When I was younger, I had myself convinced that one day, I would be captured by an evil villain and stuck in a tower guarded by a dragon. I would sit and wait for my knight in shining armor to come and slay the dragon, save me, and we would ride off into the sunset to our happily ever after.

That's pretty much every little girl's ultimate fantasy. However, I'm sure reality is trying to mess with me in its usual sick and twisted way. Captured by an evil villain? Check. Sort of anyways. More like ran away from a bad guy to try and play hero.

Stuck in a tower guarded by a dragon? Nope. I'm stuck in a prison cell that smells heavily of mildew and after-gym-socks. And sadly, I don't get a fire-breathing dragon guarding me. Just werewolves and metal bars.

I'm still rooting for my knight in shining armor though. But my knight in shining armor is going to be my mate in shining...fur, I guess.

Funny twist, isn't it?

So here I am, rudely shoved into this smelly cell, silver bands still securely locked around my wrists—which, by the way, are bugging the hell out of me. I honestly don't know how they expect me to try and get away without them anyways, but Donny had said they were necessary. For him to keep me here, at least. It's not like I know how to go wolf again though.

Waylon couldn't say much to me with Donny around, although I don't know if he has anything to say. I would hope so. I mean, he practically saved me from getting my throat ripped out by a very grumpy werewolf. But, as he was handing me a pair of pants to wear, he did some sort of reassuring head nod. Either that, or it was just a regular head nod. I'm just hoping for the former.

And I hope he comes back soon, because I have a few questions for him. Plus, I need a mirror. I know his eyes are yellow and all, and he said it's the same with me since we're both changed, but maybe he's just messing with me and wearing contacts. And I want to know if everything went well. Could I possibly get, I don't know, some weird disease or disorder from this?

Maybe it would be helpful if this snippy, oh-so nice voice in my head would give me answers. But no, she's too busy complaining about missing Cayton. Not that I don't, because that's practically all I can think about right now, but it would be helpful if she had some suggestions or something.

Other than that, she mostly tells me how I'm weak for getting caught and not trying to escape, and how I'm 'not the sharpest tool in the shed'.

Sweet thing she is.

I pointed out that we're technically the same person—or person with a wolf voice in her head—and all I got was some guttural growl ringing in my head. Yea, this whole 'wolf voice' thing is really freaky, but I guess it's nice to have someone to talk to. Even if she complains and nags more than my mother—a feat I thought was impossible, until now.

I scramble up the metal ladder of this incredibly rickety and uncomfortable-looking bunk bed, claiming top bunk, even though I'm not sure if anyone is here to refuse. Judging by the random items around the room, I suspect I have a cell mate.

I lean my back against the cool stone wall, taking the time to look around this small, rinky-dink stone room. With very little to look at, I turn my gaze to the metal bars at the entrance, taking a look around the outside. I got put in the last cell, so there is no one to the right of this cell. Whoever is to the left, I don't know. But across from me, I can see a sleeping figure on the top bunk, snoring rather loudly.

Next to that is another cell, with someone standing in front of the bars, arms hanging out as he takes a look around. Yea, I didn't get the most pleasant look from him when Donny and Waylon were bringing me in. Mostly, he looked like he would devour me if I got close enough. And not in the I'll-kill-you-because-I'm-a-badass-convict-werewolf kind of way. More in a Cayton-would-kill-him-for-looking-at-me-like-that-if-he-was-here kind of way.

I sigh, resting my head on my knees.

I've been here for, what is it, an hour maybe? Whatever it is, I want to get out and get home.

I try to relay that message to Cayton. I know about the mind-link, and I try to use it. But, Ms. Thing inside my head said I can't because of these stupid silver wristbands. Silver to werewolves is like the equivalent of Superman and kryptonite. At least, that's what she said.

Still, with my hands knotted through my hair, I try my damndest to get through to Cayton, Bethany, someone to get me out of here before I have a panic attack or something. Man, I wonder if Bethany is somewhere in here too...

I stay like that for an indeterminable amount of time, without any success. All I succeed in doing is giving myself a headache. It's only when I hear voices coming this way that I pull myself back to the now.

