Where was the warden who was supposed to be keeping watch over me? Perhaps he hadn’t anticipated I’d be killed within a few minutes of encountering the other prisoners.

  I continued fighting, but soon, I felt the sharp sting of a vampire bite, then another and another. Dhampir blood wasn’t appetising to vampires, but they drank from me nonetheless. They wanted to diminish me, take from me until I was nothing but a weakened shell with no fight left. Mack had been right. One way or another, I would pay her tax, and I was paying it in the form of my blood.

  “Hey, that’s enough! You’ll kill her,” a voice broke through the fog. I was vaguely aware of the vampires backing away. Someone picked me up, and I blinked away the foggy sensation of blood loss to see a bald head and a dark goatee. Serg. The tattoo artist had come to my rescue, and I knew at that moment that I owed him because those vampires had no intention of stopping until I was dead.

  ***

  When I came to, my head felt like a tonne of bricks had fallen on it. Every part of my body was weak. I blinked, taking in my surroundings. I was in a small cell. The walls were stone, and the door consisted of metal bars penning me in. I lay on a narrow cot with a lone sink and toilet in the corner. Behind the cot was a thin, barred window through which muted rays of blessed morning light shone.

  At least for the time being, Mack and her vampires would be asleep. I had a day of escape from them, but it wouldn’t be long enough for my body to recover, even with my accelerated dhampir healing.

  Wait, someone had carried me there. I recalled Serg appearing and putting an end to the attack. How on earth would I repay him? I had a feeling you didn’t get rescued in the Prison of Thorns without paying the price for it.

  I tried to sit, but my head screamed in agony. I reached up, sifted my hand through my hair, and found thick strands matted together with dried blood. I continued inspecting and discovered a bald patch where the tall vampire had yanked on my hair. Emotion clogged my throat. For all my self-defence training, I’d never been so badly beaten.

  My red jumpsuit was stained with patches of dark blood where the vampires had bitten me. I counted the bites, and there were seven in total. They’d healed up a little, but because the vampires had drained my blood, my healing powers were slower than they would be otherwise.

  “What happened to you?” someone asked, and I fought a grimace.

  Belinda was once again paying me a visit. As if I wasn’t already suffering enough.

  “Some kind of prison initiation ceremony,” I replied humourlessly as I made a second, more successful attempt to sit up. The room spun a little as I inventoried my injuries.

  “Well, you look terrible.”

  I shot her an arch look. “Thanks, Captain Obvious. You don’t look so bad yourself.”

  She peered down at herself. “I keep forgetting I look like this.” She seemed to shudder, a faraway expression on her face.

  “Maybe there’s a way to change that. Being a ghost must come with some powers. You just need to figure out how to use them.”

  “Hmm, you have a point. It would be nice to get out of these clothes. I’ve been wearing the same thing for days.”

  “Good idea. I’ll work on getting to the bottom of who killed you, and you can focus on how to look more fashionable as a ghost.”

  “Oh, shut up. You’d hate to be stuck in this uniform, too. At least you can get up and change out of that awful jumpsuit.”

  “Actually, I can’t,” I said as I stood from the bed and approached the sink. “My change of clothing got lost while I was fighting off a gang of bloodthirsty vampires.”

  “There was a gang of them?” Belinda asked, looking genuinely shocked. “How are you even still alive right now?”

  “Stubbornness,” I quipped.

  Belinda almost seemed impressed, her voice quieter when she said, “It really is true what they say about dhampirs.”

  “What? That we’re amazing lovers?” I waggled my brows at her, and she rolled her eyes.

  “No, that you’re the best fighters.”

  I chuckled at my joke, and it hurt my head. Ouch. I suspected I really did look as terrible as Belinda said I did, but there was no mirror to check. The best I could do was peer at my grainy reflection in the rusted metallic surface of the tap.

  As far as I could make out, I didn’t have any facial injuries, but I did look gaunt, with grey bags under my eyes, thanks to all the blood I’d lost. Any benefit I’d gained from feeding from Peter was gone. My heart clenched at the thought of him, the countless miles that separated us. For a second, I imagined I was home with him, wrapped up in bed, not a single worry to plague us.

