by Rhea Watson
And now Katja.
He would give his life for her—of that much I was sure.
No matter how I felt about that, no matter how jealousy flared in the man, my inner dragon was at peace sharing his mate with a blood-brother, Rafe’s loyalty, sincerity, and integrity mattering above all else. He would protect her. Cherish her. Call her out on nonsense when I was too smitten, too entangled in our fated bond to see clearly.
I needed that.
I needed him.
We both did, Katja and me, same as this orphaned vampire needed a family, a clan, a coven.
But this orphaned vampire and my mate had issues of their own to settle at some point, tension still simmering between them since Rafe had lost his fangs. Hopefully they would have the chance to make it right.
The cellblock door opened and closed twice more in the hour that followed, but only to let in Faustus and Helen, both of whom had been in the cafeteria with me. It wasn’t in their nature to riot, nor to follow. Fiercely independent, bird shifters seldom grouped together unless their inner birds traveled in flocks. They had gravitated to me tonight, however, sensing my alpha status without ever acknowledging it, hovering nearby in the cafeteria, shuffling closer as more inmates were thrust into the fold. Now, they beelined for their cells, disappearing inside same as Deimos and Constance. Rafe and I continued to loiter in the common area, waiting impatiently for the return of our mate, for the reappearance of our impulsive fae.
And when Fintan finally did make an appearance, he was the first of us to look like shit.
Bloodied nose in a splint, eyes black and bruised. As soon as the cuffs left him, he was off in a fury, moving faster than I’d ever seen him, and headed straight for us, his speed a rival for any vampire, murder glinting in his bright green gaze.
“You two all right?” the fae demanded, and the shock on Rafe’s face echoed my own. Straight to the point, direct—no dillydallying around. How very unlike Fintan. Strange to not realize how much a person had grown until it clocked you upside the head.
“Fine,” I said, motioning halfheartedly to Rafe’s shoulder—because that about covered the extent of our injuries. “You?”
Fintan pointed to his nose, scowling. “Did this to myself, apparently… You know, after those fucks gassed us. Woke up in the infirmary to some little chit bandaging me up when she could have just magicked the bone or whatever back to normal, but never mind. Otherwise, yeah, not a hair out of place.”
And there he was—the fae who never shut the fuck up.
Still waiting on our witch, we remained in the common area for another hour. Avery and Blake never made an appearance either, but Deimos didn’t come looking for his cronies. In fact, no one left their cells, the block quiet, somber, lacking the usual chatter and laughter from the demon’s gang, lacking our hushed conversations at one of the side tables. No cards. No games. No books.
No Katja.
My heart soared when the locks finally did clink open again, but it was only Cooper and two other guards I didn’t recognize. Williams had taken a shot to the shoulder and leg courtesy of my mate, who was beyond sexy when she handled a gun; I’d wanted to slam her into the wall and fuck her raw at the sight of her brandishing a weapon, but then everything had gone to hell so fast it made my head spin.
“Lights-out, inmates,” Cooper barked, directing us three toward our cells with a flourish of his wand. “We’re on lockdown until tomorrow evening while we fix this fucking mess.”
None of us moved. We stood there, arms crossed, a united front of three on three—at a huge disadvantage, collars firmly intact, but willing to go down swinging.
“What about Katja?” Rafe hissed, glancing at Fintan and me on either side of him. “Where—”
“Now, inmates,” Cooper bellowed. Sparks snapped and fizzled from the end of his wand, and he just missed Fintan’s ear with a jet of neon blue—on purpose, hopefully, because fuck me no one’s aim could be that bad at this distance. The fae didn’t even flinch, but his lip curled.
“She gave in,” he said suddenly, just as we three disbanded. Rafe and I stilled, his words panging between us, and Fintan’s eyes sparked with bloodlust once more. “She gave in to Guthrie… It’s why no one’s beaten us or tossed us in solitary. Why this fuck didn’t hit me.”
“I just figured he was a terrible shot,” Rafe mused, glowering at the trio of guards watching us, their wands aimed at our chests.
