Broken Compass: Supernatural Prison Story 1 (35 page)

Mischa Lebron

One month later.

Lily gurgled as she wiggled on her spot on the floor. During the past four weeks our pack house had exploded into something resembling a baby factory. At the moment all four quads were down on their hands and knees crouched around three little supe young, t
rying to get them to smile.

Jessa and I stood back, just staring at the beautiful sight. The babies already had the boys wrapped tightly around their tiny fingers.

“Jackson woke up eight times last night,” Jessa said around a huge yawn. “I swear he already has his father’s appetite for boobs.”

I snorted, shaking my head. “Dude, I did not need that mental image.” I was lucky, Lily was such a content child. She slept in five to six hour increments, and then when she woke for her feed I’d bring her into bed with Maximus and me, and we’d spend the next hour bonding together.

My happiness was almost sickening. I never even knew that this level of happy existed outside of movies and books.

“You’re such a strong boy,” Tyson was cooing at Jackson. “Already protecting your sisters.”

Jessa and I rolled our eyes at each other. It was one of those mimic twin things, and we did it a lot nowadays. But for real, these quads were crazy in love with the babies.

The front door slammed then, drawing all of our attentions. Jonathon and Lienda hurried into the room, followed closely by Jack and Jo and Nash. The grandparents were almost as bad as the quads, each of them demanding their daily hugs and kisses from the babies. One thing our kids didn’t lack was love. It was bursting from everyone who stepped near them. So far Jessa’s two hadn’t shown any crazy abilities, but we were all waiting to see what the dragon born were going to pull out of their tiny onesies. Both of them had a swath of white-blond hair, which was odd considering their parents’ hair was as black as night. Maybe a throwback to one of the grandparents. They all claimed it anyway. Lily’s hair was still a mess of dark curls, and getting long already, brushing over her forehead.

Maximus left the grandparents to their kisses, his arms automatically wrapping around me. “We should sneak off,” he murmured.

I laughed, elbowing him. “You need to be patient, Lily will go down for her nap soon.” And despite the fact I missed my daughter when she napped, I did enjoy the bonding time with her daddy. Maximus and I were still newly mated and the urges were strong. Part of me still couldn’t believe he was in my life like this.

Tyson shifted off the floor to allow Jack and Nash to take his place. The Compasses’ younger brother was obsessed with the babies. So loving and kind.

“How’s Louis?” Jessa asked Tyson when he reached us.

He shook his head. “No change. The medics are baffled. His energy has returned, and there are no visible injuries, and yet he doesn’t wake. They’re guessing it’s something to do with the injury to his soul. It’s still healing.”

Jessa crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “I’m worried about him. Josephina said she’d look into it, but I haven’t heard anything since.”

Jessa’s dragon had visited last week, bestowing blessings on the three little ones. She said they were strong of soul and energy, that they would make formidable supernaturals one day.

Now at least, with Kristoff and the bears out of the way, it looked like life would be a lot calmer in Stratford. I for one couldn’t wait. I wanted lazy days with my pack, long nights of shared company, and my child growing up with more love than she knew what to do with.

I especially wanted a lifetime with a stubborn, gorgeous, dirty-blond vampire at my side. My mate and love.

I had a life so much better than I ever imagined. It was mine. I was blessed.

Something while you wait ;
)

Thanks for checking out my story! Stay tuned for more Supernatural Prison stories. Including Tyson, Jacob and Louis. While you’re very patiently waiting (lol), please check out one of my favourite authors and series. The Wilds, by Donna Augustine.

Chapter One

Have you ever wanted to be someone else so desperately that you wished for it with everything you had? Closed your eyes at night and prayed you would wake up as someone else? Would sacrifice anything to just not be you for another day? That’s how I used to feel when I first came here, fourteen years ago a screaming child of four, crying as my parents walked out of this place without me.

