The Dream Crafter(75)

The escort team filed forward and lined across the wall in front of his cell door. Five special guards, their only job moving the solitary inmates in and out of their cells whenever the situation called for it. They were mean fuckers, and even amongst this group, most thought twice before starting any shit during transport.

Nakoa looked to Kregen, eyes level and no attitude in his tone. “What’s going on?”

“You have a visitor.”

It couldn’t be his sister, and he got no other visitors. He was here as a murdering berserker, not because he had any unsavory contacts, so the system left him alone. He was supposed to serve his time and not get out of line. “Who is it?”

Kregen shrugged. “I’m not told that. I’m only told when to get you and where to put you.”

Without any further questions, Nakoa held out his hands in front of him, wrists pressed tight together and ankles hip-width apart.

A two-inch hold appeared in the cell door, and chains slipped through, slithering with serpentine ease down the door and across the floor, climbing over his prison blues to anchor his wrists.

The chains were something he was used to. Once upon a time he struggled, but that ended a long time ago, when he figured out struggling meant he missed the chance to see his sister and wouldn’t get another one for months, maybe years. The magical chain wound its way around his wrists and waist before going down to cuff his legs, row upon row of gleaming silver wrapped around his body.

Once the chain was in place the door disappeared, the five guards in their customary pattern as a prisoner emerged. There were no weapons allowed here, but whether it was magic or they were one of those looks human but not quite that populated the realms, they were able to fashion weapons from psychic energy – in essence, think weapons into existence.

So they had access to weapons only they could create and only they could yield. It was the perfect solution for being around prisoners who could make a bobby pin dangerous.

Nakoa was led into a part of the prison he’d never seen before, the part that housed the warden’s office and the suits, people who stayed far away from the prisoners. This wasn’t even where visits with lawyers or law enforcement usually took place. This was something else entirely.

The door opened to a large room dominated by a long table with multiple chairs. On the far wall a window overlooked a seascape. Since this place wasn’t anywhere near water, that had to be an illusion spell.

In front of the magical window with her back to him was a lone figure – female, with long red hair and the stance of someone who knew their way around a fight. Strong and impressive, he could read her as a fierce opponent, but she was still a girl, and he was still a berserker in one of the most dangerous prisons in the realms, and why was she here?

Kregen led him to the seat at the head of the table, where the chains wound themselves around several posts, anchoring him and limiting his mobility to only a few inches either way. As Kregen double-checked the security, Nakoa asked again, “What’s going on?”

“Not sure,” the guard answered. “All I can tell you is it’d be a wise choice to listen and not lose your temper.”

The theme whenever they spoke to him these days – don’t lose your temper. Kregen kept the words easy, but they held the weight and experience that told the man speaking had beheld the reason behind the warning.

Don’t lose your temper. If Kregen truly knew how often he was wrestling the berserker these days, good guard or not, Nakoa would place odds of finding himself on the wrong side of a riot.

If that ever happened, he’d thank the man for it.

The woman kept her back to him as everything was set up, and it wasn’t until they were alone that she finally spoke. “Do you like this view?”

“What?”

She stared out the window for a moment more before pushing away and giving her attention to him and the room. She was pretty and casual, and she neither hid her femininity nor played it up, the two extremes every other woman he’d ever seen in these walls handle the fact they were vulnerable. She was all in black, her clothing suitable for either a board meeting or a battle.

If the grounds got hold of her she’d never see the outside alive again, but still she had that look of superior smugness so many of those that passed through the prison had, studying him like he was an interesting pet. Any interest he may have had in this conversation vanished.

He flexed his hands, breathed deep, in through the nose and letting it fill each pathway of his lungs. Zen. Rage was too close to the surface these days, the beast agitating beneath his skin.

He’d listen, he’d tell her to rot, and he’d go back to his cell to wait for his sister’s next visit. No problems, no berserk.