cellblock silent save for the ever-present tick, tick, tick of a wall clock over the door. The air thickened, even with our collars muting magic and shifting, and I all but held my breath when the fae moved in and murmured something in Deimos’s ear. Over the demon’s shoulder, he caught my eye, shamrock-green eyes twinkling with mischief and mirth.
When he stepped back, the fae did so with an apologetic smile and a hapless shrug. Deimos’s entire demeanor suddenly tightened, his hands in fists, his shoulders rigid. Even the guards seemed to sense the impending fallout, loitering by the door with an eye on the scene, just Cooper and some new warlock who picked his nose and ate the findings when he thought no one was watching. Thompson had disappeared at some point, the one glimmer of sanity amongst our captors gone. Not good. Not good at all. Not the oppressive quiet. Not the fury twisting across Deimos’s face. Not the way his gang were all rising off their stools, hackles up and teeth bared.
The storm broke when Deimos threw the first punch. His fist cracked hard and furious across the fae’s jaw, and the entire crew pounced. Avery and Blake ripped the fae off his feet and dragged him onto the table, all of them closing in like a pack of wild dogs tearing into a carcass.
No, not a carcass. A very much alive animal, one who felt every bite, still kicking and bleating and begging—
Only he didn’t beg. In fact, as I shot up, heart in my throat and ears ringing, panicked like I’d never been for another prisoner before, I swore I heard the fae laughing. High, clear, melodious belly-aching laughter. No. That couldn’t be right. It was just a trick of the acoustics, another lie in Xargi Penitentiary.
Six on one was hardly a fair fight, especially after the disorienting experience of check-in—the strip search, squatting and coughing, shoved in a jumpsuit by strangers who had just examined you naked. It wasn’t fair, and it definitely wasn’t right. I staggered forward, eyes wide as I searched the pile for the fae, but there were so many bodies in one place, and Constance wouldn’t stop shrieking with absolute delight, dark fae blood under her talons…
“They’re going to kill him!”
“No, they’ll be stopped just shy of that,” Elijah insisted when I whipped around to my guys, who, while standing, didn’t seem keen on making a move to stop anything. Not that I blamed them: getting involved only made things worse. But… But…
The fae didn’t deserve to die—or end up in the infirmary just for pissing off a jerk like Deimos. In fact, he should get a medal for whatever he had said that sent the demon into a rage. None of us had been able to really trigger him yet.
“Yeah, well, it shouldn’t come to that either,” I snapped, marching around the circular cellblock and searching out the guards. Cooper and the other warlock lingered at the door, arms crossed, mouths stretched in cruel smiles. They chatted amongst themselves like they were watching a damn basketball game—probably taking bets on the fae’s odds of surviving the attack. Pathetic. All of them. Absolutely pathetic.
Even though I had spent my life on the sidelines, always taking a back seat, never involving myself in anyone’s business even outside of prison, something about this place made me want to fight. I’d seen brawls between inmates. I’d witnessed guards slam supers against the walls, scream in their faces, make them wriggle and squirm in agony with hexes that ought to be abolished. I’d met others torn away from their lives, their families, their homes—all to fill the cells of Xargi Penitentiary. It had happened to me: kidnapping, abuse, violations of my body and my mind and my magic.
And…
Enough.
Just—enough.
I clicked with Elijah and Rafe’s way of doing things because we were so similar. Don’t make waves. Don’t draw attention. Just sit back and survive. I understood that—lived it, breathed it. Heck, it was practically my family’s motto, the dwindling Fox coven’s code of conduct. Keep to yourself, take care of each other, and everything will be fine.
Only it wasn’t fine. I was the last Fox witch left, alone in the world and shouldering my dad’s paranoia to this day.
Elijah had broken the rules. He had made waves, drawn attention to himself—fought for me. Protected me from Deimos. Kept the demon off my back and beat a guard bloody for leering at me. Shorter and weaker,