Scarlett Romero has spent her entire life as an ordinary citizen; going to school, getting a job and definitely not killing people in the middle of the woods on a Friday night.
Until one Friday night, she does.
All she can remember is acting out of...
Cry for the living. They need it more Than the dead.
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Chapter Fifteen "What Do I Know? Nothing"
Scarlett's POV:
Quinn stays true to her word a week later. Alexander and I are having breakfast together - me trying to annoy him into telling me his lycanthrope's name - when there's a wall-rattling knock on our cell door.
Alexander gives me a look before sniffing the air, trying to determine who's visiting. His brows furrow, eyes hardening and shoulders tensing. He grumbles lowly, "Quinn and someone else. Don't know why they here – isn't an activity day."
I stand with a groan, bare feet cold as I walk towards the banging. Alexander scrambles after me, muttering something about me staying behind him. I roll my eyes and ignore him, glaring when he tries to shove me back.
Quinn and Meredith – the guard who gave me the black lighter after Tolkien tried to have me killed – stand outside our cell. The Head Guard has a sweet smile on her face, way too smug to be genuine. Meredith looks uncomfortable and on the verge of pissing herself.
"Colonel Tolkien has decided you two are allowed outside for an hour," Quinn grins wolfishly, the hand on her machete loose. "You've done wonders getting the other inmates to submit, we could use some of your intimidation in the field."
Alexander rumbles behind me, the sound erupting from deep within his chest. He bares his teeth at Quinn, who takes a quick step back. She curses softly, regret twisting her lips into a frown – she obviously didn't want to reveal her fear of Alexander.
"What's the catch?" I ask, crossing my arms and raising a brow.
"No catch," Meredith is the one who answers, fingers shaking by her sides. "I thought it would be a good idea to have the both of you get some sun. We're still responsible for the health of our inmates."
I go to snap at her, wanting to list all the reasons why she's wrong. The prison doesn't care about the us, all that matters to them is their inmates are supernatural. The more powerful the inmate, the more likely they are to be killed on arrival – like what Tolkien did to me.
But Alexander's hand wrapping around my wrist, with his unnatural warmth, reminds me to keep quiet. I'm not supposed to know about the nature of this prison and letting them know I've figured it out could put them on edge. And I'd like to stay alive, thank you very much.
"We'll get ready for that now, then," I can't bring myself to fake a smile. I simply turn on my heel and stomp back to the study, where my shoes lie. Alexander follows, his hand falling from my wrist to clench by his side.
I get ready silently, pretending I don't notice Alexander's calculating gaze on me. It's the same look he had when I played cards against him and he was figuring out the best way to win. It makes me wish I knew what was going on in his head. He's a lot better at hiding his thoughts than me.
