by Rhea Watson
“Yeah? And how do you know that?”
Breakfast completely abandoned, Elijah carried on burning a hole into the back of Katja’s skull, jaw clenched, his cheeks tinting a dull dark pink the longer I waited.
“She and I…” He shook his head as he snatched up his spork. “I… It’s just a thought.”
Right. I’d always thought alphas were better liars when it came to their mates.
It was a percolating theory these last few weeks, born just after I fucked her in the shower and saw nirvana in my climax. Although Elijah struck me as protective by nature, he also seemed to give very few shits about anyone else in here. But Katja? The rage in his eyes, the loss of all logic and self-preservation, suggested he would give his life for her. Possibly even for Rafe too. I’d seen it all play out one too many times, a soapy production of a shifter guarding his mate, and, in turn, roping the rest of us into the drama.
“You’re fated,” I said casually before slurping down some of the syrupy sweet juice, so sugary I felt it in my molars. Disgraceful. For a prince accustomed to the finest life had to offer, the prison’s food alone was torture. Meanwhile, Rafe finally tossed back his vial with a shudder and a scowl, swallowing blood we all assumed was frozen and thawed for each meal.
“What makes you say that?” Elijah rumbled, somehow sounding both gruff and nonchalant as he poked at his sunny-side-up eggs. Overcooked, of course, without any semblance of delicious golden yolk to be seen. Always eggs in the morning—always shitty, burnt, expired, shitty eggs for breakfast. My pair curled around the edges and somehow managed to look both slimily raw and grossly chewy. Fantastic. I turned my nose up at them, opting to focus on Elijah instead. Between us, Rafe slowly spun his empty blood vial around on the table, chin on his fist, utterly miserable.
Not that I could blame him.
A vampire losing his fangs was like a man having his dick lobbed off.
Catastrophic.
“Let’s skip this, shall we?” I motioned between myself and the dragon with a thin smile. “The part where you deny and I lay out all the obvious. You and Katja Fox are fated mates. Fate brought you together here, of all places, which is quite the fuck-you in my opinion, but I doubt you would have found each other otherwise.”
Jaw muscles rippling through a clench, Elijah dropped his spork and turned his full attention on me, those golden eyes—dragon eyes, I had come to realize—just daring me to continue prying into his personal business. And I would. With pleasure.
“It’s why you protect her without question when there are smaller and more pathetic female inmates in this place—even in our own cellblock.” Not that any of us bothered with Constance and Helen; although under different circumstances, the maenad would have been a blast on a night out. “And it’s why you know her intentions time and time again. You’re linked. I mean, I have a pair of fucking eyes…” I plopped my chin into both hands, head tipped and eyelashes fluttering. “Are you two hopelessly in love yet?”
The terse silence that followed was answer enough, both Rafe and Elijah glowering at me out of the corner of their eyes as the dining hall carried on operating at its usual dull roar. Dozens of conversations raged all around us, yet ours flatlined. Perfect. Just as I’d thought too.
“Fair enough.” Thank fuck they weren’t all moony over each other; that would have been most intolerable. “I always thought the instant and overwhelming love was bullshit. In my opinion, it’s an act—like you lot think you have to be besotted from the word go.”
Not that I had encountered many fated mates in my lifetime, but I’d heard the stories, and the few pairs of shifter couples who couldn’t keep their hands off each other from the second they realized they were fated were just sickening, honestly. Just because you sensed a soulmate hardly meant you knew a damn thing about them. While nowhere near a paragon of wisdom and virtue when it came to matters of the heart, I had a brain. And a sizeable cock. And if my fated mate chewed with their mouth open… there would be issues.
“Look, you care for her at the very least—”
“Obviously,” Elijah growled. Probably more than cared for her. Katja was easy to like—harder to bed—and they seemed to share an unspoken bond that the rest of us could never touch. Nor did I want to. What they had belonged to them, just as what she and Rafe shared was hardly my business. Let him bite her all he wanted—
Oh.
Wait.
Too soon.
