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

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  Copyright© Avery Song & Veronica Agnus, 2020

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The publisher is not responsible for website (or their content) that are not own by the publisher.

  This eBook/Paperback is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook/Paperback may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

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  Cover Design by Yocla Book Cover Design

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  Editing by

  Rainlyt Editing

  Format: Avery S.

  Contents

  Acknowledgement

  PSYCHIC PRISON MAP

  BLURB

  Prologue: Farewell, Memory Of Pride

  1. Alisha Butterfly

  2. Psychic Prison For Supernaturals

  3. Imprisoned Monarch Of Amnesia

  4. The Master Of My Captivity

  5. Lost In The Past, Living In The Present

  6. Blurred Lines Between Captivity And Freedom

  7. Taking Control Of What Is Mine

  8. Four Supernatural Masters Of Fate

  9. Terms And Conditions Between Us

  10. Intriguing Wolf Misfit And Threatened Captivity

  11. Psychic Abilities Gone Wild

  12. Predict What The Enemy Desires Of Me

  13. Past Circumstances And Sheltered Shell

  14. Embrace The Shadow

  15. Interruptions Are Annoying

  16. Path To Psychic Royalty

  COMING SOON - PSYCHIC ROYALTY

  COMING SOON - PSYCHIC MONARCHY

  SUPERNATURAL INMATE- SNEAK PEEK

  BLURB

  Lingerie Shopping With My Supernatural Brothers

  LEVEL ONE: SUPERNATURAL INMATE

  LEVEL TWO: ARRESTED BY MAGIC

  LEVEL FOUR: CELESTIAL PRISON

  SHATTERED PRINCESS

  ABOUT AVERY SONG

  ABOUT VERONICA AGNUS

  Also By Avery Song

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Thank you for purchasing PSYCHIC PRISON.

  Thank you for giving Avery Song and Veronica Agnus duo a chance! This was a challenge, especially with the new idea of paranormal romance. Hope you enjoy our little creation!

  Special thanks to our amazing Mom for blessing us with the gift to write and supporting us in all aspects. We pray to continue making you proud as we strive towards success.

  Finally, we thank God for giving us the strength to achieve our goals. Without Him, we would be nothing.

  AVERY SONG

  &

  VERONICA AGNUS

  BLURB

  When a monarch is marked, they go from master to prisoner. Their fate? Determined by the one who marked them.

  Alisha Butterfly is my name, and on Friday the 13th, I was found guilty of the massacre of a bunch of criminals — people I have no memory of killing. Amnesia wasn't a good enough excuse to get me into the mental ward and so I was tossed into the depths of the Psychic Prison for Supernaturals.

  Now I’m a marked puppet with bad luck on my side and a master waiting for me at my cell. But questions — and problems — arise when that one master turns out to be one of four and I learn I’m more than just a trapped butterfly.

  To them, a marked monarch is a slave to their every command. But I’m more than that. I'm powerful and I will rise from the depths of this prison and exact my revenge on whomever sentenced me here.

  I'll cocoon myself within these grim walls and do what my masters tell me. Let them abuse, strengthen, and train me for what's to come, for time will be my ally until I transform and regain what is rightfully mine.

  I will reclaim my supernatural monarchy.

  Prologue: Farewell, Memory Of Pride

  My body plunged into the icy waters.

  After descending through the skies like a malfunctioning airplane, the freezing temperatures felt like a saving grace against my burning hot body.

  My weak eyes barely opened, but it was enough to see the red water all around me.

  The bodies rising upward to the surface to float and emphasize the inevitable.

  Death worked in mysterious ways, and as I sunk deeper into the depths of this bloody water, I knew my life was on a short rope, destined to end like all those who shared this same water.

  One would think they’d feel fear or think of their last happy moments in life.

  I felt numb. No sadness or sorrow radiated from my slowing heart, as my body began to freeze and lose sensation.

  I'd done something bad. Something I should have regretted like any normal individual would.

  I regret nothing...

  Whatever sins my hands committed, they so rightful did with my blessings. I'd approved of this fiasco, but the deeper I sank, the further away my memories became.

  They were fading...leaving me to be nothing but an empty shell, yet pain struck me at that moment - not internally, but outside my hollow shell.

  The first strike wrapped around my waist, pausing my descent to death.

  The second strike wrapped around my neck, chaining me like some unfortunate creature.

  Finally, two strikes hit at once, each one wrapping around my wrists and keeping them together like handcuffs.

  Confusion shimmered through me, but as the lack of oxygen began to creep through my weak senses, I couldn't care what was happening.

  I knew what was going on.

  The burning sensation along my arm was sealing what I knew was inevitable: I was being marked.

