Page 104 of Caged Kitten

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, buddy.

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.

Floodlights erupted from the four guard towers, bathing the prison grounds in a furious white light. I brought up my hand to shield my eyes, adrenaline skyrocketing at the sound of boots on gravel, men’s voices rising, wolves howling.

No going back now.

Something told me Fintan would approve, while the other two would watch on with disapproving looks as they rolled up their sleeves, ready to get their hands dirty.

Each handsome face flashed in my mind’s eye, but the courage came from within, much of my rotting magic expulsed, the well regenerating, refueling, as I set Tully aside and crawled for a groaning Lloyd. Flat on his back, the warlock clapped a hand to his forehead, dazed—like Tully’s protection had been a halfhearted attempt, just enough to keep him alive but not necessarily well.

Ehh. Not that I could blame him.

Rocks bit into my palms and knees as I rushed to Lloyd, the stupid red dress he had forced me into intact but hiked up, exposing the thong that I’d discovered inside the folded garment.

Just as he started to rise, I scrambled up his body, straddling Lloyd and yanking his wand from the custom-tailored pocket inside his jacket. Teeth bared, a lioness and no longer the lamb, I jammed the end at his neck. Shock flashed in his eyes, and I fisted his stiff shirt collar and twisted.

“My, my, my,” he choked out, hissing softly when I stabbed his wand under his chin and forced his head into the dirt. Still, he had the nerve to smirk, to ghost his free hands up my calves to my bare ass. I tugged harder on his collar, fury twining with adrenaline as he whispered, “You surprise me, kitten.”

“Don’t you ever fucking call me that again,” I spat, which only made him chuckle. And you know what, I understood the arrogance. Not only was he a narcissistic sociopath, but he had an army of security closing in, wolves a fun little addition to his ranks.

Well. I had his wand.

And—

Something jabbed into my foot when I bore down on him. Frowning, I lashed back and into his pants pocket; my fingers closed around something cold and metallic.

A Swiss Army knife.

How handy.

Multifaceted, even.

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