Page 22 of Imprisoned with the Vampire King

So that was good.

We were directly across the hallway from another cell when we closed the door. Dante said that cell was usually empty, but there were two suspicious men in it at the moment, staring at me through the bars that separated us.

"You don't expect us to screw while we're in here, right?" I muttered to him, as we sat down on the edge of the bunkbed's bottom mattress. Other than the bed, a toilet was once again the only thing in the cell.

By some miracle, I'd managed to avoid using the facilities in front of Dante. He'd stood outside the women's bathroom when I used it, instead.

"No. That's what solitary's for," Dante murmured back.

As the creator of the penitentiary's solitary confinement rooms, I was positive that wasn't what they were for. But I did give the prisoners credit for discovering that particular perk of the way I'd woven my magic.

"Thank god." I collapsed against the wall, sliding back so I didn't end up bent awkwardly.

Dante slipped an arm behind me and used it to maneuver us so we were lying in bed together, the same way we had been the day before. I obviously couldn't bring out my wings, despite the tightness in my back, but I was going to have to cope with it.

If Dante could handle going multiple days without drinking blood, I could handle having tight muscles and cramped wings.

Probably.

It felt slightly strange to be snuggling like a couple when we were so far from being that, but we'd both accepted that as our fate for the next six days. We had to do what we had to do. And after the hot sex that morning, it definitely wasn't uncomfortable. Just weird.

"You did well today," he said quietly.

"How many of those people I met were put in here without committing a crime?" I asked, not beating around the bush any longer.

I'd been thinking about it all day.

Wondering how many people's lives I'd completely fucked over when I made whatever mistake I'd made while weaving the magic for the penitentiary.

Dante studied me for a moment. I felt his eyes on my face, but I didn't meet them.

"Too many," he eventually said.

My throat swelled. "I need a number."

He was quiet for another minute.

Thinking, again.

I waved a hand in his face, and he chuckled softly. "I would guess around a hundred. Maybe a few less. Maybe a few more. People don't always talk about what landed them here."

Dear lord.

There were a hundred innocent immortals trapped in an underground prison that I had created, and I hadn't fucking realized it.

It would take me a century to make enough pottery to get them all out. And that was assuming I had enough magic to fix whatever I'd fucked up to allow them to be unfairly incarcerated in the first place.

"How long ago was the first one sent here?" I asked quietly.

"Don't do that to yourself, Angel." He said the nickname on a breath. He'd been calling me Pixie in front of everyone else.

I wasn't a fan, but it was better than the other nickname he'd suggested.

"How long?" I repeated.

"About thirty years."

I squeezed my eyes shut.