Caged Kitten (All the Queen's Men #2) - Rhea Watson Page 0,11

true alpha.

Pathetic.

Alongside a few of his closest allies, Deimos had arrived after Rafe and me, and when he’d tried to float his let’s unite nonsense on us, I’d broken two of his teeth. Since then, there had been a very clear divide in Cellblock C, and that was the way we liked it. I had a six-year sentence, Rafe a twelve, and we intended to ride it out with as little drama as possible.

A siren erupted suddenly, blaring out of the speaker next to the bright white light that never dimmed in the conical ceiling. The block door burst open, and in charged guards in black uniforms, wands drawn. Months ago, the sight made my heart race. Now, it was standard fucking procedure; we all knew the drill.

“At your cell doors, inmates!” Blemmins, head guard for cellblocks A through D, barked at us, sparks erupting from the end of his wand. A fitting display, given he practically jizzed his pants anytime he got to order anyone around. Rafe tossed the cards on our little two-seater table with a scowl, and the siren continued to shriek as the rest of us rose and shuffled for our cells.

While there were several different alarms at Xargi, this one signaled the arrival of a new inmate on the block. As I leaned back against the wall between my cell door and Helen’s, the little bird shifter all squirrely and cowering against the noise, Rafe caught my eye from the opposite side of the circle. Although we were close, we couldn’t communicate telepathically like shifters within the same clan. But even without a glimpse inside his head, I knew what he was thinking; the twist of his mouth, the furrow of his brow, the hardness of his gaze—all a dead giveaway.

Here we fucking go again.

I offered him a one-shouldered shrug when the siren finally died down, my ears ringing and my inner dragon snarling softly. He hated everything in here, and if he had the chance to show himself, he would turn the prison and all its sadistic guards to ash.

Save the warden for last though. Guthrie deserved as much.

With our usual trio of guards situated around the room, the superfluous blocks of warlock muscle patrolled the cellblock slowly, looking us up and down, keeping us in line. Enforcers, this bunch, there to maintain peace if any fighting broke out beyond what the assigned security could handle.

The main door buzzed, locks unbolting again, and then swung open to reveal two warlocks from processing. They dragged in a purple-jumpsuited inmate between them, a redhaired witch that I couldn’t quite see properly—

But her scent struck hard, whizzing across the room and slamming into me like a fucking nuke. Briar rose and candle smoke and the air right before a cataclysmic storm…

Knees seconds from buckling, I clutched at the doorframe behind me. No one had ever knocked me off-balance just by their scent before, and yet this—I’d never smelled anything so strong, so fierce, so damn intoxicating that it took every bit of restraint I had to not launch across the room and tear her away from the fuckers death-gripping her arms. Bury my face in the coppery-red inferno blazing down her back. Drag my tongue up the delicate column of her throat.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

My inner dragon roared to life after months of forced docility and quiet. He bellowed so thunderously that my teeth chattered, and I gritted them hard, hoping no one had noticed. Even Rafe was distracted by the new arrival, tracking her with his calculating aquamarines as the guards marched her over to the vacant cell beside his. A surge of possessive need ripped through me, and I gulped down a deep breath, ignoring Helen’s meek but curious sidelong glance.

Holy fuck.

Was that witch my…

My…

My fated mate?

Like any shifter, I’d heard the stories. We all went through life dreaming about the day we stumbled upon our fated mate, the one soul designed by fate exclusively for us and we for them. Once, it was only acceptable to fate with another shifter, but the times had changed. Given my preference for humans, I had always thought I’d align with one of them. Some gorgeous mortal woman who I would love and cherish and protect for all her short life, then carry on for the rest of my very long one with a piece of my heart missing.

But a witch?

No. That couldn’t be right.

Only… The signs were there. Her scent smacked me upside the