Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
He seemed friendly, almost normal, but I wasn’t about to trust the first person who was nice to me. I imagined prison was similar to normal life in that way. If someone went out of their way to be friendly, it often meant they wanted something.
Still, I was curious to know what he was. He gave off strong shapeshifter energy, but I could be wrong. I also wanted to know what he’d done to end up here, but I wasn’t about to ask him that.
“Roll up your sleeves,” he instructed, his smoky dark eyes holding mine captive.
I didn’t enjoy how intently he watched me. Sized me up. He put on a pair of black rubber gloves, then rubbed some antiseptic over my right wrist. A second later, his tattoo gun buzzed to life. My stomach did a somersault. I was nervous but also curious to see what being tattooed felt like. Since the ink was bespelled, I imagined it would be more than the regular stinging sensation from being pricked repeatedly with a needle.
He brought the tattoo gun to my wrist, and I couldn’t look away. The sting was intense but not unbearable, and I could feel the magic seeping into me. A hot, fizzing sensation muting whatever magical powers I had. I considered telling him it was pointless tattooing me since my magic was so weak, but pointing out weaknesses didn’t seem wise in this scenario.
“So, you aren’t even going to tell me your name,” Serg said, his attention focused on the tattoo. I didn’t see the point in refusing to tell him since people would find out sooner or later. I could hardly go around the prison, standing out as the girl who refused to give her name.
“Darya,” I told him, my eyes on the black thorns he was inking into my skin. Oddly, there was something rather beautiful about the delicate, intricate design.
“Wow, nice voice,” he said. “Cool name, too.” He glanced at me for a second, looking impressed. “Most people don’t like to look at the needle, but you just stare right at it, don’t ya?”
“How else am I going to make sure you don’t tattoo a pair of boobs on there?” I replied, surprising even myself when I cracked the joke.
Serg laughed. “You’re funny.” His eyes dimmed a little as he went on seriously, “I hope this place doesn’t strip that away from you.”
A silence fell, only the buzz of the tattoo gun filling the small space. “How long have you been here?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“Too long,” Serg replied, and I decided not to probe further.
He quietly moved to the other wrist, his dark eyes flicking up to me every once in a while. He frowned, and I wondered what he was thinking.
“So, what animal do you turn into?” I asked, hoping my supernatural detection skills hadn’t led me astray.
His lips twitched a little as he shook his head. “Maybe one day you’ll find out.” A brief flicker of sadness crossed his features, and I remembered that the wards around the prison not only muted magic, they also prevented shapeshifters from transforming. Did Serg miss his animal form?
He was almost finished with the tattoo when he said, “You’re not the usual kind of person to end up here.”
“What’s the usual kind?”
He eyed me up and down. “The opposite of you.”
“I’m not entirely what I appear,” I told him cryptically.
He tilted his head, pausing his tattooing a moment to meet my gaze. “If you’re here, then you must not be,” he agreed.
Serg returned his attention to the tattoo, and a few minutes later, it was complete. I stared at the ink staining both my wrists, again struck by the beauty of the design. Ironic that something so pretty was created to do something as awful as imprisoning a person. My accelerated healing meant my body was already sealing the skin damaged by the tattoo gun.
“Ah,” said Serg, eyeing my rapidly healing wrists. “I thought you were just a witch. There hasn’t been a dhampir in this prison for quite some time.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” I asked.
“Could go either way, but it means you’ll stand out. Most of the time, this isn’t the sort of place you want to stand out.”
“We’ll see about that,” I said, hoping he didn’t see through my feigned confidence.
“You’re tough. Good. You’ll need that here.”
The guards returned and silently escorted Serg away. Then two others arrived and led me to another room, where I was instructed to strip off all my clothes. I’d known that was coming. The last few days, I’d been made privy to everything I’d experience when I arrived at the prison, and the strip search was the part I’d been least looking forward to.
Thankfully, only female guards were present, and I was relieved when they got it over with as quickly as possible. I was given a set of plain white underwear, a white vest, and a red jumpsuit, the same as the one Serg had been wearing. It had my prisoner number tattooed across the breast pocket: 804. The bra didn’t fit very well, and I found myself tugging at it in discomfort. I didn’t voice any complaints, though. I suspected an ill-fitting bra was the least of the discomfort I was about to endure.