Caged Kitten (All the Queen's Men #2) - Rhea Watson Page 0,140

Fintan said hoarsely, staring right through the guards, seeming whole galaxies away as he added, “for us.”

“No one’s going to ask you again, shit for brains,” one of the unfamiliar guards barked, and right on cue, the three moved in to manually separate us. One stabbed his wand into Rafe’s neck, the fizzing electrical buzz reminiscent of a taser. Another went for Fintan, shoving his chest, the jerk of his head making him wince through a noticeably broken nose. When Cooper came for me, I stood strong, immoveable, my inner dragon tearing me apart from the inside, furious and heartbroken and screaming for his mate.

Our mate.

Our witch.

Our girl.

Gone.

No.

As Fintan and Rafe dragged their feet toward their cells, I imploded. Clocked Cooper right in the face, his cheekbone shattering under my fist. He went down hard, unconscious, and the other two warlocks pounced as an alarm ripped through the block. I fought with everything I had, snarling and shouting, furious and lost, my mate slipping away from me by the second.

More guards poured into Cellblock C, and the fact that none of them stunned me—only dogpiled on top of me and steamrolled me toward my cell—confirmed everything.

She had sold herself for us.

Sold herself so that we could carry on, incarcerated but safe from a madman.

And I’d never forgive myself for putting her in that situation—for not finding a way to save her sooner.

Don’t deserve her. Don’t deserve the gift fate gave you.

By the time twelve guards wrestled me into my cell—shocking me in the ribs and the neck with their wands, gut-punching me, boxing me in the kidneys, knocking my knees out from under me again and again, one arm snapped around my neck in a chokehold—every breath plumed black. Smoke seethed from my nostrils. Fire scorched up my throat. I saw through my inner dragon’s eyes, the collar’s control over us precarious but there.

I eventually landed on my hands and knees, coughing up a mouthful of hot blood as the guards bolted. Slammed my cell door. Locked it tight. Caged the beast.

Alone and broken, I raged for her, bellowed something guttural and primal at the top of my lungs, some ancient call forcing all Xargi to tremble before me. Dust sprinkled down on me, and the lightbulb over my quivering cot swung like a violent pendulum. The door shuddered and the window rattled.

But the walls held.

In the end, my mate didn’t answer my cry.

And I feared she never would.

29

Katja

Seated in the back of a chauffeured stretch limo, Tully on my lap and Lloyd to my left, I stared out into the darkness speckled with twinkling starlight—barely visible against the hazy outdoor lighting of Xargi Penitentiary. Slowly, the driver steered us around a curve, headed out from the rear of the building and down the side, on the way to the main front gates. On a death march.

One story ends, another long, horrible one begins. Then the sweet release of death.

I swallowed thickly, hugging Tully to me and sinking into my seat, trying desperately to drown out Lloyd’s rambling. He hadn’t shut up since we left his office after I ditched the jumpsuit, where his hand had snapped around my arm and hadn’t let go until we were in the car. Even though he wasn’t touching me anymore, unless you counted his thigh jammed up against mine, I could still feel his fingertips on my skin, bruising into my flesh like claws. I didn’t dare look, but tomorrow morning, wherever I was, I knew I would find five purple marks, ugly and glaring, a stark reminder of what I was in for now that I… belonged to him.

“And the view,” he all but moaned, basically talking to himself at this point, infatuated with the sound of his own raspy voice. “Oh, kitten, you’re going to love it. Panoramic views from the master bedroom, which we will of course be sharing. I already have a new wardrobe on the way for your walk-in closet. The en suite has this spectacular jetted tub that you’ll never want to leave… And then, of course, there’s the playroom.” I caught his wicked leer out of the corner of my eye. “That’s still under construction. I’d be happy to incorporate your thoughts on the design…”

I nodded just to show that I was listening—I wasn’t really, but screw him. At no point did I want to do anything that might encourage him to grab me, shake me, or repeat any of the crap that had spewed out