“And you care for her as well,” I added, nudging Rafe’s arm with my elbow, on high alert to quell any fangless vampire puns before they left my lips. The glass tube stopped spinning, and Rafe tossed his head side to side, noisily cracking his neck.
“Obviously.”
“Excellent. All our cards on the table, then.” I chugged the last of my apple juice with some difficulty, tossing the empty carton aside as a dramatic sugar-induced shiver bolted through me. “My working theory, therefore, is that your fate has extended to Rafe and me. You’re fated, and now we are all fated too.”
How else could anyone explain why I, Prince Fintan of the Midnight Court, had been picked up by a bunch of supernatural bounty hunters and tossed in prison? This was hardly my failing—but fate intervening, bringing us all together when the bitch knew we most needed each other.
The rest of my posse didn’t exactly jump at the theory. Rafe uttered a curt huff, rolling his eyes, and Elijah just gawked at me like I had sprouted a second head.
“That’s ridiculous—”
“But not unheard of,” I argued, holding up a finger to silence him. Why did they always question every little thing I said? I had centuries on both of them and life experience in realms beyond their own. Surely I had something worthwhile to contribute… occasionally. “I mean, look, Elijah, you’re an alpha dragon. You could conquer nations and rule as the unquestioned lord and master of all who dwelled within…” Without the collar, of course. Pesky fuckers were such a buzzkill. “Yet you don’t want to—or at the very least haven’t tried—to kill Rafe and me, right? I’ve fucked your mate, made her come twice, and this one bit her before you… but at the end of the day, we’re all the best of friends.”
Another tense silence stretched between us, this time with Rafe looking at me like I had lost my mind and Elijah like he wanted to skin me alive. Right. Overplayed my hand a bit there.
“Or…” I cleared my throat, drumming my fingers on the metal tabletop. A quick glance in Katja’s direction showed the witch peeking over her shoulder at us, only to whip around when she caught me looking right back. Honestly. Ridiculous creature. Like pretending we weren’t an established Xargi tribe would fool an obsessive like Guthrie. “Or, at the very least, we three find ourselves begrudging allies in a fucked-up situation.”
“That sounds about right,” Rafe muttered, a faint lisp curling around any s words. He’d have to adjust to speaking without those fangs in the way; the vampire seemed to notice, glowering up at his forehead like he was giving himself a mental pep talk to get his shit together.
“If anything, it explains the ease of our connection,” I remarked. Hunger winning out, I finally snatched the standard rock-hard hunk of bread and crushed it between both hands, then picked through the aftermath like I was eating the saddest, stalest pile of chips ever. “We might not be in love with her, and she might not be scribbling our names on notebooks surrounded by hearts…” The pair raised their eyebrows at me, and I forced a one-shouldered shrug. “Or whatever women do in those human films. Such drivel.” Also known as the movies I watched—alone—when I was very, very, very drunk and lonely. “Anyway, that might not be the case, but we’re drawn to one another. I don’t really want to fuck either of you, despite the pleasing aesthetics, but I’ve also never desired friendship with a shifter or a vampire before. I’m sure you’re swell boys and all, but it’s… odd. Uncharacteristic for me, just as it is to crave a witch.
“There seems to be the possibility for more outside of this prison.” Love and accep
tance and growth as a man into someone I had always dreamed of, someone better than the spoiled princeling I’d become over the years. “Whatever the fuck fate has in mind for us, I mean. Love or not, we’re all entwined. Our survival is linked.”
“Pretty speech,” Rafe said with a snort, eyes drifting to Katja across the cafeteria, even leaning to the side when another inmate blocked his view as they sidled by her table. Unfortunately, it wasn’t Rafe I needed to get on board with this—it was the shifter who likely dictated his life around fate’s hand. I allowed Elijah some contemplative silence, then hucked a large breadcrumb at him. He batted it away before it landed, lips twitching in a snarl, but after a few hard blinks, the man was back, those pupil-slits round and ordinary once more.