  My memories were fading faster than I expected, and still, I felt no fear. The pain was somewhat inviting, a part of me believing that this pain was nothing compared to what I should have felt for the ultimate crime I just committed.

  I was a monarch, after all, a leader of my kind. I defended the weak. I kept my kind strong. This act of treason meant the future generations of my kind had a chance to live on.

  I still regret nothing, as the chains tugged me upward, my body beginning to rise. Whether I lived or died didn't matter to me.

  My duty had been completed and I'd face the consequences. If only my memories wouldn't leave me.

  Then I'd pay the price with honor and not fear.

  The closer I came to the surface, the emptier my mind became, until all I could grasp was my name.

  Alisha Butterfly. Alisha Butterfly. Alisha Butterfly.

  Over and over, I repeated my name, the one thing I'd cling onto with desperation. It didn't matter if I forgot what kind of shifter I was. No matter my supernatural background or hierarchy.

  As long as I recalled my name, I could find my home.

  I'd find out where I laid my mark and who perished from my claws.

  My eyes finally came to a close, the darkness inviting me into a deep slumber. I did not fight it, knowing my time as monarch was over - these chains a symbol of my imprisonment.

  I allowed my consciousness to fade away, and the last bit of memories of people cheering my name in pride and joy made their final debut.

  One final push to remind me that what I'd done had saved a land of many - had saved an entire nation of my kind.

  I’d face the shackles that now claimed me with pride, for I wasn't in the wrong and my captivity wasn't my downfal
l.

  I was now a trapped butterfly, and my rein of monarchy was no more.

  Alisha Butterfly

  "Alisha Butterfly. You are sentenced to life imprisonment for the mass killing of one thousand prisoners at North West NYC County Jail. The prison you will be sent to will not be revealed until you get there. Take her away."

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  There I was, sitting and staring into space as the bulletproof prison car continued its long journey towards whatever prison was chosen for me.

  You would have thought a blindfold was required for this long driving session, especially if they didn't want me knowing the area, but with nothing but desert to look at in the middle of the night, I wasn’t given much to remember.

  Cactus 809. Cactus 810. Cactus 811.

  Oh. Right. The odd voice in my head was far less ecstatic about our apparent sentence.

  I thought having a voice in my head would land me in the crazy house. That surely would have been better than being sentenced to a life of imprisonment.

  If only I could recall this apparent incident where a 5'9" slender woman with thick matte plum nails, black tights, a black crop top, and black boots murdered one thousand people. With my attire, I would have believed I’d gone on a killing spree at a nightclub instead of the middle of the fucking ocean.

  It was really absurd, if you ask me. Not one, or ten, or one-hundred. A THOUSAND people. What made it laughable was that they weren't normal humans.

  It was apparently supernatural beings that I was able to eliminate.

  I laughed out loud this time, and the driver gave me an odd look in the rear-view mirror. At least he thought I was crazy, unlike the courtroom that all looked my way when I went into a giggle fit.

  It was too preposterous to believe and to think everyone was pointing the blame towards me without valuable evidence. No videos or eyewitnesses. We were in the year 2055 and they actually wanted me to believe their made-up words and list of one thousand dead prisoners with no fucking evidence.

  Bullshit, I tell you.

  The saddest part about my current predicament and the reason why I had no ability to defend myself or actions was due to my apparent memory loss.

  Amnesia, they say. To the highest degree.

  When I woke up in the hospital bed, I thought I was in the midst of a dream. White cotton sheets, a plain white ceiling. The repetitive beep of the vital signs monitors, and the multiple wires and IVs connected to my body.

  The pain was tolerable, the around-the-clock medication to relieve the pain of breaking a leg, some ribs, and an arm was doing a pretty damn job of making me comfortable. How silly was it to handcuff me to the bed when I had a broken leg?

  Nevertheless, I awakened from a deep slumber after being unconscious for two weeks - a comatose state - and only remembered my name and age.

  Alisha Butterfly. Twenty-two years of age.

  I got more information from the health chart than I could recall, but I woke up alone and had no family to contact.

  Under my circumstances, I would have been granted one phone call, but who was there to call? If they told me I had no family, there was no need to argue. The idea of being alone in this world brought me an odd sense of solace.

  I should have been afraid. Frightened to be cuffed to a hospital bed and without anyone to defend me from the occurrences that got me here. Instead, I was relieved.

  This scenario and my now life imprisonment gave me a break from the world, and it only made me wonder what life I had lived prior to Friday, March 13th, the day I lost my memories and murdered one thousand inmates before crashing into the ocean.

  Ridiculous.

  With a sigh, I rested my head against the window and closed my eyes, hoping this eight-hour car ride was going to end sometime soon.

