Supernatural Custody

by Dany Stone

  Kinda hard to know which smell is worse.

  “Shit.” Ki covers his mouth with his sleeve.

  I hold my breath as I go in. Ki’s boots thump into my heels, forcing me to a faster pace than my throbbing legs want to manage. Gripping the wall, I move down a long hall. Faint yellowed sensor lights are the only things that respond to our presence. They flicker on at our approach, only to fold back into darkness the moment we’re past. A continual pulsing in an out of light until my eyes are burning.

  Ahead of us, a row of sinks and an empty line of showers stretch along the wall. Fully exposed.

  No. Fucking. Way.

  “Keep going.” Ki’s voice is toneless. The fingers push deeper into my shoulder blades and I want nothing more than to tell him to let go.

  But this is the closest he’s been for a long, long time.

  The all-seeing eye on is uniform sends pricks of light pulsing against the walls. The light blinks onto my skin. Skimming across the prisoner tattoo on my hand.

  He’s just like the others.

  Deadly to trust.

  And yet, at the moment, I have no other option.

  A division of doorways splits open the hall before us. Mildew creeps up the walls under my touch like a living thing, similar to blackened smudges from a sponge.

  Yeah, I can see why he brought me here to get clean.

  “Any of these are fine.” He coaxes me forward when I hesitate. “As long as you hurry.”

  I step into a random shower. Not like I can get any filthier than I already am. A fresh stench wafts around me, mildew so overpowering it cuts my breath short. Ki follows me in only so far as the doorway. Stops to lean against the wall, arms folded, and the sadness in his eyes bores through me. Dissects all my defenses into ash. The lights above us pulse erratically, blending us in and out of shadow. Hiding his uniform one moment and revealing it the next.

  Trust him.

  Don’t trust him.

  “There are ways to make them more lenient,” he says quietly. “Is there any way you can find out Aiden Caravel’s location?”

  A question I’m not about to answer.

  I want nothing more than to hide. Stay closed within myself, let him see only what I want visible through the bars.

  Want nothing more than to push him away.

  Like I’m not hiding enough from him already.

  “I don’t have any information for them.” I force myself to stand still. To meet the accusation in his eyes as he strides toward me. His fingers brush mine as he hands me a towel.

  “What happened that night? When they arrested you?”

  I hug the towel to me. Hesitating between the faucet and the shower doorway.

  All I have to do is turn on the shower and drown him out.

  And simply add that to the stack of questions he’s already pushing me about.

  No, no, no. You can’t push him away. He’s the closest I have to a friend. Knows more of my secrets than Aiden—which, really, isn’t saying much.

  Like I’m going to open my heart to anyone ever again.

  I run my fingers down the chipped metal of the doorframe. Tracing out an invisible scale. “There was a little—skirmish.” The scale quickens into a riff.

  Ki’s stillness is not a good sign. Watching me too closely. “Little skirmish.” His glance flickers over me. Then freezes. “Lu, what—”

  I draw back, hyper-conscious of something I can’t even see. My shoulder strikes the light sensor, leaving me exposed in the overhead glare.

  “Your neck. It’s—bruised.” His gaze lifts to my eyes. “Lux, what did they—” He takes a step back, nostrils flaring, too upset to even finish the question. Agitated enough that I know the old Ki has found connection with the old Lux inside me, forgotten all the tension between us. All resentment evaporated into concern.

  No, Ki.

  No.

  Don’t. Get. Attached.

  I let my smile become the barrier between us. “Still think I’m to blame for getting put into solitary?”

  A hint of resentment sparks back into his gaze. He turns away without answering me.

  Nothing for me to do but turn the water on. And get clean as quickly as possible.

  I strip out of my jumpsuit and unsnap my bra. Take my time removing my panties until the water has heated up. I toss the clothing onto the top of the shower wall, cringing at everything they’ll come in contact with, only to see Ki’s hand reach over the top.

  “They’ll be safer with me.”

  I bite my lip. Shake my head as I step into the water.

  Warm water pooling around my feet.

  Rinsing days of dirt and grime from my skin and creating a new person in my place.

  I tilt my face up to the water.

  “Lux?” His footsteps stop outside the shower . “We need to go.” He steps into the shower doorway and I’m exposed before his gaze, wet hair dripping down my naked shoulders and across my skin. There is no reason to hide from him, not when he’s seen me naked a hundred times before.

  And his darkening eyes tell me he’s remembering each time.

  The passion that once existed between us.

  Maybe there’s nothing I want to hide from him after all.

  When he looks away, his smile is gone. He hands me my clothes without a word, his gaze carefully averted.

  I want him to look at me.

  To really see me.

  To fill some of the emptiness in me with the fragments of what our love used to be.

  “Thank you.” My voice’s shaking. Impossible to control. I dress quickly, shaking back my wet hair, and he turns his back to me. I watch him uncertainly, everything inside of me warning me.

  Not real. He’s not being real.

  Don’t get attached.

  I can’t handle losing him a second time.

  Eighteen

  LUX

  This is the closest I’ll come to freedom.

