Page 83 of Caged Kitten

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. “Fate 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—”

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