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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LUX
Isat on a hard bench leaning against cold bars on my left. Through them, Tyson’s shoulders brushed mine as he leaned right, mimicking my position in the adjoining cell. The rest of the reasonably large jail stretched to my right. A sea of butts covered in every fabric and style known to man filled my view. Beyond them, I caught glimpses of an office full of desks and humans in official uniforms.
I’d grown up in various types of prisons, from the oubliette to my posh three-story apartment. In all of them, I’d been alone.
“I can’t believe we got in a bar fight in Ireland!” Someone laughed. “How much baller can this vacation get?”
A man whined. “My nose!”
“Póg mo thóin, Arran, your nose ain’t broken,” a different responded.
“What were you thinking, honey?” a woman said.
“What side of the bars do you think you're standing on, babycakes?” a man answered.
A grin pulled at my cheeks. I wasn’t alone. I sat up straighter, and pain shot from a broken rib. The entire fight was a bit of a haze, but bright clarity sparkled the aftermath. My dragonyawned, impossibly satisfied for the short amount of time we’d been rutting for. Although a bit of rage still clung to me. In their own ways, Tyson and Ogden helped me through my rut.
I didn’t understand it, but I wasn’t going to question it. At least, not yet.
A grin pulled at my cheeks, which set off a chain reaction of pain across my bruised face. I hadn’t just slept through this fight; I’d been a part of it.
Someone in the cell next to mine hit the bars, making me jump, though my grin didn’t fall.
“Ye did a gobshite job protecting ye’ little gowl,” Cormac, the bartender, said. He leaned down, putting his face right in Tyson’s. His eyes glowed white, and he flashed two elongated canines.
To my surprise, Tyson started laughing, which made me chuckle. Pain shot through my ribs, and I put my arm across them, cutting off my humor. Although the fight was mostly a haze of red, every lasting bruise and broken bone was from the fire dragon, keeping me from shifting or swinging at a human with my dragon strength.
Cormac rocked back on his heels before turning and pacing, clearly not getting what he wanted. I gently squeezed my ribs and gazed up at my mate’s mate. He’d protected me. Oh, he’d deny it if I said anything, but we both knew.
“What are you looking at?” Tyson growled.
“You,” I said honestly before looking past him and knocking the metal bar with my metal foot. The sound plinked happily.
Tyson’s cell looked nothing like mine. Only a handful of people, most dressed in leather with hard eyes, filled the white-washed space. The two women I’d first seen talking to Tyson stood in opposite corners. The younger one still peeked at Tyson from behind a gruff man with streaks of white in his red beard. Icupped my nose, briefly using my dragon sniffer, and pulled in a heavy scent of dog.
The doors to the office like space beyond the cells opened, and I felt Jay step forward. In unison, Tyson and I stood. Though he just stepped to the front of his cell, I was able to elbow my way forward.
A small queue of people waited at the desk closest to the double doors and far away from the cells holding Tyson and I. Jay, flanked by Rehan and Ogden, joined it. She gave Tyson a disappointed frown before finding me, and her face filled with worry.
“Really?” Tyson shook his fist and raised his voice. “I was in the same fecking fight!”
Jay snorted. “You probably started it.”
Tyson hadn’t, but he smirked anyway and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning on the bars between us. Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to find a woman gesturing for me to follow the rest of my cellmates out a side door, which didn’t lead into the office space, but an unknown in the opposite direction. If I followed, I would be separated.
I shook my head and pressed my shoulder into the fire dragons. He’d stuck by me, and I’d do the same.
Like my cell, the office space beyond was thinning out of security personnel. The remaining uniformed personal sat stiffly. Two of them had their hands hovering under their desks.
My exit out of the cell clicked shut, leaving me alone, and my grin finally fell. Something was up.
“Jaiyana Doe.” A man with a clipped American-Irish accent stood. His uniform stretched slightly across his potbelly, contrasting with the neatly slicked-back short grey hair. “How bold of you to just show up in Ireland, at the Royal Irish Constabulary even.”
The few people still in front of Jay quickly moved. Officers escorted them out, and locks clicked behind them. A light buzzing filled the air. I wrapped my hands around the bars, ready to bend them and rush to Jay’s side.
Jay put her hands on her hips. “Ryan Kelly.” She smiled, though her eyebrows knit together. “I’m surprised you’ve not retired. It’s been what, twenty years?”