  But no, I couldn’t let comforting thoughts like that invade my mind. If I did, I’d end up heartsick for home when I needed to keep my head in the game. I twisted the tap, and a few pathetic spurts of brown water plopped out, then some squealing pipe noises, then nothing. Great, so I didn’t even have running water to clean myself up. Not that it would’ve made much of a difference since I had no clean clothes to change into. I turned off the tap and emitted an exhausted sigh.

  “Are you scared?” Belinda asked quietly as she glanced about the cell. “I mean, this place is pretty bleak.”

  I exhaled, glancing at her as I answered. “Yes, but I try not to let it rule me.”

  Suddenly, I sensed movement and turned to find a very tall, very slim woman standing by the bars of my cell. She had greasy brown hair and skin so pale it was almost see-through. Her bright green eyes gave her away as an elf, and I briefly wondered what she’d done to end up there. She was so slight I couldn’t imagine her being able to harm someone even if she wanted to.

  “I talk to myself, too, sometimes,” she said in a quiet, airy voice.

  “I’m not talking to myself,” I told her with a frown as I approached the barred door and slid it open.

  “Who are you talking to, then?” she asked, peering about my cell and finding no one else present.

  “The ghost of the girl they say I killed,” I replied evenly, and she blinked, probably not having expected such an honest answer.

  Belinda threw her translucent hands up in the air. “Now, why would you go and tell her that?”

  “You can converse with ghosts?” the elf went on, her green eyes alight with intrigue.

  “Apparently.”

  “I have an aunt who sees ghosts. The poor woman is plagued by them visiting her day and night to complain and talk about their problems.”

  I shot Belinda an amused look.

  “Hey, it’s not like I have anyone else to talk to,” she protested. “Believe me, if I had a choice, I’d rather spend time with anyone else.”

  “You really know how to flatter,” I deadpanned and looked to the elf lady who stood by my cell. She seemed amused by my one-sided conversation. Then her attention went to my attire, the bite marks, and blood stains. Her gaze rose to my matted hair, and she almost seemed sympathetic.

  “Gosh, Mack and her vampires really did a number on you. I was taking a nap when you arrived, so I didn’t see it, but I heard you gave them a run for their money.”

  “I got lucky that it was still light out. If it had been dark, they would’ve wiped the floor with me.”

  “Maybe. I’m Lara, by the way.” She took a step closer, her hand outstretched. “I’m in the cell next to this one. Guess that makes us neighbours.” I glanced at her hand a moment but didn’t get any sense that she meant me harm. Feeling like it would be good to make a friend in here possibly, I shook with her. As soon as our palms met, a strange, tingly shiver shot through me. It wasn’t unpleasant, though, just unusual. I suspected it was my witch side, muted as it might be by the thorn tattoos, informing me she possessed some kind of elven magic.

  “Darya,” I replied evenly before letting go of her hand. Normally, I might’ve said it was nice to meet her, but that hadn’t panned out very well yesterday during my encounter with Mack.

  “I’ve been here for a few years now, so if you have any questions, feel free to ask.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I said, falling silent a moment before asking, “Is Mack the most powerful prisoner here?”

  Lara bobbed her head. “In a sense, yes. Mack rules at night, but during the day, the shapeshifters are in charge.”

  “Oh, and do they have a leader, too?”

  “Yes, that would be Cassian Sergesto. Personally, I think he’s far scarier than Mack.”

  Cassian Sergesto? Surely, that couldn’t be Serg? The guy had plenty of tattoos and piercings, but he hadn’t seemed that scary. Then again, he’d been the one to end the attack on me yesterday, and only someone with power could’ve done that.