“I can see the… sense in it. Maybe.” Oh, bitter. So fucking bitter. Though I could hardly blame him: few shifters could fathom sharing their mates, not unless it was with other shifters with whom they shared a pack bond. Wolves commonly shared mates, from what I’d heard. Dragons, meanwhile, tended to fly solo.
And now here we were, two non-shifters swooping in for a piece of the pie.
The delicious, sumptuous, mouthwatering pie.
“Jealous?” Shockingly, it was Rafe who posed the question, a ghost of a smile crossing his lips when he glanced Elijah’s way. The shifter studied him for a moment and then shoved one whole fried egg in his mouth.
Bravery in its finest form.
“A little,” he managed with a mouthful of egg, his response making Rafe’s grin blossom into something real for the first time all day.
“Good. Now you know how I’ve felt for ages.”
The pair locked eyes and fell into a seemingly private conversation—soundless, too, even though I knew for a fact they didn’t share a telepathic bond. After shoveling the rest of my dry-as-fuck bread bits into my mouth, I chewed slowly, waiting for their little chat to be over and struggling to swallow everything down without choking. When it didn’t seem like they planned to include me anytime soon, I leaned forward and shoved myself into their eyelines.
“Well, we fae commonly take multiple lovers,” I insisted, earning me another pair of side-eyes from my fated counterparts. Smirking, I eased off, elbow on the table, chin on my fist, wistful as I said, “It’s not unheard of outside the ruling monarch for fae to take many wives or husbands or whatever…” As next in line, Rollo was stuck with just the one wife—who was perfect, of course. Everyone below, so long as we weren’t destined to rule a court through marriage, could tack on as many mates as we wanted. I had just never felt inclined… until this bunch of misfits. “So, you know, consider me tickled pink to be a part of our warped little family.”
Rafe rolled his eyes. “Ugh.”
“Really though,” Elijah grumbled, finally peeling open his juice and risking a tentative sniff. “Sometimes you need to stop pitching and just shut the fuck up, Fintan. You’ve closed the sale.”
Fair enough. I’d warbled about our warped family with a good dose of sarcasm, but in reality, I rather liked them. All of them. Not just Katja—but Rafe and Elijah too. None of the trio took my princely title seriously; actually, they still seemed to think I was bullshitting them. Which meant they treated me like I was nothing special. At least one of them told me to shut up daily, immune to my silver tongue and wicked words. They called me on my nonsense. Put me in my place. Not once had anyone let me win at cards; Xargi had taught me I wasn’t as skilled at poker as my courtiers had led me to believe.
Rafe and Elijah were absolutely merciless when I returned from the greenhouse cleaner than Katja, with less dirt under my fingernails and a lack of sweat on my brow. Rolled their eyes frequently. Gave me a nudge or a shove or a shoulder-check when I deserved it. No one tiptoed around me or watched their words.
Each of them spoke to me—not at me. Not once had I been addressed like I wasn’t even there, discussions of my comings and goings nonexistent. They didn’t want anything from me. Power, influence, wealth, status, gossip for being linked to a prince and all the benefits that wrought—this witch, dragon, and vampire weren’t bothered with any of it.
We were… companions.
Equals.
A quartet bundled together by fate.
Rafe, Elijah, and Katja were so far from the sycophants I had purposefully surrounded myself with for centuries that they were practically on the other side of the fucking galaxy. I’d used sniveling fae nobles desperate to climb the court hierarchy as a protective bubble for far too long. They all catered to me because they had to. Didn’t question me. Did as they were told. Let me get away with bloody murder.
Perhaps I had always been afraid that if others saw the true me, if they were allowed to speak their mind, I’d crumble. Because I was the disappointment of the Midnight Court and everyone knew it…
Everyone but these three.
To them, I was just Fintan.
I guess I needed that.
Had needed it for some time—the chance to stand on my own two feet, to have my ego checked, and to be accepted for the snarky, pampered mess I was.
And now that I had it, I wasn’t about to let anyone take it away from me—including Guthrie.