“He’s right,” I croaked. So painfully right—that explained everything. Her continued absence. Our unusual welfare. Why Deimos and the others had taken a beating and we were standing here smelling like roses.
She couldn’t distance herself from us in here.
But she could do it outside of Xargi.
In Guthrie’s clutches, just like that fucking bastard wanted.
“She made a deal,” Fintan said hoarsely, staring right through the guards, seeming whole galaxies away as he added, “for us.”
“No one’s going to ask you again, shit for brains,” one of the unfamiliar guards barked, and right on cue, the three moved in to manually separate us. One stabbed his wand into Rafe’s neck, the fizzing electrical buzz reminiscent of a taser. Another went for Fintan, shoving his chest, the jerk of his head making him wince through a noticeably broken nose. When Cooper came for me, I stood strong, immoveable, my inner dragon tearing me apart from the inside, furious and heartbroken and screaming for his mate.
Our mate.
Our witch.
Our girl.
Gone.
No.
As Fintan and Rafe dragged their feet toward their cells, I imploded. Clocked Cooper right in the face, his cheekbone shattering under my fist. He went down hard, unconscious, and the other two warlocks pounced as an alarm ripped through the block. I fought with everything I had, snarling and shouting, furious and lost, my mate slipping away from me by the second.
More guards poured into Cellblock C, and the fact that none of them stunned me—only dogpiled on top of me and steamrolled me toward my cell—confirmed everything.
She had sold herself for us.
Sold herself so that we could carry on, incarcerated but safe from a madman.
And I’d never forgive myself for putting her in that situation—for not finding a way to save her sooner.
Don’t deserve her. Don’t deserve the gift fate gave you.
By the time twelve guards wrestled me into my cell—shocking me in the ribs and the neck with their wands, gut-punching me, boxing me in the kidneys, knocking my knees out from under me again and again, one arm snapped around my neck in a chokehold—every breath plumed black. Smoke seethed from my nostrils. Fire scorched up my throat. I saw through my inner dragon’s eyes, the collar’s control over us precarious but there.
I eventually landed on my hands and knees, coughing up a mouthful of hot blood as the guards bolted. Slammed my cell door. Locked it tight. Caged the beast.
Alone and broken, I raged for her, bellowed something guttural and primal at the top of my lungs, some ancient call forcing all Xargi to tremble before me. Dust sprinkled down on me, and the lightbulb over my quivering cot swung like a violent pendulum. The door shuddered and the window rattled.
But the walls held.
In the end, my mate didn’t answer my cry.
And I feared she never would.
29
Katja
Seated in the back of a chauffeured stretch limo, Tully on my lap and Lloyd to my left, I stared out into the darkness speckled with twinkling starlight—barely visible against the hazy outdoor lighting of Xargi Penitentiary. Slowly, the driver steered us around a curve, headed out from the rear of the building and down the side, on the way to the main front gates. On a death march.
One story ends, another long, horrible one begins. Then the sweet release of death.
I swallowed thickly, hugging Tully to me and sinking into my seat, trying desperately to drown out Lloyd’s rambling. He hadn’t shut up since w
e left his office after I ditched the jumpsuit, where his hand had snapped around my arm and hadn’t let go until we were in the car. Even though he wasn’t touching me anymore, unless you counted his thigh jammed up against mine, I could still feel his fingertips on my skin, bruising into my flesh like claws. I didn’t dare look, but tomorrow morning, wherever I was, I knew I would find five purple marks, ugly and glaring, a stark reminder of what I was in for now that I… belonged to him.
“And the view,” he all but moaned, basically talking to himself at this point, infatuated with the sound of his own raspy voice. “Oh, kitten, you’re going to love it. Panoramic views from the master bedroom, which we will of course be sharing. I already have a new wardrobe on the way for your walk-in closet. The en suite has this spectacular jetted tub that you’ll never want to leave… And then, of course, there’s the playroom.” I caught his wicked leer out of the corner of my eye. “That’s still under construction. I’d be happy to incorporate your thoughts on the design…”
I nodded just to show that I was listening—I wasn’t really, but screw him. At no point did I want to do anything that might encourage him to grab me, shake me, or repeat any of the crap that had spewed out of his mouth. Tully carried on kneading my arm, but his claws gritted in harder with Lloyd’s gaze sweeping over us.
