Caged Kitten (All the Queen's Men #2) - Rhea Watson Page 0,81
work and the kids disappeared for lessons at the village’s pop-up academy.
This morning, my darling boy had followed Thompson into the prison. Slunk in the shadows. Hid on the bus. Crossed through the ward when it opened for the guards.
Searched cellblock after cellblock, darting between the shadows, sniffing doors, searching, searching, searching so frantically…
Until he found me.
The last thing he showed me was a misty image of myself stretched out on this shitty cot, hair frizzy and cheeks sunken, eyes stamped with faint black circles that were probably permanent at this point.
And then I was back in the cell, color and light trickling into my field of vision, stronger and sharper with every hard blink.
“Oh, Tully,” I whispered shakily as I wove my fingers into his fur, tears swelling again, “you’re my hero.”
He returned the sentiment with two deliciously slow blinks and then let me clutch him to my chest again, purring up a storm. I eased onto my side, curling around my familiar and basking in his feel-good aura. With Tully in my arms again, I forgot about Lloyd Guthrie, about my guilt over lusting after other men when a gorgeous dragon shifter had claimed to be my fated mate. I forgot about the awful cafeteria food and the backbreaking labor of solo bakery duty. For just a little while, it was me and Tully, together again, and nothing else mattered. Nothing.
But the silence shattered—it always did. My belly looped at the arrival of familiar voices, locks clinking open and inmates returning from their work assignments. The fact that Deimos worked in the library was beyond my understanding; of all the possible positions, that had to be the cushiest. And then there was crazy Constance at the other end of the spectrum on janitorial duty, so, in the grand scheme of job titles, mine could have been a hell of a lot worse.
Lips wobbling, I stroked Tully’s velvety soft ears, his face, holding back tears and wishing we could have just a little while longer—to suspend my miserable reality for an hour or two so I could well and truly forget this place.
For now, I’d take what I could get. Tully wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was I, and that had to be good enough.
I felt Elijah before I heard him, his hulking presence looming in my doorway. If we didn’t spend the day in the bakery together, we were each other’s first visit once we returned to the cellblock, as if driven by instinct, like birds headed south at the first breath of winter, drawn to the other’s cell.
“Katja, are you…” I peeked over my shoulder when he trailed off and found him blocking the entire doorway with that magnificent mountain of a body. Sweat glistened on his forehead, his cheeks, his scruff so fucking gorgeous—just one glance at it and I swore I felt its bite along my inner thighs. He frowned down at me for a moment, then cocked his head to the side, pointing at Tully. “Is that… a cat?”
“Say it louder,” I hissed, tucking Tully closer to my body. “He’s my familiar.”
Rafe’s head popped over Elijah’s shoulder, the vampire squinting against the sunlight, just out of its golden reach, and his dark brows furrowed even deeper when those beautiful aquamarines landed on Tully. His mouth opened and closed a few times, confusion obvious, but before he could get a word out, there was Fintan’s olive-skinned magnificence peering over Elijah’s other shoulder, a dusting of black soil on his forehead.
“You guys have to see this,” the fae purred, eyes alight with dangerous mirth. “The fuckwit brigade has officially…” He stopped suddenly, expression shifting to genuine befuddlement and then unabashed delight as he struggled to shoulder his way around Elijah. “Is that a cat?”
Rafe rolled his eyes, and I bit back a grin, pleased to have a wall of hotness hiding Tully from the influx of guards. “Gentlemen…” Knowing Tully would hate me for it and doing it anyway, I hoisted him up Lion King style to show off the one man in my life who would never, ever disappoint me. “This is my familiar. His name is Tully, he’s brilliant at shadow magic, and he’s my very best friend.”
Elijah’s lips lifted affectionately, and he studied Tully with the eyes of the dragon, all molten gold and primal. What I wouldn’t give to know what his inner dragon thought about all this—prison, captivity, the collar, me. Fintan, meanwhile, offered a tentative nod, eyeing Tully warily, and