Removing my iron grip from my hair and wrapping my arms around my legs, I pull them closer to my chest and rest my chin on my knees. I take a deep breath to try and calm myself, but I immediately regret it as the assortment of smells hit my nostrils. And that is when I start cursing whoever's bright idea it was to stick people with advanced senses in a place that smells like this.

"Guys, I think I'm getting rewarded for good behavior!" An excited, deep male voice reaches my ears, causing my head to jerk up as I look towards the entrance. Just behind the bars, I can see a group of guys, all wearing matching dirty white wife-beaters and gray pants, one in particular grinning like he just stumbled upon the Trix Rabbit leaving his cereal unguarded.

Great, now I'm hungry, I whine internally, my stomach agreeing with me.

"Not even close," I hear Donny grumble, unlocking and sliding open the bars. The other guys who were following this guy all curiously peer in, looking at me like I'm some foreign species, and then whining with things along the lines of "Neil you lucky bastard."

Once who I assume is Neil is inside and the bars are locked again, Donny goes to unlock more doors, and I silently throw daggers at his back with my eyes. Then, I look towards Neil who is almost bouncing with joy. I roll my eyes.

"I'm not here to be a reward," I deadpan. "So get that thought out of your mind right now or I'll choke you."

I would like to take credit for that random threat, but I can safely say that my mind isn't the driving force behind those words. I realize one thing in that moment—that annoying voice inside my head may not be able to take over physically, but she sure as hell can control my thoughts and words.

But yea, if he does come near me, I'll probably choke him.

His expression falters for a second, before it's recovered with some twisted smirk. "Save that for round three," he says. "And anyways, you're in my bed, so you're not exactly helping your case."

I narrow my eyes at him and make a show of wrapping the itchy blanket around myself tightly and lying down on the thin mattress. "I'm not moving. You get the bottom bunk."

"Oh, so you like to be on top huh?"

I don't offer that a response as I flip to face the wall. As if this circumstance couldn't get any better, now I'm stuck with some perverted man in this tiny cell. God help me. "Give it time little lady. You'll give in," he says. I scoff, rolling my eyes as I do so.

"So... Why are you here then?" he asks a moment after the bed frame stops moving and he's content on the bottom bunk.

"Because I'm a bad egg," I say, a hint of sarcasm in my voice. I here him snigger from beneath me.

"Aren't we all," is his response. "But seriously. I don't think someone like you did something bad enough to end up here."

"I'm a badass ok," I claim, only slightly offended. "I once killed a man in Vice City."

"Vice City? Really? Grand Theft Auto doesn't count," he says flatly.

I huff. "It took a lot of nerve to kill that man." He doesn't reply, but his silent snickers are enough.

After that it's silent, in our cell at least. I can hear other conversations and let's just say that I start cursing these ridiculously advanced senses once again. I catch onto one conversation going on and I'm the subject of it, but I'm referred to as the "Freaky but hot chick Neil gets".

I try ignoring it and focus on staring at a wall. I don't want to think about anything, because I know the only thing I can think about right now is how much I miss Cayton. It doesn't work, because my mind immediately goes to him without my consent.

What is he doing right now? How long is it going to be until he realizes I never made it to my mom's? It will take until at least tomorrow, and I honestly don't know if I'll make it in this hell hole that long. After all, the most prison-worthy thing I've done is killed a man on a videogame. And if I don't get transferred to a place with other females instead of excited males, specifically away from Neil—

"What the hell are you doing?" I practically growl the words as I feel a hand touching my shoulder, slowly headed for other places. I flip over to see Neil standing on his bed to look up over mine, giving me an innocent smile.

"Thought you fell asleep or something," he says.

I almost punch him. "So you were going to what? Grope me in my sleep?"

He shrugs casually, not even trying to disprove my statement. "Hey, can you blame me? You're hot, female, and I've been in here for three years without female contact."

"The closest thing to female contact you're going to get is if you put a dress on your right hand," I grind out. "I have a mate, so don't think for a second that you'll convince me."

"And your mate is where?" he questions. "Obviously he isn't being a very good mate if you're in here, not to mention the fact that he must have risked your life to change you-"

I couldn't describe to you what happened next. I could, maybe, but it honestly all blurred together. I blame my wolf, because I might have been pissed at what he said about Cayton, but I would have never punched him in the face.

