Caged Kitten (All the Queen's Men #2) - Rhea Watson Page 0,44

out of nowhere. Elijah fell back, the three of us standing in line, and I noticed both men had crossed their arms, their elbows just in my personal bubble enough to make a point. She’s with us. Sleeves rolled up, Rafe seemed ready to get his hands dirty for the first time since we’d met.

Now, the million-dollar question: Was it because Elijah had thrown himself into the fray, his best friend stepping into the minefield that was Cellblock C’s political landscape? Or was he standing beside me because I’d asked—without really asking—for them to have my back? Or… Or was he actually sick of Deimos being a bully?

Impossible to tell—and that was starting to really bug me.

But no more than all the spilled blood must be bothering him. As Deimos stomped off the table, using one of the stools as a step, his lieutenant Constance had taken it upon herself to lick the fae’s bloody hand clean. She knelt at his side, eyes shut, ecstasy written across what would be a beautiful face on someone less batshit insane. Her tongue swept over his bloody knuckles, lapping up the dark, glittery red smears.

Was this killing Rafe? Did vampires crave all blood, or just a specific type? Were some human-only?

Whatever the case may be, the prison was starving their vampire population—and this couldn’t be easy for him. Pale-faced and glowering at Constance, Rafe had started to shake, and this time, as Deimos stalked up to us, got right in Elijah’s face, I shouldered in front of him, ready to hold the vampire back as needed.

Not that I… physically could. Collar or not, I was no match for a ravenous vampire.

“Think carefully, boys,” Deimos whispered in that unsettling demonic rasp. “This, right here, is a line in the sand. Are you ready to cross it?”

Still sprawled on his back, the fae suddenly cackled, then shoved Constance away, his hand covering her entire face as he tossed her off the table like she weighed nothing.

“My, my,” he rumbled, chuckling, all bloody and beaten and bruised. He tipped his head to the side, wriggling his eyebrows at Deimos, Elijah, and Rafe, then winking at me. “Isn’t this a fun group?”

I inched closer to Rafe with a gulp. Great. Just what we needed. Another psycho who got off on violence.

Still hot though—just infinitely less appealing.

The main door creaked open partially, drawing all our eyes to it, and seconds later Thompson stepped in with his usual air: casual, quiet, not braggy like all the other warlocks. As soon as he saw this, the blood, the inmates on top of each other, he hurled the door the rest of the way so that the handle clanged off the stone wall.

“What the fuck is this?” he demanded, stalking into the room with his wand drawn. Cooper and the other asshole hopped to, quickly falling in line behind him. “Everybody back up!”

And then the magic really flew. It was what I’d wanted all along—for the guards to just do their jobs—but it should have happened long before that fae ever wound up on the table. Thompson and the others handled us roughly, dragging and shoving and sparking inmates back to their cells when they didn’t move fast enough, barking orders, issuing a lockdown until dinner.

“Not you,” the least awful of the three growled. Thompson snagged my wrist just before I zipped into my cell. He then hauled me out so fast that I tripped over my own feet, crashing into him with a yelp, heart in my throat.

“What’s this?” Rafe demanded, loitering in his cell’s doorway, paler than usual, the tips of his fangs exposed with every word. Whether he drank fae blood or not, it had awoken something in him, something animalistic and demanding; I saw it in his eyes, the way they had darkened.

His voice had deepened.

His fangs—just there. A shiver cut down my spine, the fear fleeting but visceral.

“Come on,” Thompson muttered, ignoring the vamp completely as he marched me across the cellblock toward the main door. I scrambled to keep pace with his much longer strides, shooting a panicked look back to Rafe—who was being ordered into his cell by the nose-picker—and then to Elijah, who had Cooper’s wand in his face.

Not that that seemed to matter.

The dragon shifter tracked me with his relentless golden stare—and for once I was grateful for his intensity.

“Where are you taking her?” he snarled, but just as he tried to bulldoze his way through Cooper, a bolt of amber light