  I stay at the back of the line leading into the cafeteria, closed into my own space until it becomes an invisible barrier around me. Surrounded by hundreds of inmates.

  And yet I am alone.

  For a moment let myself pretend I don’t feel the stares aimed at me from all directions. None of this matters. Nothing but survival.

  And the sweet, sweet feeling of liberty when I finally manage to break my way

  out of this place.

  I stand there in a daze, eyeing the prisoners of all shapes and sizes and forms file past me, like I’m some World’s Best Prisoner judge. Some are sullen, others despairing. Both I can identify with.

  They all carry the scent of wounded animals.

  Prey to the strict anti-magic laws of the World Peace.

  I stop outside the doorway, a quick check of the perimeters before I enter. The air is thick with the smoke of tallow and burnt meat, takes several blinks before I can clear my vision enough to see.

  Takes a second glance before I spot Damien, seated at a long table to the far right of the cafeteria. His scythe and cloak are gone, and when he’s turned away, it’s impossible to see the tattoos that scar his face. He looks – well, human, and happy about it. Nothing like the reaper who was escorted to the infirmary only a few hours ago.

  Nothing in his face to show he was enchanted and I was unable to rouse him.

  He simply sits among the inmates like one who has been incarcerated his entire life, hands waving as he goes through a story.

  I can’t help but wonder if the story is about me.

  Go on.

  It doesn’t help just standing here.

  I haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon and it’s not like I can expect anyone to bring me food.

  I’ll go in.

  Get out.

  Hopefully without being spotted.

  That’s right. Just keep the lies coming.

  I step into the cafeteria, head averted to keep away the stares. Pretending fascinating with the graffiti smeared across the yellowed walls. The room
stills as I cross to the food counter.

  Hades’s ass. I quicken my stride, stare straight ahead. The stance of one heading into the arena.

  Would it be worse to face a bloodsucking corpse in the arena or this crowd?

  My stomach tightens as I pass Damien’s table. Acknowledge him, pretend everything is normal and that his new friends aren’t staring at me like I’m some murderous curiosity? Or just keep walking so I can get out of here? I finally settle on a quick nod that doesn’t require me to stop. Damien avoids my gaze, sign enough that I’ve been the topic of their conversation.

  I don’t know why I bother feeling surprised.

  The food line moves along a wall animated by a bewildering array of propaganda ads, Bralik Masters starring in at least half of them. The king of human propaganda. The face of injustice. I close my ears against the spell of falsely enthusiastic voices and stare straight forward. What does he know of the day to day struggle of being supernatural? Or the way it cripples you when you’re forced to smother the most living part oof yourself, day in and day out?

  If his intention is to convince the world of his human superiority, he would have to find someone a little more gullible.

  I’ve already seen the traps waiting behind the scenes.

  Finally I reach the food distribution slot, the constant slow stop and go making my legs ache. More than anything I miss my magic – the way it blocked exhaustion, simplified tasks, its presence always making itself known even when it wasn’t needed. Something to still the constant Ferris wheel of my mind. Which goes down more lately that it ever went up.

  Farther.

  And farther down.

  My hands clench around the edge of my tray.

  Whisper for my body to settle into numbness once again, let me forget everything I know.

  Empty myself of all memory so this new reality will have nothing to compare itself to.

  “Please scan your prisoner number.” An electrical surge blocks me from approaching any further and I stare blankly at the light for a long moment, confusion biting into my exhaustion.

  Your chip.

  Ki’s fingers cool against my skin as he placed the chip in my hand.

  Don’t think don’t think don’t think

  I am an empty essence.

  Moving along without thought.

  Fear.

  Emotion.

  A protective shell forming around my true self so there’s nothing left to jurt.

  I unclench my hand long enough to place it under the light. A moment of silence before the system beeps acceptance and the electric surge disappeared.

  “Prisoner 61626117, proceed.”

  The current hisses back in place the moment I’m through, an instant barrier between me and the prisoner behind me.

  I find myself staring down at the tray.

  Feeling its solid corners.

  A tray I could use as a weapon.

  I keep my face expressionless as I approach the food distribution. A gaping hole opens in the wall, and a plate of oozing brown substance is ejected.

  Takes only sniff to know this is the source of the rotten smell in here.

  Rotten like everything else in here.

  It isn’t until I’m walking away with my food that Damien rises and joins me. He hovers just behind my shoulder, an annoying presence in my peripheral.

  “I hope you aren’t getting used to this. I already applied for the transfer. Will probably have you in hell by the end of the day.”

  I snort back a laugh. “And here I was getting so accustomed to my luxurious living style.”

  “A lesson in why you should have avoided crime.”

  “Why? So I could walk around with a stick up my ass like you? ‘Ooh, I need to finish ruining your life so I can get back to collecting my dead people.’”

  “They’re not my dead—”

  “‘If only there was some way to torment you further. Oh, wait, why don’t you come back to hell with me?’”

  “For the record, that is not my voice at all.”

  “‘Say what? You don’t want to be tormented in a prison of living flame for endless millennia? How strange.’”

