Caged Kitten (All the Queen's Men #2) - Rhea Watson Page 0,55

remarked slowly. My fingers moved with a mind of their own, shuffling my portion of the deck, tricks and all, just to keep busy. “Perhaps she’s just in a mood.”

“She’s been in a mood before.”

“Haven’t we all?” I slid the top card off my pile, then tossed it to the middle of the table. Queen of spades. Another easy victory.

Elijah added his opposing card without looking. Four of hearts. Tongue flicking over my fangs, I studied his profile with a sigh, slowly sweeping the cards back to me.

“Elijah…” Nothing. I booted him hard under the table, and he flinched, shooting me a scowl that quickly morphed into a smirk when I fluttered my lashes. Most didn’t dare poke the metaphorical bear; after all these years, I just seemed immune to his ire—a gift more precious than gold, to be forever on an alpha’s good side. “Leave her be. If she wants to talk about it, she will.”

“What the fuck did Guthrie say to her?” he growled, shaking his head ever so slightly, brows knitted as he threw his next card into the arena. Ten of clubs—beat my six of spades. “Sick bastard probably—”

“Drop it. You’re just going to get yourself worked up, and then if she does come out…” I finally glanced toward her cell, despite trying my damnedest all afternoon not to. The prison rotated inmates through work assignments, which meant all my cellmates had staggered shifts throughout the week. By some miracle, Elijah and Katja had the day off, same as that new fae, Avery, and Deimos. Strangely full house today. The demon and his lackey hadn’t left their usual table, both reading the best books from the library cart in a merciful silence, and the fae had been asleep since we’d returned from breakfast. Katja wasn’t asleep. She’d been in her cell alone for hours, but I just knew she wasn’t asleep. “You’ll be all intense and off-putting, and then you two will bicker as soon as she sits down, and I’ll have to break the tension with a—”

“With a poem?”

I fumbled over my next card, swallowing hard when I found him staring through me—not at me, right into my skull and out the other side. So. She had told him, had she? My pathetic attempt to stop her weeping the first night had become a crutch whenever I sensed her on the verge of tears. Thus far, we had worked through six of my collective works; Katja liked the one about the fae princess and the willow tree the best.

“Well, I… I…” Fuck me, I needed to feed. Seven months in this hellhole and I needed more than a few goddamn tablespoons of blood a day. Usually I was much quicker on my feet. Clearing my parched throat, I motioned to my lone card in the middle of the table—nine of diamonds—and arched an expectant eyebrow.

“She must be special,” Elijah mused, eerily calm as he placed his card beside mine. Four of diamonds. I took the two back as the dragon shifter tapped his deck on the tabletop, voice hushed as he added, “Even I haven’t heard your poems.”

I offered a dismissive sniff and rolled my shoulders back. “You’ve never asked, you unsupportive prick.”

That wasn’t fair, of course. Elijah proofread my articles every now and again, and he had never once refused to be my sounding board during a pinch of writer’s block. I just… It had been centuries since I recited my human work to anyone. Poetry was from another time, a different life, and I seldom wished to go back to it—to memories of a starving deckhand, working odd jobs to survive, taking the most dangerous Dublin had to offer to keep a roof over my head every few weeks.

Being attacked in an alley after a rare night on the town with the boys.

My maker leaving me to bleed out…

Leaving me orphaned.

Orphaned vampires seldom survived. We weren’t trained like those newly turned in covens, human companions of established vampires who had gone through the official channels, received the proper permits and permissions, to become immortal. No one wanted us. My existence six hundred years on was a rarity.

A damn miracle, honestly.

Elijah and I played two more silent rounds in the game of War, the unspoken conversation simmering between us, until—

“Rafe, tell me how you feel about her.”

I slapped my next card down harder than necessary, gut bottoming out at the request. “What?”

Elijah’s lips thinned, and he withheld his card, leaving mine out there waiting