My familiar hated him.
Hated him—like I’d never seen him hate anyone before. I’d had to bear-hug him to my chest to keep the enormous black cat from shredding Lloyd’s face to ribbons the first time they met, and Tully’s yowl had ricocheted through the lobby when our new master tried to pat his head. We’d had a talk as I got ready to leave: no hurting Lloyd. It was part of the deal to keep my guys safe, and I couldn’t put them at risk. Tully might have adored all three—Rafe in particular—but his connection to me, to my emotions and sorrow and pain, might just push him over the edge.
“I thought it might be a bit obvious to go red walls for the playroom,” Lloyd said with a luxurious sigh before lunging at the champagne bottle chilling in a nearby holder. “And black is even more cliché, so I’ve got some color swatches for you to go through tomorrow while I’m at work…”
Biting down hard on the insides of my cheeks, I let my head loll to the side so I could look out the window at the gravel grounds, at the shadowy wolves patrolling the outskirts, on high alert after the riot.
Ugh. He made me sick, just being near him igniting the churn to end all gut churns, but it was my simmering magic that threatened to really mess me up. As agreed, I hadn’t been allowed a wand after Lloyd removed my collar in his office, taking his time, hamming up the creep factor with his hands around my neck, his fingers brushing through my hair, his lips caressing my ear with every disgusting word. Once it was gone, my inner well threatened to go nuclear—just spill over and erupt so that magic flooded from every pore. Only I wasn’t permitted to cast; nothing big, nothing beyond a few cosmetic glamor spells that Lloyd had approved before he sent me off to change out of my jumpsuit with a hard smack on the ass and a guard watching my every move.
If I didn’t let some of this out soon, I’d empty my guts onto his lap—and I just might never stop. My simmering magic needed an out, and it needed it now.
But I had to play the part—for Elijah, Rafe, and Fintan. I had to be a good girl if they were going to survive Xargi. Maybe they would find their own way out, and maybe they would serve their full sentences, longer today than they had been yesterday.
All for trying to help me escape…
The familiar burn of tears had me blinking hard and sniffling, tearing my gaze from the window to the front of the limo. With the divider down, the warlock driver was just there—and our eyes clashed in the rearview mirror, mine blue, his a chocolate brown that instantly had me thinking of Elijah.
The warmth of his touch.
The comfort of his presence.
The fiery rumble coloring every word—
Only the driver’s eyes lacked all of Elijah’s warmth, and despite the distance, I could practically feel his stare dripping down my body—right to my cleavage. Humiliation scorched in my cheeks, and I eased Tully up higher to shield myself as Lloyd rambled on and on about the new house. Not that Tully could cover everything; Lloyd had shoved a tiny red dress at me before he sent me off to change. Short. Tight. Thin. Useless cap sleeves and a plunging neckline. Easy to predict what my impending wardrobe would consist of if he was doing all the choosing: Lloyd Guthrie wasn’t exactly the most imaginative psychopath when it came to womenswear.
He had even given me back the enormous black heels I’d come in with and then insisted I straighten my hair. Add some color to my cheeks—I’d supposedly looked a bit pale when we met up tonight. Sickly. Shocker.
Shuddering over the gravel, the limo eased around the front of the prison, then straightened out, the guardhouse at the main gates dead ahead. Lloyd would lift the ward to let us pass, and once we were through, Xargi would disappear, forever invisible to the outside world behind the magical barrier. Lips pressed together so they wouldn’t wobble, I risked a quick look back at the building that held my fated mate captive. My vampire. My fae—prince or not, I still wasn’t sure. And it didn’t matter. I loved Fintan for who he was, for his humor and his wit, for his bravery and his audacity. The fact that he might be a prince never factored into anything; although Rafe’s poetry had certainly endeared me to him that very first night, and I craved his depth ever since.