“We have to get her out of here,” Elijah rumbled, eyes fixed on the back of his mate’s head again. Katja seemed to shrink under his scrutiny, no doubt feeling the dragon’s interest throughout her entire body.
“Away from Guthrie, at the very least,” Rafe added softly. “I worry if he can’t have her, no one can, you know?”
“Wards, wolves, warlocks, and a psychotic warden…” I flipped one of my eggs over, hoping the back might be more appetizing. Nope. Not even a little. “Yes, getting out of here should be a breeze.”
My snort had them both scowling, eyes narrowed and mouths in dreadfully serious thin lines, and I blew each a kiss before plugging my nose and shoving the fried egg in my mouth. Wretched. Tasted worse than it looked, not an ounce of seasoning save for the slightly burnt char of the grill. Yet as Rafe and Elijah fell into another hushed discussion, I sank into my own little world, mind whirring through all the possibilities of a daring escape attempt. In my time here, I hadn’t considered it all that seriously, as I’d been expecting big brother Rollo to charge the gates with half the Midnight Court’s army at his heels.
Apparently I would have to get myself out of trouble this time.
Tedious.
But necessary.
The boys were right: with each day that Katja refused the warden’s demand to respect the blood contract—a situation I understood in my bones, my kind accustomed to deals—he grew closer and closer to snapping. And if he couldn’t claim her, mind, body, and soul, then he might eventually just kill her.
Couldn’t have that.
No. No, no, no, no.
Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
Breaking out of Xargi Penitentiary was the challenge of a lifetime, for it seemed near impossible…
But perhaps it was time to defy the impossible. Perhaps Prince Fintan of the Midnight Court ought to shatter expectations—just this once.
Prove them all wrong.
Be the hero.
Defend my warped little family against our enemies.
And for once, come out on top by my own merit.
Or…
Idea. A flash of brilliance. I grinned, shoving the second egg in my mouth, and then gagged dramatically at the assault on my taste buds.
Or, I suppose I could just buy our way out of here.
Everyone had a price, and it was time for the right witless pawn to finally name it.
24
Katja
Purposefully ignoring my boys, especially as Rafe tried to navigate the world without his fangs, was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do.
And it had only been a day.
And… You know, not counting my entire family dying and then having to listen to the grim details from a psychopath who thought he literally owned me. That was harder—on m
y heart, on my mind. But my body yearned to be near Elijah. Longed to sidle up to the fire and bask in the warmth. I missed whispering with Rafe for hours through that mousehole between our cells, and I was desperate to spend today’s greenhouse shift with Fintan—nine hours of laughter and chatter with a dash of actual gardening.
Sad, really, to feel so bereft without them. I mean, they hadn’t been in my life for all twenty-nine years, and then, bam, there they were—like they had been there all along. Scary to consider the intensity of our bonds, both as individuals and as a group, but for their own sake, I had to stay away. Distance myself. Push back anytime they tried to wriggle closer like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Because it was the most natural thing—easy and simple, normal in a place that was anything but.
I didn’t realize any of this until I went without.
Didn’t realize what I’d had until I lost it.
Sure, I had been aware that they catered to me, forming a protective trio of handsome muscle so that no one could touch me when they were around. It still made me a little uncomfortable, having all these men standing up for me, fighting for me, getting in trouble for me, but going without it today and yesterday had been… shitty.
Terrible.
Not the lack of protection—just the lack of them. I had a solo bakery shift yesterday, Elijah stuck in the metal shop, which meant it had been easy enough to pretend they didn’t exist. As soon as we all reconvened in the cellblock, however, it became infinitely more difficult. Even Tully seemed a bit judgmental when I just hid out in my cell, interacting with no one. Thompson was gone—he hadn’t come back since my attack—and the rest of the guards were obviously in Guthrie’s pocket. Hopefully they had already reported to him that suddenly I was a loner, that his plan was working.
I would never give in… but let him think he had won this small battle by isolating me. If it meant keeping my guys safe, I could take this—the heartache, the longing, the loneliness.