
Since some poor schmuck dies fighting over food at least once a week, leaving it behind means they aren’t just scared, they’re terrified.
While I have a certain reputation in the cell block, they aren’t necessarily afraid of me. If they leave me alone, I return the favor. Things get dicey when they decide I look like an easy mark, a way to make their name.
They quickly learn they’re wrong.
I finish the last of my unflavored, processed cube of rice, ignoring the tinges of gray and black at the corners. I’ve had to ignore a lot in the ten years I’ve been behind these walls.
I’ve forgotten what the sun feels like on my face.
The smell of flowers.
The touch of a breeze through my hair.
What the sky looks like.
I only see those things in my dreams…when my nightmares don’t drag me into their dark embrace.
I live in the maximum-security prison reserved for the worst of the supernatural race—Dante’s Penitentiary.
Men or women, it doesn’t matter. We’re sent here to die for our crimes.
Most women who enter either die quickly or are claimed by someone stronger.
The three women who remain alive and free are that way for a reason—they’re fucking poison.
And I’m one of them.
I’ve lived in all nine levels of this hellish prison. While some levels are more brutal than others, one rule reigns supreme—only the strong survive.
I was forged from blood, sweat, and pure rage.
The only people who ever leave this place do it feet-first in a body bag.
I wish I could say I’m innocent, but any innocence I possessed died painfully and brutally even before I entered this hellscape.
I glance up at the guard through my knotted silver hair, slowly pushing to my feet. Ten of the guards flinch and step back, while the remaining few scowl and tighten their grips on their stun rods.
The voltage in those fuckers is enough to knock down a rhino—I’ve seen it happen.
Refusing to cower, I pull back my shoulders and lift my chin.
One of the guards swears, swallowing hard, and I toss him a smirk that releases the delicious perfume of fear into the air. Since the first day I arrived, the guards have made it their mission to kill me. They’ve almost succeeded on numerous occasions. I’ve had every bone in my body broken, sometimes four or five times over, but I’ve always healed, my body knitting together faster and faster after every beating until my skin has hardened almost like armor.
