Page 3 of Dragon Flames
The second I was arrested, they threw me to the wolves.
Literally.
Most of the prison guards consist of wolf shifters.
In the past ten years, I have never once received a letter or phone call or visitor.
No one cares if I live or die in this underground hellhole.
While I don’t give a fuck that no one has come to visit me during all these years, my beast is a fickle, curious beast who’s easily bored.
“Please.” The cat shifter takes another step forward, the plea barely audible. He keeps his eyes lowered, tipping his head to the side in a show of submission as he bares his throat.
The kid isn’t small by any means. At six feet, he towers over me by a good six inches, but height and muscles don’t mean shit when it comes to shifters. Even the most fragile-looking girl can put a three-hundred-pound man on the ground with barely a sneeze.
“Sure thing, pretty boy.” Because the kid has always treated me with respect, I lower my arms and offer him my wrists. I call himboydespite him being five years my senior because he has a sense of right and wrong that hasn’t been beaten out of him yet.
If the other guards need something done that involves me, they usually send him.
We have a sort of rapport, an unspoken truce. Basically, we leave each other the fuck alone.
That doesn’t mean I won’t tear his fucking throat out if he lifts his fists to me.
I don’t trust the guards, and with good reason—they’ve been trying to kill me since the day I arrived. While some of them might have been bribed, most of them did it out of pure malice.
Out of all the original prison guards, only Lassie is still alive.
The others had…unfortunate accidents.
Those who’ve managed to crawl out alive were in no condition to work in the prison any longer, so broken their beasts had fallen dormant.
They were no better than human.
Without their beasts, they couldn’t shift, couldn’t heal, and couldn’t fucking bother me again.
The cold metal of the shackles bites into my skin as they click shut. The magic in the metal hits me like ice being injected directly into my bones, the sensation slithering up my arms. It’s supposed to deaden our abilities, but I’m a little too far gone for it to work correctly on me.
The shackles should’ve pinned my beast to my body and killed my senses. They were created to keep a person from shifting or using their abilities. While it hurts like a sonofabitch, my beast remains alert and alive.
Our creatures might share our bodies, but we aren’t meant to be awake and aware at the same time. While our bodies can handle it, our brains aren’t equipped to carry dual personalities. When a beast rides a person too long, it usually drives them insane.
I can attest that it’s absolutely true.
I’m certifiably, one-hundred percent, batshit crazy.
I think it’s the only reason I’ve managed to survive this place for so long.
The average life expectancy here is thirty-five years. Since most shifters live for three to four hundred years, that’s saying something.
As the guards draw apart, I stride through the middle of them without an ounce of fear. What are they going to do? Beat me? Been there, done that, and have the bloodstained cell to prove it. Even though I’m outnumbered fifteen to one, they don’t dare attempt it, and my beast chuffs in delight.
Pussies.
I snicker in agreement.
The guards lead me through the underground warren of passageways. After twenty minutes of heading upward, we finally arrive at a massive security door, and I pause for a moment before the guards lead me through the private visitors’ section.
I stop dead when I see the old hag of a woman waiting.
