Page 107 of Caged Kitten

Fintan

At the first blast of a fae war horn, I thought I was dreaming.

Only I was awake.

Stretched out on my cot, head pillowed on my folded arms, the last however many hours spent ruminating the failings of today—I could have sworn this was just another rescue dream. But my eyes were open, and I hadn’t nodded off and holy shit had the cavalry finally arrived?

Took them bloody long enough.

“I know those horns,” I whispered to no one in particular, staring up at the depressing ceiling, at the extinguished lonely bulb that had kept me company come nightfall all these many months. The Host of Horns—heralds of doom and triumph and tragedy. Markers of ceremony and parades. The collective voices of all the court as my father rode into the night with his raiding party, off to pillage lesser kingdoms, conquest in his eyes and savagery in his heart.

I had heard those fucking trumpets all my life—and I’d never been happier for their existence than this very moment.

All the frustration for today’s failing ebbed. The fear for Katja’s fate—gone. In their place, exhilaration. I rolled off my cot, light and bouncy on my toes, and practically skipped to my cell’s tiny window. Wildfire raged in place of the ward, lavender flames snapping at a black sky, spurred by the horns, by the army undoubtedly waiting on the other side. I grinned. My brother’s best friend and lifelong confidant had recently ascended to the Master of Midnight—the court’s high priest, the maestro of magic and history. When Rollo became king, this dramatic shit would be his chief advisor.

No one put on a show like the Master of Midnight.

His violet sea struck terror into the hearts of our enemies, burning brighter than the stars and hot as dragonfire.

The horns intensified, varied in pitch and depth, a war song bleating from their mouths…

I snorted. Rollo must have been fucking fuming to still be in the mortal realm after all these many months, waiting, searching, charged with bringing his wayward baby brother back to court. The ward could have hidden me away for good, but in its absence…

Invasion.

For my kidnapping was a declaration of war.

How fun.

A few cells down, Elijah started up again. He had been bellowing for his mate ever since they locked him away—not that I could blame him. His inner dragon was probably driving him up the wall, raging over the fact that a competitor had stolen her.

Well.

We would see about that, wouldn’t we? I’d never stuck a foe’s head on a spike before, but I would do so with Guthrie. Let Rafe or Elijah cleave it from its perch, then plop it on top of a spear with the Midnight Court’s banner fluttering below. Yes—plan.

Just as I eased away from the window, bored with the maestro’s same old tricks already, battle lust simmering in my heart, there came a mighty crash from Elijah’s direction. Hands threaded behind my back, broken nose on fucking fire, I sauntered toward my sealed door and pressed an ear to the wood, then flinched back when another thud reverberated through the walls, the door’s rattle drowned out by a cry that teetered between dragon and man. Thrilling, really. If only we could remove these collars—I’d give my left nut to see Elijah shift.

Dragons were so rare these days, even in my realm.

More thumps. More roars. Metal splintering and springs groaning.

Then thunder ripped through the cellblock, followed by the pitter-patter of wood chips raining down on the floor.

Had he…?

Had he broken through the door?

Such a magnificent battering ram, Elijah Greystone.

How fortunate that he had fated with Katja; I couldn’t rescue her all by myself, and there was no one more tenacious than a shifter on a mission to find his mate.

“Back in your cell, inmate!”

Ahh, Cooper, you dumb bastard. Positively giddy, I pressed against my cell door again, listening to the telltale echoes of flying fists and a snarling shifter. Blasts of magic illuminated the doorframe briefly, followed by a mannish squeal that had me snorting again.

Then silence.

I pushed closer, ignoring the throb of pain through my entire damn face, then reared back when the door unbolted and slid open. Same as it did every morning. Only we were far off from dawn; it was nearing midnight—my favorite hour.

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