I stayed like that for a long time, too, a black hole of emotion. I’d destroy any light that came too close. I cursed the world and everyone that dwelled upon it.

It was six years ago that I was lying in my private cell in The Holy Sanctuary for the Criminally Insane—or the Cement Giant as me and the other inmates called it—and had one of those moments, the kind where I could see beyond the confines I’d erected in my mind. The bars that had kept my mind in this dark place, as surely as the cement walls kept my body, weakened and rusted away.

I don’t know why it happened. Maybe it was simply age or maturity, but the anger that had been pouring out of me like a spigot on full blast started to slow. I realized that this was it, the only life I was going to get. I could either let myself rot here in misery or I could find a way out. I’d already gotten one second chance. I’d survived when so many others hadn’t. Was I really going to waste it here?

See the thing is, I’m a Plaguer, one who’s had the Bloody Death and lived. That’s not something many can say. When the Bloody Death hit the world a hundred and fifty years ago, it had a zero percent rate of survival. From what I’ve heard and read, one day no one had ever heard of the Bloody Death, and the next it ripped through the human population like a forest fire after a six-month drought. And just like a fire, it killed fast and painfully. People would be up walking around fine, only to fall bleeding on the street one moment, and gripped in agony and dead the next.

From the records left behind of that time, ninety-five percent of the population contracted the Bloody Death and all of them died during the initial outbreak. Not to mention that it didn’t spring up and then disappear. No, it’s been coming back every ten or twenty years. You don’t have to be a math genius to know those odds suck. I guess it’s a good thing there were so many humans to start with or we might have gone the way of the dinosaurs.

Everyone is fearful of when the next wave might hit. Maybe that outbreak will be the one to end us all. It’s not like anyone knew where the Bloody Death came from, or why it still mysteriously showed back up from time to time, which added to the fear. The unknown and all that? Some people have a real hang-up about not knowing things. I don’t understand that fear, but maybe it was because as a Plaguer, I’ve always known more than I wanted.

When rumors started creeping up about how a teeny tiny percent of the population, something like less than .001%, was surviving, most people thought it was a lie. Plaguers are so rare you can go your whole life never meeting one, but I’m living proof they exist.

The first couple of days after I’d survived the Bloody Death, I’d thought I was the luckiest girl to walk the Earth. I was young when it happened, only four and so full of childish delusions. Children can be like that before life teaches them better.

I still regard myself as lucky, but now I know survival comes at a cost. The Bloody Death changes you, makes you see things. They say these things aren’t true, but I know better. They say all Plaguers are psychotic, contaminated and ruined, need to be locked away to protect society from the evil they spew about monsters.

I say they’re blind. But maybe willfully so. I know what the Plaguers before me have said. I’ve seen the things they’ve seen. There’s a reason no one wanted to believe them. I understand why they hide us in places like this.

The people here, they tell me that this is the only safe place for me. That I would be killed if I’d been born somewhere else, like the Wilds, which encompasses the vast majority of what used to be the United States now except for the small slivers pieced out to form the few smaller countries that exist.

I’d prefer to take my chances. I didn’t survive the Bloody Death to only go on and live as if I were truly dead. If I was meant to be alive, I didn’t want to walk this Earth—I wanted to truly live it, dance and revel in everything it had to offer, feel every sensation and emotion open to the human psyche. I would. Even if it took me until I was a hundred and I only had one single day of freedom, I would not die here; I would die living.

The door to my cell opened and startled me. It wasn’t time for the daily release yet. I looked up from my bed, already dressed for the day in the simple white dresses we were given, to the guard.

“You’re getting a visitor.”

I let out a sigh. It was going to be one of those days.

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About the Author

Jaymin Eve is the USA Today bestselling author of Young Adult and New Adult romance novels (both urban fantasy and contemporary). She has a passion for reading, writing and arithmetic ... okay maybe not the last one but definitely the first two. She loves surrounding herself with the best things in life: her two girls, a good book, and chocolate.

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