by Rhea Watson
“No, it’s not.” Fintan popped a knee up on the end of the cot, looming over the scene with crossed arms and a scowl. “It’s really not, and we both know it.”
My inner dragon huffed, a sentiment I shared. These two seemed privy to something I wasn’t—something about my fated. We might not have been deeply, desperately in love, but Katja and I owed it to ourselves to be honest. Fate had a way of dragging it out of you in the end; may as well beat the bitch to the punch.
“The less you know, the better,” Katja managed, flashing a weak smile at all three of us—like we would just accept that and call it a day. My brows furrowed. Fintan smirked. Rafe let out the largest, most unnecessarily dramatic scoff I’d ever heard, then pointed at his mouth.
“You sure about that?”
Arms wrapped tight around herself, my mate rose and turned to leave, only to find Fintan there, once again proving to be a better door than a window. A locked door at that, towering over her by a full head, wider too despite being the wiriest of us males. She waited, staring up at him, then slowly faced me, clutching her ribs, the look in her eye suggesting that I was supposed to, what, move him? Fuck that.
I held my ground, crouched by Rafe, and met her stare head-on. It dissolved from hopeful and pleading to betrayed in a matter of seconds, and while it pained me to witness, something sharp and cruel stabbing into my heart, I refused to fold. If she couldn’t be honest with her mate, who in this world could she be honest with?
“No, Katja.” I finally stood, lording over the lot of them. “Spill it… Tell us everything, before the bastards order an early lights-out.”
22
Katja
They wanted everything?
Fine.
I gave them every little godsforsaken thing.
Every horrific detail. From my mom’s supposed wolfsbane addiction to the debt she ran up because of it, to the deal she made with Lloyd Guthrie to get out of that hole. To live when creditors had been ready to break every bone in her body. Then her refusal to honor the contract. The effigy doll made to ensure she had the most painful delivery possible—her horrific death in childbirth, the first witch in centuries to do so. My dad’s refusal to hand me over to a psychotic mobster. The assassin sent to hunt Ewan in a lake—to drown him after he had exhausted himself on the run.
Two more deaths to go, all the gory, gruesome specifics pending. They swirled around my mind if I let them, the possibilities, the strings Lloyd could have pulled to make sure my family really suffered before the sweet release of death.
His insistence that I belonged to him.
If he had taken me as a baby, maybe he would have raised me as a daughter.
But I was all grown up now.
And the way he touched me, the way his gaze raked hungrily over my figure, the way he took so many damn liberties with my body—ordered a demon to beat and possibly even rape me…
Accepting his offer, acknowledging the blood contract, was suicide, plain and simple.
By the end of it, I couldn’t stop the tears, couldn’t staunch the flow. They spilled down my face freely, dribbled onto Rafe’s thin sheets with flat plop, plop, plops to punctuate every wretched memory. And I hated it. I hated to break down in front of my guys. At this point, I was so sick of feeling weak and pathetic because of men in here—because of my past written by a madman. Elijah, Rafe, and Fintan—for all that I felt for them, the bond strengthening from me to them, around all of us, with each passing day—had a knack for charging in like white knights to rescue the princess. I was grateful in my bones for their help; without my magic, I was a sitting duck against larger, stronger, and faster opponents, especially when outnumbered.
And especially against the sadist running everything, power and wealth and cruelty at his disposal.
Refusing him had been something just for me—my own fight, my own strength. Magicless, powerless, I still had a mind of my own. Still had a backbone. I could say no.
And it screwed me over in the end anyway. Lloyd had taken Rafe’s fangs to prove a point. To show me that I had no power in here, that this collar stole more than just my magic.
Sniffling, struggling, I wiped my cheeks with both hands, then dried them on my new jumpsuit. A terse quiet blanketed the cell, and when I finally risked a glance at each of my boys, they were… furious. Elijah’s eyes had morphed to serpentine slits, flames sparking around the narrowed pupils, the dragon so close to the surface I actually felt his heat. Rafe’s jaw gritted so hard, clenched so firm, that the muscles protruded along his strong jawline and a dribble of blood wept from the corner of his mouth; he had reopened the wounds, the enormous holes in his pale gums that would never fully mend. Fintan loitered in the corner of my eye for the whole story, stiff as a statue and uncharacteristically silent. Hands in fists. Knuckles white. Cheeks sunken like he was biting at them.