Something snapped, like a rubber band that's been stretched too far. I just got so angry in the blink of an eye, and I didn't even realize I had actually punched someone in the face until I felt the sting in my knuckles.

I'm not the strongest, so I didn't break anything, but I could already tell there was going to be a decent bruise, just by the feeling in my hand. I felt both shocked and proud. And then I practically punch my own face when I realize that I seem to always manage to make my firsts memorable. I've never punched someone, and the first time I do, the victim just so happens to be a convict werewolf.

With my eyes big enough to be compared to the size of Jupiter and my fist still clenched in mid air, I completely freeze up. I expect him to attack me next, and I should probably try to defend myself, but all I can manage to do is unclench my fist and cover my mouth instead.

"I am so sorry," I apologize.

I had knocked him back a couple steps, but he's facing the other direction so I can't see his—most likely enraged—face.

He shakes his head similarly to how most people shake out their fists after doing what I did, and then he turns around. Instead of an expression that would make Death cower in a corner, he's smirking at me, while rubbing a hand over the spot on his jaw my knuckles had met.

"Not bad for a tiny thing like yourself," he says.

Knowing that he was ok and not going to kill me made me switch back to bitch-mode. "You're lucky I didn't do it harder, you deserved it," I say, aiming a steely glare at him.

He smirks, moving his hand away from his jaw, where a small red mark shows. "In that case, you're lucky I was raised not to hit girls."

I snap my mouth shut after that.

"You best be careful Neil, the girl's only newly shifted. She's unstable. She'll claw your throat out if you piss her off enough." The voice comes from across the dimly lit hall, from inside the cell where someone had been sleeping when I first got here. I look at the source of the voice.

An older man, probably well into his mid-thirties, is sitting on the bottom bunk in his cell, looking over at us. The first thing I notice is his appearance, which is comparable to a bum you see hanging outside of a bar or something. His hair is blonde and shoulder length, knotty and greasy. It must be a preference, because it's the complete opposite of Neil's black hair which he has in a simple buzz cut.

"Eh," Neil responds, as if his warning carries no weight. I don't say it out loud, but I don't think I would actually be able to hurt him worse than I have, even if he does try to feel me up in my sleep.

Pervert, I mutter mentally. For once, the voice that always has something to say only gives a small rumble of agreement.

The man shakes his head, before turning his attention to me. "What's your name doll face?"

"What's yours?" I ask.

"Alan." Well, I thought he would put up more of a fight, so I wouldn't have to answer.

"Pleasure." I can't help the inkling of sarcasm in that statement. Still, he only gives me a kind smile, which makes me look at him with apprehension. What type of sick, prison reverse-psychology is this?

"Well you're just the ray of sunshine this place needed," Neil mutters. I roll my eyes at his statement, before sighing.

"My name's Macy," I say.

"My name's Peter!" Someone down the hall shouts, causing a few chuckles. I roll my eyes again, but feel a hint of a smile coming on. Look at me, smiling in prison. My mother would be so proud.

After the quiet murmur of other conversations resume, Alan turns his attention back to us, coming to stand in front of the bars holding him hostage in his cell. I still haven't moved from the top bunk, but I scoot to the edge closes to my own bars. Neil plops down on his bed underneath mine.

"So, how'd you end up here?" Alan asks me.

"Long story," I answer simply. "But, while I'm talking to you, I would like to state that I am not unstable-"

"Yes, you are," he interrupts. "Everyone is after their first shift. Only, you'll have it ten times worse since you're a changed."

"How do you know that?"

"Your eyes."

Dammit, I was hoping Waylon had been lying.

"Perfect," I grumble. "So I'm unstable? That's it?"

He shrugs. "Unstable, probably going to have a hell of an appetite—which really sucks for you in here—and I'm guessing you're having some fun having a voice in your head?"

"Oh yea, she's a real joy. I think I'm going to call her Wolfette. Y'know, just for clarity," I say.

Don't you dare!

Sorry, Wolfette, I'm ignoring you right now, I say.

