After Waylon walks away, I turn towards Neil, who is shaking his head at me. I tilt my head to the side, not understanding his judgmental expression. He rolls his eyes at my confusion.

"You're really too trusting, you know that right?" he says.

"I am not," I say, immediately defensive.

"Are too. You're basically putting your life in that boy's hands."

"No, I'm just asking for help."

"From a complete stranger."

I sigh, not really in the mood to argue, but having nothing better to do. "I'm not too trusting, ok? I just try to find the best in people. Unlike you, I haven't completely given up on people."

He raises his hands in surrender, before leaning back and rubbing the top of his head with one hand. "I have no problem with the boy, I'm just saying that you might want to be more careful. But it's kind of entertaining how trusting you are if I'm being honest."

"Glad you enjoy it," I say without humor.

With nothing left to say, I return to my bunk and lay on my stomach, staring at the gray wall as I try to get through to Cayton once more. I'm still hitting that wall, and to bring that metaphor to life, I lash out and kick the wall in frustration. "Ow."

This jerk is going to get it whenever I get out of here. Really, you would think he wasn't too worried about anything happening to me. Not that he should, I guess, because I think I can handle myself...at least enough to walk away alive.

"You know," I start, wondering out loud, "I haven't been to prison before, but I'm like 99% sure you get a phone call and, I don't know, recreational time or something. What kind of concrete shit hole is this pack running?"

Neil chuckles. "Well, doll face, considering that this is A, a werewolf prison, and B, y'know, probably completely illegal under human laws, they don't have to follow any rules or regulations."

"Has no one thought to, I don't know, call the actual police? The FBI, maybe?" I huff. Werewolves, I swear to god. This is so unethical. No wonder people think they're monsters.

'Excuse you,' Wolfette says indignantly. 'You want to talk about monsters? Did you even pay attention in any of your history classes?'

'Touché.' I concede.

I take a deep breath, releasing it through my nose, and pull the pendant of my necklace out of my pocket. I run my thumb over the surface thoughtfully, thinking of Cayton and how much I hate him right now. Ass.

"So Neil, do you have a mate?" I ask curiously, trying to take my mind off my own mate.

"I reckon I do somewhere," he says. "But I haven't met her yet, and I'm completely ok with that."

I stop fiddling with the pendant, raise an eyebrow, and hang myself over the edge of the bed so I can see Neil. My hair falls down, and it briefly crosses my mind that I really need a haircut. "Why?"

He shrugs, his feet kicked up on the bar at the end of his bed, hands behind his head. "Too much work, turns you into a complete sap, and with my luck I'd get stuck with a complete bitch."

"Female dog," I say. "Obviously."

He rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean."

I push some hair out of my face and frown. "You sound just like Carter," I muse to myself, but he hears. "He was the same way." He only shrugs, and by now, the blood rushing to my head is making me dizzy, so I flip myself upright.

"Can I ask you something else?" After some silence between us, my mind starts reeling with more questions.

"Shoot."

"I know you're in here for so-called 'attempted murder', so, um, why did you attempt it?" I lean back over the edge, and Neil looks over across the hall to Alan's cell, where Alan is either sleeping or eaves dropping.

Neil purses his lips finally, and then says, "Because this pack has gone to hell since the Luna died, and the Beta's at the center of it all." His answer is vague, and he turns to his side, signaling that he doesn't want to talk about it anymore.

So, whatever kind of soap opera type shit is happening here, the Beta is the cause of it. And I assume he means Roy, not Alan, because let's be honest, Roy is kind of a dick, a really shady one at that.

Not too long after, Alan calls out my name, and abandoning my attempts at getting through to my loving mate, I shuffle to the bars, shoving my hands deep into the pockets of these too-big sweats, just in case someone notices the cuffs are gone.

"Yes?"

"How willing are you to do anything it takes to get out of here?" Alright, maybe he wasn't sleeping or eaves dropping, but scheming.

"I'd sell my right arm and foot on the black market," I say without missing a beat. I don't know where this is coming from so suddenly, but since I've had a stunning lack of ideas, I'm willing to take any ideas anyone else can provide. And besides, if it came down to using Neil's, Alan's, or my plan—which is currently nonexistent, mind you—we'd all be better off with Alan's.