The only one oblivious to everything was Tully, but my familiar knew precisely what went on in the warden’s office. After all, he chased off the nightmares each night, snuggled close and willing me a heavy, dreamless sleep with his magic. Come dawn, he was exhausted, but no one batted an eye at a cat sleeping all day, gearing up to do it again the following night. Tonight, however, he had a new patient, his rhythmic purrs reserved for the only vampire he had ever taken to.
In fact, Elijah, Fintan, and Rafe were the only men Tully had ever tolerated. It wasn’t like he had chased off past boyfriends or anything: he would just stare at them, aloof and judgmental, until they left.
Now, I probably couldn’t peel him off Rafe’s chest if I tried.
“Katja…” The vampire all but choked my name, and I smoothed a hand over his thigh, wishing he would just stop talking. What he needed tonight was rest—and blood, lots of it—not to listen to the drama hounding me outside the cellblock. It wasn’t his fight. Or Fintan’s. Or Elijah’s, fated mate or not. It was mine—yet here was the first of my prison clique, my guys, paying the price. Rafe popped up on his elbows again, weaving his fingers into Tully’s fur as my familiar sunk his claws deeper into his red jumpsuit for balance. “I didn’t know… I shouldn’t have pressed you—”
“No. You should.” A fresh batch of wet slicked down my cheeks, but each tear fell like a hot little droplet of magma. Anger—at Lloyd, but mostly at myself. Anger and disappointment. “It’s my fault he did this to you.”
I held up a hand when all three spoke over each other—to interject, maybe even rush to my defense. They did that a lot, and it gave me a serious case of the warm and fuzzies that I had three breathtaking, strong, compassionate, hilarious dudes who were willing to go to bat for me time and time again. But enough. I didn’t deserve their white-knight status. We protected each other, but the scales were exceedingly tipped in my direction after the number of times I’d had to be rescued in here. Even if it felt like I finally had a family again, like I wasn’t alone after five years of orphan status, enough. I’d fucked up. This was my fault, despite Lloyd being the sicko who pulled the strings, and I would have to live with that guilt for the rest of my life.
“I should have hid it better,” I insisted, pleased that in spite of the fiery tears, I kept my voice even—determined to make them see that I wasn’t flawless, that I was a person fully capable of screwing up. Protective hotties might be my kryptonite, but with Lloyd circling, that had become a detriment for everyone involved. Hesitantly, I brushed the pair of thick round scars on my neck, and a flash of pleasure jolted down my body, pebbling my nipples and buzzing in my clit. Beside me, Rafe cleared his throat, jumpsuit slightly tented. I loved his bite. Loved how it felt at the time and how I now carried him with me wherever I went.
But I should have made sure no one else, especially Lloyd Guthrie, could see it.
Because of course he would retaliate. His whole history with my family was one big, bloody, brutal retaliation.
“He doesn’t own you,” Elijah growled, glowering at a spot just over my shoulder. Slowly, that dragon gaze slid to mine, and he shook his head. “F
ate is the decider of our destinies.”
Eyes locked, I knew he wanted to add a mate in there if he could—insist that I belonged to him, and vice versa, because some mystical force had paired us up long before we were born. Our bond was written in the stars, or whatever, and no one could change that.
But I couldn’t hear the words right now—couldn’t listen to him say it in front of the others and somehow diminish the kindred spirit bond I shared with Rafe, him and me unified by his bite, or the wildfire connection I felt with Fintan, all hot and heavy and fun.
He spared me that. Of course he did. Guilt stabbed another hook into me for doubting him.