And you know you've gone insane when you start ignoring yourself.

"Get used to it; you're stuck with her now."

"So, there's no cure or anything of the sort?"

He shakes his head, and I sigh. Not that this isn't cool or anything, but... I've been a human for nineteen years, and no matter how many times I've stared at paper trying to move it with my mind or jumped off my bed trying to fly, thus proving I was in fact born with superpowers and would be the next Superman, I would have liked to stay human.

"Well, I need to get out of here," I say.

"Good luck," he says. "Most people are in here for life."

"I'll be damned if I'm in here for longer than a week," I mutter.

"Unless you have connections, you're stuck with us sweetheart. Mostly me, though," Neil chimes in, giving me a grin.

"Oh god I need to get out of here."

Connections, huh. Well, let's see. My mate is an Alpha, so I'm sure that's helpful, right? I don't know where Bethany is, but it's not here, so that must mean she's with Joshua right? Maybe, if I could get to her, then I could get out of here and we could get away... But how in the hell am I supposed to do that?

There is only one person I can think of in that second that could help. The way I see it, if I ask Waylon for help, I'll either get it, or be royally screwed when he tells Donny or Joshua about what I'm trying to do. That couldn't be worse than this though, could it?

I was about to find out. First, I need to get Waylon to come here.

"Guys, cover your ears," I warn.

"Huh?" both ask.

"Do it," I warn.

Before anyone can question me, I take in a deep breath and use my only sure-fire way of catching someone's attention. I'm almost positive I break some sort of record for scream volume, and judging by the way Neil and Alan cover their ears and do everything they can to shield themselves from the deafening sound, I'll definitely be getting someone's attention.

*

A dozen threats from various others, five of Neil's attempts to stop me, and two breaks, someone finally comes down the stairs. Sadly, it isn't Waylon, but it's Donny.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" he yells over me. I take a deep breath again, and finally cease my screaming. There's a synchronized breath of relief as far as my hearing can reach, and Alan and Neil guardedly uncover their ears.

"Hey Donald," I greet, using the name I had called him on our way here that really irritated him, "I was just wondering if I could have a chat with Waylon."

He looks at me with an expression that clearly says he thinks I'm delusional. "No," he says, and then turns on his heel to walk away. I sigh again, before going back to my impression of a five-year-old throwing a temper-tantrum in Toys R Us. I hear Neil curse and cover his ears once again.

Even Donny flinches from the sound.

"You don't need to-" I cut him off. "This isn't going to get you anywhere-" Still screaming. "For fuck's sake, fine!"

I stop and smile at him. "Thank you." My voice is slightly raspy, but I don't pay much attention to it. Mission accomplished.

Donny leaves, grumbling under his breath, and I'm pretty sure he wishes thirty different types of painful death on me.

"Jesus Christ woman," Neil groans, sticking his finger in his ear. "I think I've gone deaf. Oh no, wait, they're just ringing."

"Oh suck it up," I say, wrapping my fingers around the cold metal bars and peeking around to see where Donny went.

Most of the people in this section start yelling at me, some laugh at the fact that Donny gave in, and a few make some more inappropriate comments, all while I wait impatiently for Waylon.

Finally, the time comes when footsteps echo down the hall, and then Waylon is in my sight. I almost cheer.

"Was that you?" is the first thing he says. "Everyone could hear you. And I mean everyone."

I smile, slightly pleased with my handiwork. "Yep, it was me. I didn't know how else to get you to come here."

"Uh, I don't know, wait until I came down with lunch?" he says.

"Forgive me; I didn't get the prison itinerary."

"What did you need?" he asks, rolling his eyes at my previous comment.

"Well, I need your help with something. Do you know where my friend Bethany is? Tall, blonde, green eyes, shy, probably with your Alpha..." I try describing her to Waylon.

"No, I haven't," he says. "Wait, Bethany? The Luna's sister?"

"Uh, I guess so." Huh, I guess that makes sense. She did say her sister died, and Joshua's mate died, and she really never talked about where she came from...

Wow, how did no one put that together?

"She's back?"

I lower my voice so only he can hear. "I don't know where she is, but if you run into her, tell her Macy is here and that I need her help."