Talk About the Direct Approach...

Chapter Forty-Three: As sly as a fox that's bad at being a fox

*Macy's POV*

After Waylon walks away, I turn towards Neil, who is shaking his head at me. I tilt my head to the side, not understanding his judgmental expression. He rolls his eyes at my confusion.

"You're really too trusting, you know that right?" he says.

"I am not," I say, immediately defensive.

"Are too. You're basically putting your life in that boy's hands."

"No, I'm just asking for help."

"From a complete stranger."

I sigh, not really in the mood to argue, but having nothing better to do. "I'm not too trusting, ok? I just try to find the best in people. Unlike you, I haven't completely given up on people."

He raises his hands in surrender, before leaning back and rubbing the top of his head with one hand. "I have no problem with the boy, I'm just saying that you might want to be more careful. But it's kind of entertaining how trusting you are if I'm being honest."

"Glad you enjoy it," I say without humor.

With nothing left to say, I return to my bunk and lay on my stomach, staring at the gray wall as I try to get through to Cayton once more. I'm still hitting that wall, and to bring that metaphor to life, I lash out and kick the wall in frustration. "Ow."

This jerk is going to get it whenever I get out of here. Really, you would think he wasn't too worried about anything happening to me. Not that he should, I guess, because I think I can handle myself...at least enough to walk away alive.

"You know," I start, wondering out loud, "I haven't been to prison before, but I'm like 99% sure you get a phone call and, I don't know, recreational time or something. What kind of concrete shit hole is this pack running?"

Neil chuckles. "Well, doll face, considering that this is A, a werewolf prison, and B, y'know, probably completely illegal under human laws, they don't have to follow any rules or regulations."

"Has no one thought to, I don't know, call the actual police? The FBI, maybe?" I huff. Werewolves, I swear to god. This is so unethical. No wonder people think they're monsters.

'Excuse you,' Wolfette says indignantly. 'You want to talk about monsters? Did you even pay attention in any of your history classes?'

'Touché.' I concede.

I take a deep breath, releasing it through my nose, and pull the pendant of my necklace out of my pocket. I run my thumb over the surface thoughtfully, thinking of Cayton and how much I hate him right now. Ass.

"So Neil, do you have a mate?" I ask curiously, trying to take my mind off my own mate.

"I reckon I do somewhere," he says. "But I haven't met her yet, and I'm completely ok with that."

I stop fiddling with the pendant, raise an eyebrow, and hang myself over the edge of the bed so I can see Neil. My hair falls down, and it briefly crosses my mind that I really need a haircut. "Why?"

He shrugs, his feet kicked up on the bar at the end of his bed, hands behind his head. "Too much work, turns you into a complete sap, and with my luck I'd get stuck with a complete bitch."

"Female dog," I say. "Obviously."

He rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean."

I push some hair out of my face and frown. "You sound just like Carter," I muse to myself, but he hears. "He was the same way." He only shrugs, and by now, the blood rushing to my head is making me dizzy, so I flip myself upright.