“Right.” I glanced up at the sound of Fintan’s cool chuckle, the fae rolling his eyes. “Well, maybe for shifters, but that’s hardly the case everywhere else.” He then shuffled in front of me, blocking the others with his gorgeous angles, his tousled locks and brilliant green gaze. His hands found my shoulders as he stooped to fill my eyeline, eyebrows slightly arched, his tone a little too serious for my liking. “I need to know everything about the contract. Do you understand? Everything. Perhaps I can sniff out a loophole.” Then his mouth quirked, brevity shirked, and he wiggled those brows in a way that always made me giggle. “We fae are rather adept—”
“How the fuck would she know anything that’s in the contract beyond what that boil of a man told her?” Rafe asked dryly, and when Fintan eased aside, I found the vampire sprawled back on the cot again, looking absolutely destroyed—like he could sleep for a century. “D’you think he just has it lying around?”
“If he values it, probably.” Fintan settled back against the wall, arms folded, ankles crossed, his gaze so very far away as he studied the cell’s dark arched ceiling. “I’ve never abandoned a deal—especially if it was signed in blood. No fae would, and I’m sure our dear warden is the same. He’s probably got it here, just to keep it close. I mean, I bet he’s framed it if he’s that obsessed with Katja.”
We all glanced warily in Elijah’s direction when he snarled, eyes a brilliant and terrifying gold. Fintan then sniffed, fidgeting with his jumpsuit; he’d been trying for weeks to make it more stylish, but there was only so much you could do with thick, shapeless cotton. Somehow my replacement jumpsuit hung even baggier than the one Deimos had torn, like Lloyd was hell-bent on making me as unattractive to other inmates as possible.
“Well,” Fintan said suddenly, his tone light, the sentiment almost an afterthought, “obsessed with your mother, from the sounds of it, but obviously you’re a piece of her.”
My gut roiled, an anxiety barf surging, and I pressed a hand to my belly as I gulped down the flood of mouth sweats. Everything else still ached despite Tully’s constant care, my muscles stiff and sore, the pains sharp if I moved too quickly or twisted the wrong way. At this point, the thought of vomit-convulsions on top of all that just made me want to scream bloody murder and hope someone might eventually sedate me.
“Fintan, enough,” Elijah rumbled, eyes locked on me, and once again I was weak and small and pathetic, in need of a man, my mate, to save the day. Still, it made me queasy to consider that Lloyd’s unhealthy fascination with my mom had jumped to me, and I really didn’t need Fintan pointing out the obvious.
“I-I can’t go looking in his office,” I told them, wishing I sounded brave again. “He makes me sit in a chair… I worry that if I’m up and moving around, I’m a target. I… Maybe he’ll touch me again—”
Elijah drove his fist into the wall, taking a huge chunk out this time, and I scooted to the end of the bed—if only to give the beast some room to pace. He stayed seated, glaring, seething, grinding his teeth as he looked right through me.
“Mate, can you stop destroying my cell?” Rafe muttered, swiping back at the dragon shifter with a weak smile. “It might be a shithole, but it’s my shithole, you know?”
Elijah responded with a distracted grunt, one that had Fintan smirking and Rafe sighing. My fated sank deep into thought for a moment, but just as he opened his mouth, a siren blared through the cellblock.
Lights-out.
Early.
Of course.
None of us moved at first, stuck in place and exchanging tense glances, until finally Fintan helped me up, a hand on my elbow, and Elijah trailed after us out the door. We all went our separate ways without a word, the conversation left open-ended, and as I collapsed onto my cot, Tully whizzed inside just before my cell door slammed shut, hidden in the shadows like always. He hopped up on my bed with one of his silly squeaky baby purrmeows, climbing into my lap and kneading in a circle around my thighs.
Eyes watery again, I sniffled and hugged him tight, bracing through my ribs screeching in protest, through my stomach’s anxiety churn—and through the guilt mounting higher and higher with each passing minute.
As soon as the flickering overhead light cut out, Rafe whispered my name through the mousehole—same as always, kick-starting one of our nightly conversations that could last hours. But I didn’t move. Couldn’t speak. I just sat on my bed, back to the wall, and clutched Tully tighter.
What they had done to him—tortured him, scarred him for the rest of eternity—was my fault. Anyone in my orbit would suffer an intense scrutiny from Lloyd going forward, and it was time to make my own moves. Be my own white knight with my own fucking sword.