  I wanted to ask Lara about a hundred more questions, but then a weird bell rang. It almost sounded like church bells but duller, less musical. “Looks like it’s time for breakfast. I’d invite you to eat with me, but you clearly aren’t an elf, so—”

  “Wait, do prisoners only interact with their own kind?” I asked, worried. How had Sergeant Davis failed to mention that? He’d said that there were gangs and certain groups, but not that they were species specific. The more I learned about the prison, the more I suspected the Guard knew very little about its true inner workings.

  “Unfortunately, yes, which means you’ll have to start befriending the witches and warlocks,” Lara answered, her eyes on my thorn tattoos.

  “I’m not a full witch,” I said. “I’m half vampire.”

  “Oh,” she replied, blinking as she seemed to take me in with new eyes. “That explains your unusual energy.” She studied the space around my body, like she could see something I couldn’t. Elves had many psychic abilities, and it appeared Lara’s allowed her to see auras. Then she frowned. “That means you’ll be relegated to the mixed group, and sadly, there are only two other prisoners who match that category right now.”

  Immediately, my throat ran dry because if that was the case, I knew exactly who those two prisoners were. Vasilios and Sven, one part warlock, part demon, the other part demon, part vampire. I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying to look on the bright side. It could actually work in my favour. I was there to get close to Vasilios, and if he were one of the only other prisoners I was able to befriend, then it wouldn’t be too obvious that I was up to something when I tried to talk to him.

  “Okay,” I said, glancing at her again.

  She wore an apologetic look. “Sorry about that. It would’ve been nice to be friends, but at least we can still talk when we’re at our cells. Anywhere else in the prison, though, I’ll have to pretend I don’t know you.”

  “I understand,” I said with a nod, and she left. I turned back to my cell, and surprisingly, Belinda was still there.

  “What are you going to do now?” she asked.

  “Right now,” I replied. “I’m going to go get some breakfast.”

  7.

  I had a slight limp thanks to that Vincent guy kicking me in the shin. It made me stand out among the crowd as I followed in the direction all the other prisoners were going. There appeared to be mostly witches and warlocks, with a few shapeshifters and elves mixed in.

  Not many demons, though. They tended to be adept at evading capture. If it hadn’t been for me tricking him, I was sure Vasilios never would’ve ended up there.

  It was another reason why getting close to him would be difficult, never mind actually earning his trust. I also had to get past the fact that I hated him with every fibre of my being. Everything he’d done to invade my life was underhanded and sly, so spending time with him would not be enjoyable.

  I wondered why I hadn’t seen him around yet. I was fixated on spotting him, my eyes scanning the sea of heads, when someone stuck their foot out to trip me. I fell flat on my face, and the prisoners surrounding me chuckled heartily. I gritted my teeth, not bothering to make a scene and demand who did it. I knew the drill. They were intimidating the new girl, but I wouldn’t let them break me so easily. I stood up, dusted myself off, and continued limping toward what I presumed would be the dining area.

  I knew I must’ve been a ghastly sight in my blood-stained jumpsuit and matted hair. The bald spot still smarted. An unpleasant smell wafted by my nose, and it took me a moment to realise it was me. I was the unpleasant smell, a mixture of blood and sweat. Probably a few tears, too. All the fear of being hunted by Mack’s vampires must’ve had me sweating buckets.

  Then another scent hit me. It wasn’t as bad as my body odour, but it wasn’t great, either. It reminded me of soup or some kind of meat stew. The prisoners began forming a line, and I joined it. We entered a large, open-plan room with a steel serving counter and long tables. Dozens of prisoners were seated eating bowls of soup with bread. It didn’t seem like the typical breakfast fare, but then again, you ate what you were given.

  I picked up a tray when it was my turn and approached the counter. The people serving the food were also prisoners. I guessed working in the kitchens was one of the jobs you could get. During my training, Sergeant Davis told me I’d be assigned a job and that the warden would make sure it was alongside Vasilios. I shuddered to think what kind of work I would be given, though working in the kitchen didn’t seem like such a bad option.

  A grumpy-looking man with a bushy moustache served me a bowl of grey soup and a lump of dry bread. I took it without protest and went to sit alone at the end of one of the long tables. The whole time I was aware of people looking at me, not just because of my beat up appearance but because I was new. I was something out of the ordinary that had suddenly appeared in their institutionalised existence.

