Prologue
He heard the grate of a key in a lock, followed by the creak and clang as the gate at the far end of the corridor was slowly opened. He kept his eyes closed, bending and working the blazing colors in his mind like a fiery kaleidoscope. The warmth and light in his mind kept the dark chill at bay, the cold stone against his back and beneath his buttocks a sensation he’d learned to ignore.
He heard the whispers, the rough slide of regulation boots on stone floor, felt the faint stir in the air currents as one—no, two people made their way toward his cell. It was her scent, though, that caught his attention. Something light, floral...he could almost sense the innocence, the naïveté—the gullibility. He resisted the urge to smile. No sense in giving anything away.
The peephole in his cell door slid open, the noise an annoying squeal in the silence of the tomb—for this was a tomb. There was no other word for it. It was where they hoped he’d spend the rest of his lifetime, and the next.
“What’s he doing?” He heard the woman whisper. He couldn’t tell much from the soft sound, but her scent was now stronger, laced with a tired curiosity. Like a wilted frangipani.
“Dunno. Meditating. Plotting. Maybe just losing his sanity. He’s like that all the time.” He knew that voice, had become quite practiced at ignoring it, but this morning—or was it evening—he decided to give it his attention.
“He doesn’t do anything else?” Her voice was raspy, as though even the question taxed her reserves. She sounded fatigued. Drained.
She didn’t know the meaning of that word. Drained. But she would.
“Nope. Pretty easy duty, I must admit.”
“Why is he locked all the way down here? There’s nobody else in this block.”
“The lights. There is no natural light in here, so it’s fluorescent lighting.”
He knew they couldn’t see the clenching of his shoulder muscles beneath the rough fabric of his prison uniform, but he still tried to mask it with a deep inhalation. He needed something to relax him whenever he thought of his current circumstances, the weakness that even now leeched the energy from his limbs. He needed light. Or something. And he wasn’t getting it down in the bowels of this prison, thanks largely to his sons.
White-hot rage welled inside him whenever he thought of their betrayal. Ryder, he could understand. That kid had always been ungrateful. But Hunter—his son’s betrayal stung the most. Hunter had worked diligently by his side for years, just like a sheep, following his every command. Until that last night... The cold kiss of fury snaked down his back. He hadn’t seen that betrayal coming. He’d always believed that if it came down to it, Hunter would choose his father over his brother, but his son had surprised him. Just like his mother.
He exhaled, expelling the tension. But he would have his due. The light, floral, stale scent of the prison guard teased his senses again. And soon.
“What do the lights have to do with anything?” he heard her whisper.
The rustle of fabric told him the guard was shrugging his shoulders. “Who the hell knows? We’re just here to make sure he rots where he sits. He organized the murder of an Alpha Prime. He deserves everything coming his way.”
There was a brief silence, and he found himself waiting for her response.
“I heard about that. He supposedly conspired with the Woodland Pack?”
“Yeah, with the Woodland Alpha Prime. But seeing as that was pack against pack, that case has been handed over to Alpine Pack under tribal jurisdiction.”
“Well, it was their Alpha Prime who was murdered. But wasn’t he murdered in some dentist’s chair? Why is this guy here?”
He took another slow breath in. She was asking questions. Good. She had doubts. He was going to exploit that, and he was going to enjoy it.
“This guy organized the poison to be delivered. The dentist knew nothing about it. Get this—the dentist was his son.”
His jaw muscles clenched. Well, Ryder had deserved it. Pulling away from the family like that, ignoring them. He’d ceased to be his son the day he started using his trust fund on his own practice—that would be in competition with the family’s medical center. Hell. What did Ryder think would happen, that he’d actually give his blessing? He almost shook his head in disbelief, but kept himself still. What Ryder had done, well, it was to be expected. Hunter, though—that stung. That really, really stung. He thought he’d raised him better than that.
“But why is he here? He hasn’t had a trial yet. I thought everyone was innocent until proven guilty?”
“Good grief, how long have you been working for Reform?” The male guard wheezed with laughter. “There’s no such thing as innocence here.”
“I just thought—”
“Don’t. Don’t think he can be saved, don’t think he’s decent and don’t pity the bastard. Just look in on him once in a while, make sure he hasn’t strung himself up with his bedsheets—or if he has, make sure he’s good and dead before you call anyone.”
There was a hesitation, then finally a sigh. “Sure. What else is there to do?”
“I’ll show you the break room. It’s going to be where you spend most of your time—the screen in there is awesome.”
He heard the snick as the peephole was closed, then the soft shuffle of footsteps until they reached the gate at the end of the corridor. It wasn’t until the gate had opened and closed, the keys had clinked as they turned in the lock and the scent had faded, that he let the sly smile lift his lips.
Arthur Armstrong opened his eyes slowly. They had no idea who they were dealing with.
Melissa Carter tried to be patient. Really. But it wasn’t her strongest personality trait. Actually, most would argue she didn’t possess it at all. And she hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in so long. “Anytime this century, Lexi.”
Lexi glanced up and frowned. “If I have to wear this day in, day out, then I need to make sure it’s right.”
Melissa pursed her lips but refrained from comment as she let the young woman scan her rings for the fourth time. It was fine. She could handle this without screaming. She could prove her mother wrong and be patient.
“And it has to be a ring? Not a necklace?” Lexi asked wistfully, eyeing an intricately woven Celtic knot pendant on a stand behind the counter.
Melissa kept her expression neutral as she heard that same question for the third time. She shook her head. “No. You’re likely to change a necklace depending on the outfit. Or it might get snagged—or yanked. A ring is more likely to stay on, and that’s what we want for you, Lexi. Something to stay with you.” Her irritation died as she remembered the reason for this, and she kept the sympathy out of her eyes, out of her voice. Lexi didn’t need sympathy. There were times when she thought Lexi needed a smack
