Caged Kitten (All the Queen's Men #2) - Rhea Watson Page 0,146

this very moment.

All the frustration for today’s failing ebbed. The fear for Katja’s fate—gone. In their place, exhilaration. I rolled off my cot, light and bouncy on my toes, and practically skipped to my cell’s tiny window. Wildfire raged in place of the ward, lavender flames snapping at a black sky, spurred by the horns, by the army undoubtedly waiting on the other side. I grinned. My brother’s best friend and lifelong confidant had recently ascended to the Master of Midnight—the court’s high priest, the maestro of magic and history. When Rollo became king, this dramatic shit would be his chief advisor.

No one put on a show like the Master of Midnight.

His violet sea struck terror into the hearts of our enemies, burning brighter than the stars and hot as dragonfire.

The horns intensified, varied in pitch and depth, a war song bleating from their mouths…

I snorted. Rollo must have been fucking fuming to still be in the mortal realm after all these many months, waiting, searching, charged with bringing his wayward baby brother back to court. The ward could have hidden me away for good, but in its absence…

Invasion.

For my kidnapping was a declaration of war.

How fun.

A few cells down, Elijah started up again. He had been bellowing for his mate ever since they locked him away—not that I could blame him. His inner dragon was probably driving him up the wall, raging over the fact that a competitor had stolen her.

Well.

We would see about that, wouldn’t we? I’d never stuck a foe’s head on a spike before, but I would do so with Guthrie. Let Rafe or Elijah cleave it from its perch, then plop it on top of a spear with the Midnight Court’s banner fluttering below. Yes—plan.

Just as I eased away from the window, bored with the maestro’s same old tricks already, battle lust simmering in my heart, there came a mighty crash from Elijah’s direction. Hands threaded behind my back, broken nose on fucking fire, I sauntered toward my sealed door and pressed an ear to the wood, then flinched back when another thud reverberated through the walls, the door’s rattle drowned out by a cry that teetered between dragon and man. Thrilling, really. If only we could remove these collars—I’d give my left nut to see Elijah shift.

Dragons were so rare these days, even in my realm.

More thumps. More roars. Metal splintering and springs groaning.

Then thunder ripped through the cellblock, followed by the pitter-patter of wood chips raining down on the floor.

Had he…?

Had he broken through the door?

Such a magnificent battering ram, Elijah Greystone.

How fortunate that he had fated with Katja; I couldn’t rescue her all by myself, and there was no one more tenacious than a shifter on a mission to find his mate.

“Back in your cell, inmate!”

Ahh, Cooper, you dumb bastard. Positively giddy, I pressed against my cell door again, listening to the telltale echoes of flying fists and a snarling shifter. Blasts of magic illuminated the doorframe briefly, followed by a mannish squeal that had me snorting again.

Then silence.

I pushed closer, ignoring the throb of pain through my entire damn face, then reared back when the door unbolted and slid open. Same as it did every morning. Only we were far off from dawn; it was nearing midnight—my favorite hour.

Tiptoeing out of my cell, I paused at the sight before me: Elijah holding warlock Cooper in a headlock, both panting, their hair askew, cheeks red, the cretin’s wand a few feet away on the floor, forgotten. Then—a sharp jerk, and the guard who had gone out of his way to make our lives miserable, who once flicked lit matches at me in the shower, crumpled to a heap on a dragon’s feet, neck snapped, eyes vacant.

Yes. Things were about to get awesome.

I met Elijah’s slitted gaze with a grin and a bow, deference given where deference was due—for I stood before a true alpha whose eyes glowed with a raging wildfire. He had, in fact, busted his cell door clean off its hinges, then, if all the other open doors were any indication, had bullied Cooper into opening the rest before offing him.

Fantastic.

“You know,” I mused, sauntering a few paces toward the fallen warlock, “we could have maybe used him.”

“Are you seriously going to lecture me about hindsight?” Elijah speared a hand through his rumpled golden locks, eyebrows shooting up. “Really? You?”

“Just cut his arm off,” Rafe insisted, stalking out his cell’s doorway without a backward glance—hopefully for the last time if