“Yeah, yeah,” I say, wriggling my fingers at him as he turns and walks down the dark corridor. I watch until I can’t see him anymore, and then I slump onto my flat pillow and dump out the satchel, intending to use the rest of the contents to do a little bit of interior decorating in this place. It needs all the color it can get.
The second the contents are on the floor at my feet, my eyes home in on the green rock he left for me—the same one he held up to me in the rec yard when I was in my beast form.
A smile crosses my lips as I pick it up and turn it over in my fingers, admiring the color and texture. My tail slithers out to rub on it like a cat, and I realize with a little bit of dread that I already miss the asshole, and he’s only been gone for five seconds.
I’m in so much trouble.
* * *
Rook is hanging out with me in my solitary cell again, just like he’s visited me every day for the past three days. His visits are the only thing I can look forward to, because solitary is...well, solitary. It’s lonely. Boring. Time drags like a dog’s ass on the carpet. But the moment my ears perk up at the sound of footsteps coming down the corridor, I know it’s him, and my heart goes full flutter. It’s fucking annoying.
He usually shows up just when my stomach starts to growl and I’ve gone through all my food, like magic. And despite all the warnings I tell myself, despite the fact that I know I shouldn’t, I’ve formed a friendship with him already. I’ve learned how funny he can be, how easy to talk to, and that we have things in common. Plus, he’s very easy on the eyes, and he always brings me a satchel full of goodies. What’s not to like?
Today, he smuggled me in an entire hot plate of dinner. I nearly moaned when I saw the steam. After days of tepid water and packaged food, eating a bowl of hot chili and fresh cornbread was like heaven. He also brought me another rock. It’s sitting against the wall with the other one, and I’m not too proud to admit that they’re the best things in the room.
“I’m just saying, you’re not a very good prison guard, that’s all,” I tell Rook as we sit across the small room, our outstretched feet touching every so often when we move.
He has a big bag of chips that he’s been chomping on for the past ten minutes, and he lifts his fingers into his mouth every once in a while to lick off the salt. My mouth waters every time. I find myself wanting to snatch his hand and suck those fingers into my mouth instead, and it’s not because of the sodium craving.
“Fuck that noise, I’m an awesome guard,” he tells me.
“You tried to talk my cockatrice down instead of tasing me like the others,” I point out, mostly because I’m curious as to why he did that. I’ve been thinking about it for days.
“Why would I tase you?”
“Did you see me? I was ferocious.”
He laughs and licks his fingers again before he runs his tongue over his pillowy bottom lip. I find myself mimicking him, and the corner of his mouth kicks up a notch. “You were adorable.”
Immediately, I rear back and frown at him. “Adorable?”I say, affronted. “I was not adorable. I was vicious and bloodthirsty! Did you see the barrel rolls I did in the air?”
“I saw,” he says, clearly trying not to smile. “Really good flying.”
“Thank you,” I say pertly.
“Personally, I wanted you to do more barrel rolls and throw the wolf fucker off you. I was this close to fucking him up that day.”
His words catch me off guard. “Why?”
Rook shrugs and buries his eyes and hand in the chip bag, like he’s avoiding looking at me. “Because. I didn’t like to see you hurt.”
Aww.
My cockatrice perks up inside me, and the hair on my head turns a deep, beating heart red, right along with the plume of feathers at the end of my tail.
“Oh,” I say awkwardly.
“I should’ve let you fuck him up,” he goes on, swallowing his mouthful. “And I wouldn’t mind tasing some of those guards, either.”
“See?” I say, pointing at his face. “Terrible prison guard. You definitely have fucked up standards.”
“Fucked up standards?”
“Mm-hmm. Why else would you be hanging out in solitary confinement with a convict?” I challenge.
Rook chuckles and finally sets aside his bag of chips. I’m half-relieved, half-disappointed that I won’t see any more finger-tongue action. “Come on, now. I saw what you were found guilty of. You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t lose sleep at night over talking to someone who took an ice cream truck and went all Robin Hood with the contents. If the police hadn’t forced you to crash, you’d have had to pay a fine for the ice cream and gas and that would’ve been it. You’re not exactly a hardened criminal.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Am so! I set off a glitter bomb in the cop’s car, and it went off right in his face,” I tell him, urging him to be impressed with my unlawful prowess. “Plus, I have my shank business to prove it,” I argue.
