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  Witch Condemned

  Blackwood Supernatural Prison #1

  Valia Lind

  Contents

  Witch Condemned

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Note from the Author

  Do you like academy adventure romance?

  Want more from the Hawthorne Witches?

  About the Author

  Also by Valia Lind

  Copyright © 2020 by Valia Lind

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover by Gombar Cover Designs

  Witch Condemned

  Blackwood Supernatural Prison - Book One

  Valia Lind

  Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string.

  Ralph Waldo Emmerson

  Chapter 1

  Pretty sure after yesterday's fiasco, I'm going to be stuck in this stupid orange jumpsuit, the fashion non-statement, for a lot longer than I anticipated. Not that I anticipated my life to turn out like this at all.

  I was supposed to be graduating from high school this year and going into the academy. Most of my life was spent on training to take my place as the coven's Protector, one of the most elite positions in the magical community. But now I'm wearing this drab uniform, the color and feel of it a reminder of just how off the rails my life has become.

  My finger traces the tattoo on my right wrist, almost absentmindedly. Technically, I'm not supposed to be able to see it. The barbed wire infinity sign, nestled on top of the key should be invisible. It's the mark everyone gets once they're sentenced to Blackwood Supernatural Prison. Who needs shackles when we've got magical tattoos that turn us into a magic-less regular humans? Pretty cool, huh?

  What the lovely wardens of Blackwood don't know is that I can see the tattoo, like it's been inked with the blackest ink. Once an inmate is sentenced to the prison, they're knocked out and brought here under the umbrella of secrecy. No one actually knows where the prison is. Even more so, no one knows that it's the tattoo that binds our powers and keeps us human, not the boundary. I've heard stories of inmates trying to get out. They think crossing the outskirts of the boundary will render them fully magical again, but it's not that simple. The tattoo is given to everyone upon entry, while they're still knocked out, and once awake, they can't see it. They simply don't know it's there.

  Only I do.

  I'm not sure if it's because of my magic, or it's some cosmic prank made to torture me, but I try to keep that knowledge to myself as much as possible. Not that I have many friends to share this insight with. Which brings me to what happened in the cafeteria today.

  There I was, minding my own business and trying to find a way to swallow the tasteless tan sludge the cooks call meat stew, when one of the newbies decided to assert their dominance. Apparently people have a problem with individuals who don't need attention and like keeping to themselves.

  "You think you're better than us?" The witch asked me, when I didn't look up at her and her posse's approach to my table. She's only been in the prison a few days, but she's already managed to get herself a group of followers. I honestly don't care one way or the other about making friends in this place, but I definitely don't care about anyone who decides to impose their dominance on me.

  So I shrugged and said yes. Obviously, that didn't sit well.

  "Are you proud of yourself?" The voice comes from the other side of the bars and I interlace my fingers quickly, as if that's what I meant to do the whole time. Glancing up, I watch as the warden of the prison steps from the shadows, his eyes on me.

  "I think I've earned it, no?" I reply, shrugging again. Maybe that's not the best way to deal with anyone while I'm behind bars, but I can't seem to turn off that streak.

  "There is no surprise you ended up here," Warden Matthews says, shaking his head a little. "You have absolutely no remorse about what you did, do you?"

  "If you think I'm sorry for smashing my tray against that witch's face, you will be disappointed. She started it."

  "Well, you definitely finished it."

  Honestly, I can never tell if he's on my side or not. Sometimes, when he speaks, I think that he agrees with what I do. He just can't verbally do so.

  "Unfortunately," the warden continues, raising his voice a little, "such actions deserve punishment. I can't allow that kind of behavior behind these walls."

  "The anticipation has me on the edge of my seat," I mumble, but since I know the warden is a shifter, he hears my words anyway. I swear a small smile tugs on his lips, but he squashes it before it can becoming anything.

  "One month in the isolation ward."

  I'm not even surprised. But then, he's not done.

  "Also, you are no longer to go anywhere alone." I glance up at that, narrowing my eyes. "You have been assigned a personal warden. Please don't bother arguing," he says when I open my mouth to speak up. "It's done. Now, grab your things. I'll take you myself."

  Great, not only am I stuck in this prison, now I get a babysitter. Can this get any worse?

  When Warden said grab your stuff, he meant the one blanket I have been assigned, along with a toothbrush and a jar of toothpaste. Blackwood Supernatural Prison isn't for the faint of heart because there are no faint of heart here. It's the place for the most dangerous of the supernaturals. It's why the location is so secretive, why everything about what goes on behind these walls is a guarded secret. It's a place that you don't wish on your biggest enemy.

