Caged Kitten (All the Queen's Men #2) - Rhea Watson Page 0,148
in that moment, a burning vengeance drummed inside me. It shrouded the edges of my vision, darkness billowing, tunneling my focus to the demon who I had fantasized about gutting and stringing up by his own entrails.
My eyes slid over to Rafe, then Elijah. None of us said a word—we just moved. Rafe and I had speed at our backs, my fae wings hidden in this realm and tapered down by the collar, which resulted in me and the vampire blitzing toward Deimos as one, as equals.
Constance abandoned him immediately, skipping back to her cell in a flourish of bright pink hair, her grey jumpsuit melding with the shadows.
“Now, now, wait…” Deimos retreated slowly, as if he didn’t take our threat seriously—like he thought he could talk his way out of this. That hit close to home. Now I saw it, how fucking annoying it was to listen to someone prattle on when they should really just shut their bloody mouth. The demon held up his hands innocently, fingers splayed wide and weaponless. “Gentlemen, I can make life very comfortable for you outside of these walls—”
Rafe and I reached him first, closing in on either side. His charm vanished in a flash, replaced by demonic fury. Eyes wholly black, he bared his teeth and lashed out, taking generous swipes with nails that were far too sharp by prison dress code regulations. Ten little blades slashed at us, but I dodged and weaved with ease, snapping one hand around his wrist and the other just below his shoulder joint. Rafe mirrored my hold on the other side, and when our eyes met, the brooding poet finally offered a smile worthy of his predator status.
“Ready, Mr. O’Dwyer?” I crooned, Deimos wriggling and snarling and struggling between us. Rafe wrenched his arm straight, as did I, and the vampire closed his eyes for a moment, as if to really take it all in. When they opened again, bloodlust shone bright.
“Ready, my prince.”
I cocked an eyebrow. Was the sarcasm really necessary? Elijah’s chuckle as he strolled toward us suggested so, a little bit of brotherly ribbing before we got down to business. Fine. I’d probably never escape my title with this lot, and with them, prince wasn’t a term of endearment.
But I needed that.
So desperately.
“One,” I started.
“Two,” Rafe growled.
“Wait, wait, we can make a deal,” Deimos cried, jerking harder, black eyes snapping between us. “Please, we—”
“Three.” Elijah’s low snarl spurred us on, and we ripped both arms out of their sockets in tandem, unleashing another wave of blood with which to drown Cellblock C. Only the spray was black this time, spattering across our jumpsuits, our faces, up our arms, hot and sticky and scented faintly of death. Rafe made no move to lick the black splotches away—apparently even starving men had their limits—and Deimos howled loud enough to make the block tremble, his pain a chorus of varying baritone timbres.
Music to my pointy fae ears, honestly.
Deimos folded to his knees, jumpsuit sleeves fluttering around him like useless wings. Slowly, his gaze soared to an approaching Elijah, and for once, he held his tongue.
Dying beasts always sensed the end.
Without a word, Elijah gripped the demon’s face, twisted hard left, then right, then left again. He planted a foot on Deimos’s chest, pinning him to the wall—and cleaved his fucking head straight off his shoulders. Bone and cartilage came loose with a squishy pop, spinal cord snapping, and as soon as Deimos’s head left his body, Elijah tossed it aside like the piece of garbage he was. No pomp. No ceremony. No parting words or victorious grins.
Just another day at Xargi—taking out the trash.
Magnificent.
Behind Rafe, I spied the maenad loitering in her cell doorway, caressing herself, eyes wild and manic, full mouth kicked into a seductive pout. No surprise that carnage got her off given her kind’s history, and before Katja, before Elijah and Rafe’s companionship, that was a mare I would have happily ridden until sunrise.
Now, when Elijah took a menacing step toward her and she scampered into her cell with a crazed giggle, I let her go—happily.
“So…” I clapped my hands together, beaming at the pair, at the brothers I had chosen. “Who’s ready to meet the family?” The pair swapped wary looks, and I patted Elijah on the chest as I breezed toward the cellblock’s main door, soaked in demon blood and ready for more. “Don’t be nervous, boys… The future king of the Midnight Court is going to love you.”