Gods help me. This was it. The great stone building swam the longer I stared at it, tears blurring everything, making it so much worse. I’d never see them again. Never touch them, laugh with them, play cards late into the evening and pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist—
Why are you accepting this? I faced forward with a frown, that little whisper at the back of my mind sounding more like me than I had felt in months. She was still in there, the confident business witch who had built Café Crowley from the ground up, who had been profitable for years, who loved her staff and spent most of her days smiling. A lonely witch, sure, but that Katja had been braver than the one sitting in the car tonight.
And it wasn’t magic that made her—me—brave. It was gumption and guts. It was taking a risk on a business that could have bankrupted me. It was surviving alone in Seattle, just me and Tully, after the only other member of the Fox coven, the last piece of my heart, was torn away and burned to cinders, Dad’s ashes scattered around the roots of a newly potted fern that thrived on my apartment balcony.
I… I could be her again.
Gumption and guts.
Risk.
I had so much to lose now, a found family stuck inside those stone walls, precarious, trapped under Lloyd Guthrie’s thumb—same as the Fox coven.
No more.
Be brave, kitten. I’d stopped hearing my dad’s voice inside Xargi, but I swore I heard him now, his murmur tickling my ears.
Maybe his spirit had finally come back from the beyond, if only to inspire me to fight, not flee.
And maybe it was just me missing him—missing the woman I had become after his death.
No more letting others decide my destiny.
My fate was my own. Not Elijah’s or Fintan’s or Rafe’s—and it sure as hell didn’t belong to Lloyd Guthrie.
This was my story—and no one was coming to save me.
Time to step up and be the heroine, for my sake, for Tully’s, and for the men I loved.
Even if, in the end, I might not survive it… at least I’d go down swinging.
Refusing to sink into a mental risk-analysis spreadsheet—because that guardhouse was creeping closer and closer with every cycle of the spinning tires below—I hugged Tully tight. Those huge blue eyes blinked at me, bright and annoyed, and I stared into them, hoping he could sense my intention through our bond. His tail stopped swishing. His kneading paws stilled. A flick of my eyebrow had him purring in consent—but that stopped when I glanced pointedly at Lloyd.
We need him, bud
dy.
Two slashes of his tail, back and forth, to express his discontent.
Then a slow blink, just for me, followed by a flood of warmth I seldom ever felt. After all, Tully hadn’t ever needed to protect me so overtly—not until a bunch of bounty hunters waltzed into my café and shipped me off to Siberia so I could become the plaything of a madman. His reach engulfed me, and as soon as it touched Lloyd, the warlock stuttered, no doubt sensing the shift in the air, the swell of familiar magic. Brows furrowed, his head snapped in my direction, and, grinning, I met his eyes unflinchingly.
Just as he opened his mouth—I let go.
Every ounce of pent-up magic exploded out of me, blowing a hole in the roof, shattering windows, ripping the limo apart from the inside. Red and blue and purple blasts of light melded together, not a single spell uttered, just wild, unfettered magic pulsing out of my hands. Gravel filled the air. The front of the limo exploded, engine overheated and overrun by raw, untapped power. The explosion ripped us from the back seat, flung us through the air, and we landed hard, even inside Tully’s protective bubble, some fifty feet from the totaled vehicle.
With Tully still tucked into my chest, my back took the brunt of the fall. Skidding through rough pebbles and dusty dirt, I grimaced at the pain—which my familiar saw to in an instant, bubble deflating, his focus shifted to my well-being.
And then I felt like I was floating, a strange buoyancy washing over me—yet my feet remained firmly on the ground, rooted in the moment. Pushing up on my elbows, I took a quick scan of the accident site. The limo had disintegrated, its parts scattered across the rocky moat surrounding the penitentiary. Fires smoldered in the ruins, blue flames from my magic clashing with the standard orange that sparked and dimmed along the ground. No warlock driver to be found, but I spotted a puddle of what might have once been a person—no longer in solid form, just a huge smear of blood and flesh and tufts of hair.