Caged Kitten (All the Queen's Men #2) - Rhea Watson Page 0,90

own bullshit, even as the thunder of guard boots sounded from the cellblock’s common area. B-negative on my tongue, in my veins, coursing through my heart, I knew I had to answer honestly; Katja deserved that much.

“No,” I whispered back, chest tightening when a relieved smile blossomed across her face.

“Me neither.” Both feet planted flat on the floor, she tried to stand by herself again—tried and failed, plopping back on the cot. On the next attempt, I held her elbow until I was sure she wouldn’t immediately topple over. It took a good two minutes before I trusted her body enough to let go, and when I did, she faced me slowly with a long, luxurious sigh, eyes heavy, limbs relaxed…

As if we had fucked, the sex perfect and satisfying and just what she needed.

Bloodlust satiated for the time being, I now had a raging case of blue balls.

“I’m not sure why I don’t regret it,” she admitted, soft enough for a human to miss, speaking more to herself than me. “But I don’t.”

“I understand.” It was an automatic response, one that garnered another warm smile and a kiss on the cheek—and a face full of Tully’s massive fluffy tail—before she crept to the door of my shadowy cell. Confident on her own two feet again, Katja waited a few long moments, then darted out and into her cell when the guards resumed their loud, never-ending conversation about tits and beer and the wolfsbane trade.

I ached without her.

Felt parched in seconds.

My words had been a lie: I didn’t understand shit—about her, about us. No one, supernatural or human, had ever made me want to feast before, stirred me to keep going and going, taking, becoming a demon of gluttony and lust. She sparked something in me, her blood like fire pumping through my veins.

I could chalk it up to the near constant state of starvation the prison kept their vampire population in, but that wasn’t the whole story.

Barely even a chapter, honestly.

Bloody pillowcase in one hand, I slumped back against the wall, legs dangling over the cot, and closed my eyes. While I longed to slowly let the mystery unfold, to follow the threads one at a time to understanding, to the culmination of us, that was but a pipe dream. I had until Elijah returned from his shift in the metal shop to figure it out.

Because he was my friend. My best friend. And I had just fed from his fated mate.

As soon as he returned, I vowed to tell him everything…

And accept the consequences, even if they broke us.

I deserved no less.

17

Elijah

I should have marked her when I’d had the chance.

That day in the bakery—I couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity. There we were, fated, on the verge of mated, basking in a rare moment of privacy inside this shithole. Katja had exposed herself to me, offered her body, her heart, and my inner dragon had been desperate to mark her. He had clawed up my chest in his eagerness, seconds away from unifying with his mate, our chosen, and I had just… stopped. Ended it right then and there, like I was satisfied with a mind-blowing orgasm, and then it was over.

In the aftermath, she had watched me dress with wide, wanting eyes, like she just knew we’d both missed out on something, and I did my best to stuff down the guilt and the shame, ignoring the fact that I was a dragon, an alpha, a shifter in the presence of his soulmate—and I hadn’t marked her. Hadn’t claimed her for my own.

Instant regret. My inner dragon had exploded, his fury turning my insides to a raging inferno that haunted me for days. Aggressive heartburn. Aches and stabbing pains in my chest. The headache to end all headaches. Usually we operated as one, and even though Katja’s presence had roused the sleepy bastard, he and I were centuries old and he was more than capable of keeping his shit together.

But this?

This had been unforgivable to him, and he’d been punishing me ever since.

Sure, it dissipated—I wouldn’t survive otherwise, not the first shifter to fall apart because the inner beast rebelled violently enough—but he was right back at it after last night’s conversation with Rafe.

He had marked her.

Two tiny puncture marks at the base of her throat, hidden now by her hair. If my theory was correct, they would never fully heal. No balm or salve would shrink them. Katja and I were fated, but the