No more putting them in danger.
No more letting them assume the risk of associating with me.
Gossip spread like wildfire in Xargi, and it wouldn’t be long before Lloyd knew precisely who I spent my time with—and he would pick them off one by one. Silver for Elijah. Iron for Fintan. He’d try to isolate me, threaten me, make me even more afraid of his supernatural penitentiary than I had been on that first day. Cull my allies, splinter my social connections, destroy my guys—break my heart.
No.
No.
I’d do all that first.
For their own good, I had to bow out of this. Walk away. Let Elijah and Rafe go back to coasting under the radar. Fintan could join them—or maybe he would find a more entertaining clique to hang with. Their protection, their survival, necessitated a big move.
Even if just the thought of walking away hurt more than all my injuries combined.
“Katja?” Rafe’s voice skittered through the hole more urgently this time. Lips trembling, I turned my back on the wall dividing our cells and settled on my side.
“Go to sleep, Rafe,” I croaked back. “You need to sleep.”
Sleep and recover and heal as best he could—not stay up all night, exhausting himself, hurting himself, chitchatting with the witch responsible for maiming him.
Curled around Tully, I muffled my sorrow in his fur and let the guilt drown me, let the loss stab me, let the heartache scar me—because I deserved nothing less. I’d planned to navigate Xargi Penitentiary alone from the beginning, and it was time to get back to that.
No matter how it made me feel.
No one else was going to suffer on my behalf.
I’d make damn sure of that.
23
Fintan
I cocked my head to the side, the sludge on the tray in front of me forgotten, and then let out a little chuckle of disbelief.
“What the fuck is she doing?”
We four were a tribe—me, Katja, Elijah, and Rafe. It was known. When we had the chance, we did everything together. Moved everywhere together. My time in Xargi thus far had been a lot of long conversations about nothing and everything with these three supernatural creatures—beings I wouldn’t have stooped to associate with before I’d been pinched, but now couldn’t fathom going the day without. It was why I pushed for patience with Elijah even when the battle lust shone so brilliantly in his dragon gaze. I too longed to tear Deimos apart, behead a guard or two—flip this whole fucking system on its head and then burn it to ash.
Fae were warriors.
Impulsive, reckless, petty warmongers who were never content with peace for long.
>
Had a moment of impulsive, petty recklessness not guaranteed I would lose the witch, shifter, and vampire I had come to consider my own, I would have lashed out long ago.
For I had already spent far longer inside these grim walls than anticipated, and I was getting antsy. Bored. Annoyed.
Now they’d gone and beaten my girl.
Deformed my vampire.
Enraged my dragon.
I craved vengeance just as much as the next jumpsuit.
But patience, control, and calculation would carry us so much further in here.
This morning, however, had started different than all the rest: Katja wouldn’t look me in the eye—and I knew she so adored my eyes. She lost herself in their sheen frequently, and I let her, smitten with the woman who saw me for me and not my wealth, status, or ranking relative to a fucking chair that my father had roosted in for centuries.
Yet today this treasure who saw me for me refused to so much as glance at any of us. She put herself at the front of the line, ahead of Deimos’s gang, for the dull march to the cafeteria, purposefully separating herself from the tribe, and then plopped down all by her lonesome at a table far, far away.
Not even that little rabbit shifter kept her company…
I did a quick sweep of the dining hall, frowning. The little rabbit shifter was nowhere to be found, actually. Curious. And a bit unsettling, given what had happened to Rafe.
Katja sat with her back to us, hunched over, slowly and methodically shoveling this morning’s gruel into her mouth. A few moments later, a scrawny inmate in a green jumpsuit settled across from her—a new elf from the greenhouse, if I wasn’t mistaken—and they ate in silence.
Peculiar.
“She’s doing what she thinks is right,” Elijah muttered. We three sat side by side today, Rafe in the middle—as if Elijah and I had subconsciously decided to protect our disabled vampire while he stared glumly at his test tube of blood, deep in a full-blown existential crisis. Ripping open my carton of lukewarm apple juice, I peered around the brooding vampire and arched an eyebrow.