  My curiosity about this prison was nudging a part of my mind. Would my appearance help me? I doubted it.

  I was 5'9" in height, skinny, with a pale complexion that gave off the apparent Caucasian side of my heritage while my face was soft with delicate features that matched my Japanese side.

  All of that information was obtained from my health record. The last time I ever was admitted to the hospital was for broken bones when I was thirteen.

  Coincidence? I think not. But I'm the girl with amnesia. What would I know?

  My physical condition would aid me in running or fighting, at least. From the six-pack I carried and slightly muscled biceps, I was positive that I'd worked on remaining fit.

  Turning my gaze to my hands, I looked at my matte nails.

  I'm pretty positive they don't have the option of getting your nails done in prison.

  The mere thought disgusted me, which told me manicures and pedicures were a non-negotiable must.

  Even in the heart of prison.

  I'd figure that out later, like the rest of my life. The thought led me back to the voice in my head.

  Cactus 1505. Cactus 1510. Cactus 1520.

  "Are you really counting how many cacti are in the distance?"

  The driver looked my way again, and I rolled my eyes, realizing I'd asked the question out loud like an idiot. If I kept doing it, maybe we'd make a detour and head to a mental ward. Surely pills and a padded room would be better than prison - especially a prison filled with supernaturals.

  "We're almost there, so stop your mental act!" the driver huffed in pure irritation. He thought I was still playing the part of a mental case when I'd genuinely asked the question to the voice in my head.

  "This crazy bitch. I can't wait to be done with this long drive and head to the hotel. Her vibe is giving me the creeps. I wonder what level she's going to be on? Good riddance. Though her body is smoking hot. I'd fuck that any day. If I wasn't on watch, I'd pull over and have a quickie. Ugh. The thought is just making me horny. I'll just find a Tinder fuck. Should do that now seeing as we're close."

  My annoyance was obvious in my glaring eyes as I met the black orbs of the driver in the rear-view mirror.

  He flinched as if he was seeing a ghost - or acknowledging my existence for the first time in this eight-hour ride – and his eyes returned to the road.

  "Fucking scary! Did her eyes change to orange just now? No...they were purple when I picked her up. What kind of supernatural is she? Oh, who fucking cares. Scratch the Tinder date. Get to the Psychic Prison For Supernaturals asap so I don't need to be near this psycho. Wait...what if she can read my mind?"

  His eyes darted back to the mirror, and all I could do was give him a sly grin, one that only added to my crazy persona.

  "FUCK! Did she hear me? No...maybe? It's not like she voiced that she could hear my thoughts. But would she? Fucking fuck! Why did I have to be chosen to do this bloody shift? I'm always the one to lose at Rock-Paper-Scissors. Who invented that foolish game?”

  I didn't stop my giggle but moved my gaze back to the window. I'd allow the suspense to drive him nuts. It could get us to the final destination faster.

  Cactus 2500. Cactus 2508. Cactus 2514.

  Are you going to keep counting cacti? I decided to ask the voice again, and she - if she didn't mind being identified as she - paused in her count to finally answer me.

  "Clouds were boring. Cacti make the time move faster. Stop bothering me."

  I frowned at her comment.

  Or you could have a conversation with me? We are both stuck in this journey and you're the one chilling in my head. I don't even know who you are. Are you a female, by the way? Figured I'd ask before we get to the prison of hell. Also, are we continuing this psycho act?

  The voice didn't answer immediately, but she finally decided to enlighten me with some knowledge.

  "Female. As for your question regarding who I am, I'm working on discovering such. Your amnesia affected me. Torturous to linger on it."

  That's why you’d rather count than focus on our predicament?

  "Affirmative."

  Sorry.

  "Your apology is unnecessary. As you've reminded me, we're on th
is murderous journey together. Might as well suffer in unity."

  Do you believe we're close?

  "Large population of human auras approaching. Positive we are near the destination."

  I mentally nodded, resting my head back onto the headrest as I purposely tugged at my wrists to see if they were still chained.

  "You're not psycho."

  Oh really? Everyone else seems to agree I knocked something in my head. Sad that our predicament is far from funny, and I can hear everyone’s voices.

  That was the hardest thing to adjust to. Waking up to hearing every thought from every nurse, doctor, or individual in the room was overwhelming. It was enough to knock me right out in the beginning, and led to my trial being postponed until I was labeled "stable".

  Pretty positive the hospital was forced into discharging me, the urgency of my trial and dismissal imminent. The longer it took, the harder it would be to cover up all the bullshit, but it was obvious I had some psychic ability.

  It was thanks to the voice in my head that I was able to figure out how to shut it down, but turning it on and off would lead to me having obnoxious headaches.