"Despite the generally crappy treatment, if you're injured, they'll take you and fix you up. Sorta, anyways. They'll examine you and give you a Band-Aid, but at least you can get out of here."

My eyebrows practically shoot up my forehead. I'm not sure I like where this is headed, and I start to rethink who exactly should be the schemer out of the three of us.

"So I should try to strangle Neil right?" I know that isn't what he means, but you can't blame me for trying.

"Rude," Neil comments from the side.

Alan shakes his head, grimacing a little. "Sorry sweetheart, I'm thinking someone smaller and a lot prettier."

"Really rude," Neil cries indignantly. I stifle a laugh.

"Plus, you're the only one without—" he motions to his wrists, and as insignificant as it seems, that one gesture makes me trust him just a little more. He isn't going to out me by saying it out loud, even though everyone in earshot right now probably already knows, just because of my psychotic freak out.

I blow my bangs out of my face, "Ok, alright. What do I need to do?"

"Make enough noise to get someone down here, and make sure you've got a good injury on you."

I think for a second, looking around at all the other barred rooms, and then into my own. Neil is sitting up, an eyebrow quirked as he waits to see what I'm going do. Well, at least I know how I'll get the injury.

"Do you think you guys can egg on a fight? Loudly?" I ask everyone.

There's some quiet chatter all around, until someone finally shouts, "What's in it for us?"

"I know a guy who can get you out," I say, proudly, although I know I'm lying through my teeth. Some of these people might actually be here for a legitimate reason, anyways. "But first we need to get some attention drawn down here."

That's all it takes for everyone to start chanting stupid things like "Fight! Fight!" I crack my knuckles and then turn to Neil, as if we're actually about to throw down. "Ok. Punch me in the face."

"What?"

"Punch me. In the face, please. And make it snappy."

"No!"

I cross my arms, pursing my lips. "Neil, do you want out of here or not?"

"You're a girl, I'm not punching you in the face!"

"Dammit Neil, don't be sexist, just punch me!"

His fists clench and unclench, but the uncertainty on his face remains. I groan, making sure the silver bands are secure enough to look like I hadn't had them off in the first place. The burning makes me cringe, and Wolfette whines, but she realizes it's necessary. We're on the same page, which is a first.

"Why do I have to? Punch yourself!" he counters.

"Punch me or I'll rip your throat out!" I basically yell. Everyone is still hooting and hollering around us, and I'm worried someone will come down here before Neil gets a blow in.

"If I punch you, your mate will do that anyways!"

He might have a point there...Regardless—

"Neil, just do it!"

"Gahh!" Finally caving in, I barely have time to brace myself before Neil sends his fist flying. It hits me just right, having hit both my left eye and my nose, and not one second after I feel blood starting to pour from my nostrils. Though, I'm sure Neil could have done a lot more damage than that. He definitely went easy on me.

Which, I'm glad he did, because even though it wasn't as hard a hit as it could have been, it still hurts like a bitch.

I grab my nose with my hand, muttering a string of curses under my breath.

"Was that so hard you ass?" I say. My eye is swelling and watering, probably making my face look even more attractive with the blood. There's going to be a nasty bruise there, not to mention a possible broken nose.

'You can heal this quickly, right?' I ask Wolfette.

'It takes a good whole day to heal a bruise like this,' she says. 'On the bright side, your nose isn't broken.'

'In other words, you can't heal my eye before Cayton sees and flips shit?'

'Basically.'

The volume of the cellblock has gotten significantly louder, and I'm not sure if it's because I got hit or because they're actually trying to get someone's attention. I pray this works, and at the same time, I sincerely hope Cayton hasn't decided to drop that stupid wall. Is that how it works, with the wall up, he can't feel my pain?

I assume so, because I stand silently for a few seconds, waiting to hear something along the lines of a colorful vocabulary and threats and whatever else he can squeeze into there, but I never hear anything, so at least I don't have to worry about that for now. Plus, it would be hard to concentrate on a conversation, considering the throbbing pain in my face.