  In my case, it's where my biggest enemy sent me to keep me out of the way. That knowledge, the fact that they were so afraid of me they had to get rid of me, is what fuels everything I do. And revenge. I'm really itching for some revenge here.

  "I didn't think cells could be any smaller," I comment, as the warden pulls back the door and motions me in. The room can't be more than nine feet by nine feet. Just enough to fit a bed to one side and a small sink at the corner. I dump my stuff on the bed, and turn to the warden. The man looks like he can take on fifteen guys, all by himself. He's a wolf shifter, from one of the strongest magical families, and he knows my parents. The look he gives me now is just barely tinged with sadness, and I make myself not react. Even though he's a friend of the family and I've known him for most of my life, he can't protect me here. He can't play favorites. It would ruin both of us.

  "Your personal...guard will be here shortly," Warden Matthews says and I wonder about the pause. Maybe he is still trying to protect me, even after what I've done. But all I do is nod, and turn back to study my cramped surroundings. "Cordelia," the warden's voice reaches me, as he begins to pull the door shut, "keep an open mind."

  The door clicks closed before I have time to respond. But I'm not sure I would be able to anyway. There's a lump in my throat at his use of my first name. It's been over a
month since I've heard anyone say it. Here, I'm nothing but a number. Inmate 483285. The numbers are tattooed on the inside of my left arm, no invisible spell used on this one. Everyone can see them. It's a reminder of where I am and who I've become.

  Pushing my stuff to the side, I lie down on the bed, my mind racing. A little over a month ago, my best friend Kelsey was murdered right in front of my eyes. But instead of going after the scumbag who killed her, they pinned the murder on me. It doesn't matter that I was trying to stop the bleeding, or I was screaming for help. They found me drenched in her blood and my magic signature all over the kill. When they went to arrest me, I didn't go quietly. Years of training kicked in before I could even think about it. I found the one who killed my best friend and brought him to the authorities.

  However, I underestimated the power behind the kill. Because instead of taking him into custody, they were going to let him go. No questions asked. So I had to take the matters into my own hands. The spell burst out of me in a spit of rage and the man was dead before I had a chance to think about it.

  His dead eyes is what I see in my dreams when I'm not haunted by Kelsey's. But no matter how much I wish I felt remorse, all I feel is hatred. He killed my best friend and he was sent by someone much worse. My parents did what they had to and sent me here. It's the only choice they had. But even they don't know who's behind the kills. My best friend wasn't the only witch killed. There have been many. Someone is cleaning house. Someone is making plans and they need every powerful being out of their way. There is no doubt in my mind I would've been next. I might've been dead that day, if the assassin knew I was there in time.

  The loud knocking sounds at my door, making me jump. The hinges creek as the door swings open, and a voice speaks through the darkness.

  "Get up."

  There is no kindness in his voice but it pierces me straight to the heart. Sitting up slowly, I wait for him to make that final move into the light. When he finally does, I think something stops in me, before restarting with a head pounding speed. He's tall and dark and mouth watering in the way Kelsey always talked about.

  He's a shifter, that much I can tell. Even though my magic is barely there, I can still taste his on my lips. It makes me want to go in for a closer look. I've never had such a strong response to another supernatural before and it's difficult to keep the curiosity at bay. I try the air of nonchalance that's been working for me all this time, but I still think he can see right through it.

  "Are we going on a date?" I ask, giving him one of my coy smiles. Kelsey would probably laugh at my attempt. I've never been one to flirt, but something tells me I have to keep myself ahead of the curve with him. And all he's done so far is say two words to me.

  "How did you know?" He surprises me with his answer, tilting me off balance. I don't expect him to play along. But maybe he realizes the game I'm playing. Something tells me he likes to win.

  "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I stand then, facing him and I realize he's got about three feet on me. At least. With his broad shoulders and clearly strong arms, it's difficult not to feel intimidated. But I try anyway.

  "What I'd like is for you to stay in line and follow directions."

  Well, it was fun while it lasted. I guess Mister Big Arms doesn't play around with inmates. Not sure why that just makes me more curious about him. Not many choose the job of a warden. Some are assigned, most fall into it just like I have. I study him carefully, noticing the air of superiority about him. Maybe he's part of Matthews pack. Which would make him close to royalty. Warden Matthews is a legacy when it comes to being the overseer of the prison.

  "What are my directions then?" I ask, if only to hear myself speak and him answer. He does his own study in return, before his eyes land on mine.

  "It's shower time."

  Chapter 2

  One thing Blackwood Supernatural Prison does is take care of the cleanliness of its inmates. The cells are mostly spotless, just cold and empty. We are allowed shower times, and have a sink to wash up in in our cells. While the food is sludge and the mattress is cardboard, at least there's plenty of water to go around.