  I didn’t let their attention phase me, instead lifting a spoonful of soup to my mouth before dipping my bread in the watery broth. It didn’t taste as awful as I anticipated, but it was very bland. I heard their whispers. They wondered who I was and what I’d done to end up there. Discreetly, I took in the different groups and realised Lara wasn’t lying when she said everyone stuck to their supernatural species. As far as I could gather, witches interacted with other witches, elves with other elves.

  The sort of inclusive community my parents and the Hawthorn Council strove to create in Tribane didn’t exist in the prison.

  I noticed one particular group of witches and warlocks sitting together, and there was something different about them. They were extraordinarily pale, almost to the point of looking ill. That was when I saw the fang marks on their necks. They were blood donors to the vampires. That was another aspect of the prison Sergeant Davis had informed me about. Blood drinkers had to find their sustenance from other prisoners, and the vampires seemingly had a bunch of witches and warlocks under their thrall whom they fed from. I wondered at their pallor, but then it struck me.

  The thorn tattoos prevented them from casting spells to regenerate their blood, and since the vampires were physically stronger than they were, they could dominate them. I felt awful for them, even if they might have committed terrible crimes. No one should be fed from without their consent.

  Worry curdled in my gut because if I was there long enough, there would come a time when I would have to feed from another prisoner, and I didn’t think I had it in me to overpower anyone weaker than me.

  My mind was all twisted up in those thoughts when something shifted. I sensed a familiar presence and looked up as Vasilios and Sven entered the dining hall. They were uniquely vibrant after the witches and warlocks who’d been more or less turned into blood banks. I watched as they spoke with one another and approached the food serving station with trays. Powerful energy seemed to radiate from them, and as I watched how the other prisoners reacted to their presence, I realised something important.

  Vasilios and Sven were respected there. Possibly even feared. People didn’t mess with them. I wondered if they’d endured the same vampire attack upon entry that I had. Probably not.

  Still, it was unusual that they commanded respect since it was just the two of them. They didn’t belong to any larger group. Which further solidified the theory that Vasilios was accessing his magic somehow. How else had he managed to gain such a position so fast?

  Something uncomfortable settled in my stomach, like a knife twisting inside me. I was pissed off because he was supposed to be punished, yet he appeared to be thriving. You could tell simply from the confident way he walked, shoulders straight, head held high. His demon horns weren’t glamoured as they had been in the outside world. No, in the prison, he wore his horns with pride. The scar that ran down one side of his face, starting at his temple and ending just below his cheek, was visible, too. Sven’s horns were also apparent, his yellow eyes practically glowing, marking him as something completely other.

  Even in a prison full of creatures most humans had nightmares about, Vasilios and Sven were the unusual ones, the unknown, mysterious demons from another dimension whose powers might be far vaster than even the most powerful prisoners inside the stone fortress.

  Realising I was staring at them for far too long, I lowered my gaze and hoped to blend in with the crowd. I looked a mess, far removed from my usual put-together self, and I hoped that worked to camouflage me, at least for a little while. I wasn’t ready to approach them, especially not in the state I was currently in. And besides, it would be far too suspicious if I announced myself right away. I needed to make it believable that I’d been convicted of murder and lost everything. I needed Vasilios to think his plan had worked and I’d hit rock bottom.

  I sipped a spoonful of soup, and the hair on the back of my neck rose. Someone was looking at me. I cursed inwardly because I’d clearly been spotted, despite my effort to blend in. It seemed nothing new went unnoticed, and since I was sitting all alone at the empty end of the long table, I would stand out.

  I tried to focus on eating and looking as pathetic as possible. The hairs on the back of my neck persisted, a tingling sensation skittering down my spine. Why was he still looking at me? Was he intrigued by the fact that his plotting and scheming had worked so well and so quickly? Was he suspicious that I’d been convicted and sent there so fast?