Finally, the thundering of feet can be heard; at least four different pairs, and I turn facing the hall so they know it's me causing all this commotion. Donny and three other guys I haven't seen before all come in, tense and ready to scrap if necessary.

"Hey Donald," I wave, one hand still cupping my nose. The noise dies down immediately at the sight of these four men.

Donny notices me then, eyes scanning over my face. I remove my hand slightly, allowing him to see the blood. And I kid you not, not one ounce of concern flits across his face. He's all humor, and I'm almost positive he would have been rolling on the floor laughing if it was just him. Then again, that's expected. I'm the pain-in-the-ass-girl who he's probably fantasized about punching multiple times.

His eyes flit to Neil, and he gives him a nod of approval.

"Um, can I get this checked out?" Obviously this isn't working, so I make my voice sound hoarse, like I'm seconds away from crying, which isn't difficult, because all I have to do is stop trying to suppress the pain. And it helps cover up the slight annoyance in my voice.

It isn't Donny who says yes, though, it's one of the other guys. He doesn't give me a hard look or anything; in fact, he looks a little sympathetic, so I tell myself not to be too big of a bitch towards him. He instructs me to move my hand and tilt my head back slightly, and I do.

"Might be broken," he says. "Let the Doc check her out."

He steps back, and I cover my nose once again, not wanting too much blood dripping everywhere. Unlocking the door and sliding it open, I look over my shoulder and throw a wink in Neil's direction. I also contemplate kicking Donny in the jewels when I'm out of the cell, but decide against it.

*

They dump me inside a lighted, fresh, clean room, and I take in greedy lungful's of cool, non-mildew-clogged air. They have me sit on a cot and give me a wet rag to wipe my face with. Then they leave, although I suspect they aren't too far away and getting up and walking out the door won't do me any good.

Eventually, someone comes in, a women dressed pretty casually. She doesn't say a word, barely even looks at me, which is good, because my eyes are too busy scanning around the room, looking for an escape. There's a window, but that would be about as sly as a fox that's bad at being a fox.

Adjacent to the cot I'm sitting on is a door, and it's partially propped open, just enough for me to see it's a bathroom. But it's pitch black, meaning there's no window.

So, basically, my only options are running out the door, or trying to convince the doctor to let me go. And my odds of successfully doing either of those are about as high as my odds of ruling the arctic.

I decide to let this play out.

"Let me see," she says. I toss the rag on to the cot and meet her eyes. Well, I try to. My left eye is swollen shut at this point. I fight the urge to touch my nose, but I don't have to fight it long because she gently touches it, causing me to wince away.

After some more examination and poking, she concludes—brilliantly, I might add—that I'm going to have some bruising around my eye and nose for a few days, and my nose isn't broken, luckily.

She doesn't give me an ice pack or some painkillers or something; in fact, she's ready to send me back as soon as she concludes I don't need any serious attention. Becoming fidgety, I ask if I can use the bathroom first.

"Just be quick," she says. "These assholes get impatient." She hooks a finger over her shoulder, towards the door where the two who escorted me up here are waiting, smiling teasingly at one of them.

I step into the bathroom, close the door, and lock it as quietly as I can. Then I face the mirror, bracing myself to see my currently deformed, and what all this hubbabaloo is about my eyes.

I can't help but gasp at my eyes—well, eye—because yellow doesn't exactly sound like a desirable eye color, but it isn't all that bad, sort of a glowing color, like a golden ring shining in the high-noon sunlight. If I'm being honest, it is a little creepy at first, such a strong color, but then it kind of...fits. An unusual eye color to match my unusual life. At least, that's how I'm going to choose to look at it. I'll be hard pressed to believe anyone else will see it my way, whether they know my life or not.

Then I look to the left side of my face and cringe. My face looks like some abstract painting done by a third-grader, splotched purple and yellow and blue.

"Aw, that's my money-maker," I pout, poking at all the bruises on my face and wincing each time.

I turn the water faucet on, lukewarm, and cup my hands underneath. Splashing my face, I scrub at the uninjured side, trying to buy myself some time as I think of how the hell I'm going to get out. My eyes dart around. A toilet, a sink, a small shower wedged in the corner, and some questionable choices in color scheme and decorations. But nothing I could possible escape through.