  “It’s called justice, Nightshade.” He grabs my shoulders, pushing me back against the table. “I don’t make the rules. I just enforce them.”

  I make the mistake of looking up into his eyes. A startling ocean blue against dark skin, pupils wide, aroused. One hand moves down from my shoulder to my back. Pulling me closer until I become aware of the tray between us, of every inch that separates us.

  “You do know I have the power to do whatever I want to you.” His voice is a dark rumble from deep in his chest. “You’re powerless here.” The hand trails lower. “And there isn’t a single. Fucking. Thing. You can do.”

  My entire body is on fire, an inward screaming plea for his touch. I want him to pull my closer, hold me against him the way he did last night.

  “What happens to me isn’t what matters.” I close my fingers around his, on the verge of pulling my jumpsuit from his grip, but instead his fingers curl around mine. Holding close, sending an explosion of emotions through a mere touch.

  “It matters because it is my desire.” His fingertips brush my skin. “You will go with me to hell.” He tugs the straps, pulling me closer, closer to face him. “And you will love it, fucking love it, you hear me? I feel the darkness inside you, Nightshade. Hell is where you belong.”

  You can’t even handle this. The whisper rips through all my defenses. Would die if he took you to Hell.

  Except. . . when I look into his eyes, I feel I can handle anything. No longer have to hide behind my secrets and my guilt and pretend magic is the only thing that can protect me.

  Maybe – I don’t need magic to free myself at all.

  Nineteen

  DAMIEN

  Twelve hours.

  Five minutes.

  Fifty-nine fucking seconds.

  And still they haven’t provided me access to a phone, or any way of getting in communication with Bo. My brother could still be trapped at Lucaw Tower for all I know, or dragged off for questioning about things he’s not even involved in.

  Why in Lucifer’s ass did I think it was a good idea to stay here as Nightshade’s handler?

  I crouch on a stool near the cell door, hands clenched around my knees. Don’t look behind me, but I’m aware of Nightshade’s presence like she’s every breath I take. We haven’t talked since the awkward moment in the cafeteria, and the silence stretches long and heavy between us. Part of me wants to grab her.

  Force her back against the wall.

  And demand her attention.

  The other part, the sane part?

  It screams at me to get the fuck out of here.

  Before she can tangle her claws any deeper into me.

  By now Death should know something is up, hopefully has sent out a search party to trace me out. Knowing his underworld contacts, he’s found some track of my location.

  Will send out an ambassador to the pen and tell that prick of an angel where to shove it.

  Reward me for my loyalty.

  And Lux Nightshade will take her rightful place in Hell’s prisons.

  The only supernatural who double-crossed Death.

  And lived to tell about it.

  Somehow the idea of her imprisonment doesn’t hold the same charm for me as it used to.

  You really think Death will be impressed with you if you’ve gone soft?

  Gods damn it.

  I need away from Nightshade.

  Now.

  I shove up to my feet, every move punctuated by anger, and Nightshade stirs on the bunk to glance back at me. Her eyes are huge in her perfectly moulded face.

  Brimming with emotions I don’t want to acknowledge.

  When she’s surrounded by enemies, it’s only natural for her to begin to trust the stupid fucker who decided to, well, cuddle her. Yeah, in retrospect, it’s the stupidest thing I could have do
ne.

  A few tears and I basically became Mr. Melting Snowman all over her.

  Not exactly a moment I’m proud of.

  “Keep your eyes to yourself,” I mutter, pacing past her.

  “When there’s a tasty show?” She unwinds herself lazily from the bunk. Stretches her long legs until her feet touch ground and she’s directly in my path, smiling as she winds a strand of hair around her finger.

  Just looking at her makes hungry as hell.

  And judging by her smile, she knows it.

  “You don’t have to stay here, you know.” Her voice drops to a purr. “Not if you don’t like it.”

  Don’t like the situation?

  Or don’t like what I see?

  I flick my tongue across my lips.

  The urge to taste her, consume her, claim her burns red-hot across my senses.

  Baby, you don’t even know what you’re getting yourself into.

  I know how to make torment the most pleasant sensation she’s ever faced.

  I don’t waste time with words. Instead I place both hands on her ass and jerk her up against me, hard enough that she rubs against my growing erection. Her eyes hood, heavy-lidded with pleasure, and she arches her back with a gasp that nearly drives me over the edge. I pull her roughly closer.

  Only space for a breath between us.

  “I hope you’re not afraid to scream.” I whisper the words against her neck. Whisper, and feel her tremble. “Because I’m about to make this the most memorable night of your life. And there’s nothing—”

  “Actually, there is a little something that will interrupt you,” a voice says smoothly behind us and I loosen my grip with a curse.

  Know the owner of that voice without turning around.

  Do.

  Not.

  React.

  Lux and I turn as one, my hands still clutching her close.

  Turning as the cell door opens and Greyson enters, his face dark as he looks between us.

  A thousand different threads coursing the loop between them.

  “Nightshade,” he says. “You’re coming with me.”

  Twenty