  I expect Mister Broody and Big Arms to lead me back to the communal showers. But then I remember I'm in isolation now and the rules have changed. I glance at my orange jumpsuit, noticing for the first time the blood splatter from where it landed during lunch. If there is one thing I've learned since being in here is that I have to stand by my actions. No matter if I morally agree with them or not. The only job I have is to survive this place so I can get out and reap revenge on those who deserve it.

  When we turn to go to the opposite direction from the showers, I realize I've never been in this part of the prison before. The hallways are long and narrow, with thick doors lining the walls. Some of the doors don't even have bars or openings. Just slots that are locked up tight and opened only to deliver food. It's easy to forget that this place doesn't house all innocents. There are some terrible creatures behind these doors.

  "Hurry up," my special guard comments behind me and I glance over my shoulder to find his eyes on me. Not that they're never not on me. I can feel them like hot rays of the sun. There's a possibility I'll have marks on my skin from the scorching. "Turn left."

  I follow his directions without complaint, mostly because I'm ready to be not in this hallway. The quietness of the place is a tad unnerving. I'm used to the other inmates moving around, talking or exercising. There's always a buzz of sound. But here, everything is as quiet as can be.

  "Another left," comes from behind me and I turn. This is another long hallway but this one doesn't have closed doors. They're open. The sight makes me pause and the guard comes to stand at my shoulder.

  "They're empty," he says, and I try not to fidget at his nearness. Shifter's bodies always run hot and I can feel that heat reaching towards me now.

  "I thought this block was at capacity," I comment, swallowing down my nervousness.

  "Hmm."

  The small grunt makes me curious, so I turn to find him watching me. There's something about him that I can't quite understand. He's aloof and hard and also somehow approachable? It's a combination that's making my head spin.

  "At the end of the hallway. To the right."

  I have no choice but to move. When we reach the room I realize that's it's an individual bathroom. This time when I meet his eye, I'm not even hiding my surprise.

  "It's safer this way," he answers my unasked question. Motioning to the wall I see a fresh set of a jumpsuit and undergarments on the counter. That's something the prison always provides. It's hard not to let my excitement show, but it's been weeks since I've been able to shower alone. I can't even imagine how that will feel, not to have others around. My face heats up when I realize there's one person around. Glancing over at my guard, I try to figure out how to ask him about it without sounding small. I may be on the verge of my eighteenth birthday, but I still feel like a kid at times. And asking for permission to shower alone seems like giving up all the power.

  "I'll be right outside," he says, beating me to it. A tiny spark comes into his eye as he hears the relieved sigh I automatically exhale. He turns to go, but something makes me stop him.

  "I'm Cordelia, by the way."

  He freezes, his shoulders rigid as he stands without turning my way. Maybe I've broken a rule somehow. After all, I'm supposed to be just a number. But I have a feeling that him leaving me in here alone is not per policy. He's giving me this tiny gift and somehow, it makes me want to give him something in return. But then he moves away, without a word, and I wonder if I've messed something between us before it could even begin.

  Shaking my head, I strip and grab the toothpaste and toothbrush from my pockets. A small bar of soap sits next to the clean clothes, and I grab it greedily. When the water hits my flesh, I can't help but sigh. The time I've spent locked away hasn't exactly been a vacation. I do my best to train my body and mind, as much as I'm allowed. So even five minutes under the w
arm water does my muscles some good. Not willing to risk it, I wash quickly. I don't want him coming back in to find me indisposed. It's also not the smartest to be naked and not watching my back. Although, for some reason, I think that he would protect me. If only because it's his job.

  So just for one moment, I close my eyes and feel completely and entirely safe.

  When we get back to my cell, my hair is still damp. So before my guard even closes the door, I climb on top of my bed and begin to braid it. I feel him pause, and when I glance up, his eyes are on my fingers, as they move with practiced ease over the strands. My dark hair falls to my waist, and since I've been here, I've tried to keep it braided and out of the way.

  He seems to be mesmerized by the small movements and I hold my breath to keep myself from doing something to break the moment. Finally, he raises his eyes to meet mine and as soon as he does, a shutter comes over them. I inhale sharply, because there's hardness there. A part of me keeps forgetting he is not my friend and I don't understand why. We stare at each other for a long moment, and then he steps back and shuts the door behind him.

  Finally free to breathe, I exhale fully and lie back on my bed. This day has been the strangest day since I've come here. I don't typically participate in fights, and now I'm in isolation and I have a broody shifter watching my every move. Which makes me wonder.