I growl in frustration, and stop myself midway through said animalistic growl. Oh god, I sound like a puppy trying to attack a squeaky toy.

'Focus!' Wolfette growls.

'Ya see? How is it that you actually sound threatening and I sound like a yapping Chihuahua puppy?'

'That's literally all I hear when you talk. Seriously, Macy, focus!'

Trying not to start another argument, even though I'm totally going to ignore her again later, I turn off the water and pat down my face with a hand towel folded on the sink.

Then I hear murmuring on the other side of the door, and I press my ear against the wood.

"Emergency...all available..."

And then two second later, someone is shaking the door handle, trying to get in. I jump away from the door and flush the toilet.

"Sorry! I had to go," I shout to the other side.

"Out now!" the voice demands.

"Um, you see, that's going to be a problem, because I'm having girl issues—"

"Come on!" someone yells from further away, and with some hesitancy, I hear four sets of footsteps running off, and a door slamming.

I make sure no one is left, and then flip the lock and open the door. They left me alone. Even the doctor lady is gone. Rookie mistake. I grin victoriously and head straight for the door, strutting like an Olympian going to claim the gold medal. When I turn the knob and slam my shoulder against the door, considering bursting into song because this is too easy, the door doesn't budge.

The smile falls immediately, twisting into a frown as I try slamming against the door again. And again. Somehow I convince myself that I'm just not pushing hard enough, since I don't want to really believe it won't be as easy as walking out.

I stare at the door after about the fourth try. Then I slam my shoulder once more, hoping fifth times the charm, which it isn't. Then I scream in frustration and shake the handle, willing my Superman strength to make an appearance again. It doesn't.

Great. Now I'm locked in here until they finish doing whatever they're doing. Perfect.

Then I remember the window, and I spin on my heel and rush to it. Ok, not my most original escape, but...

I push it open, poking my head out to see around. Alright, so there are about seven people walking around, alert and, well, not in human form, except for two. Also, I'm on the second floor, and there is nothing for me to climb down.

Total bust.

I shut the window, frustrated beyond belief. How am I supposed to escape?

Suddenly, like a god-sent, someone knocks on the door. Not just anyone, either. I almost immediately recognize the scent, a distinct mix of Midnight Fire and grass from running patrol.

"Waylon!"

"Ok, good, you're not dead," I hear him sigh in relief.

"Yay, let's celebrate! Open the door and we can blow up some gloves as balloons," I say, trying my luck with the door handle, thinking maybe he had unlocked it.

"Right, um..." I hear the clink of metal to metal. "I think the key might be on here..."

"You swiped the keys? Seriously? I suggested that yesterday."

"I didn't swipe them from Donny," he says, muttering as he concentrates, trying different keys in the lock. I bounce from foot to foot, eager for him to find the right key and get me the hell out of here. "He gave them to me. There's an emergency and most of the guards had to leave."

"Thank god for emergencies," I breathe out. "Someone break in or something?"

He doesn't say anything, not even moving the keys for a split second. Then he's back at it.

"Uh, yea, someone crossed the territory lines about half an hour ago."

I'm too impatient and preoccupied with getting out that I don't stop and allow myself to think about the "emergency" and who might be the cause of it. It takes Waylon a dozen tries or so, but as soon as he finds the right one, I fling the door open and dash into his arms for a quick hug, not even giving him time to pull the keys out of the lock.

"Let's blow this popsicle stand," I say, retrieving the keys and tossing them back to him. He shoves them in his pocket and grabs my elbow, leading me in the opposite direction I had come from.

"What happened to your face?" he asks.

"Neil," I say vaguely, then skid to a halt. "Wait, we need to get Alan and Neil," I say.

"What? Are you crazy?"

"Slightly, yea," I admit. "But seriously. We have time, don't we? It takes a little while for them to catch the guy."

His jaw clenches, and his eyes dart from me to both ends of the hallway. He sighs, resigning, and turns us around to run down to the cells.

"If you get me killed, I swear—"

"I know. I'll try not to from now on."