Page 15 of Caged Kitten

5

Katja

I’d never been this exhausted before. Not when my brothers died. Not after Dad passed. Not in the first year of running a business full-time at the age of twenty-four all by my freakin’ self. At least then Tully had been by my side, fueling me, replenishing me, supporting me with cuddles and purrs and strength.

None of that in here.

And it was only the second day.

The first meal of the second day at that.

I’d been inside Xargi Penitentiary for a good, what, maybe twenty hours, and it already felt like twenty years.

The trio of cellblock guards who’d put us to bed were gone when the alarm tolled this morning. After a quick pee in the world’s scummiest toilet, the little sink above it spewing perpetually freezing water, I’d joined the rest of the inmates in a rainbow of jumpsuit colors at our place outside the cells—right next to the door, standing in the wall between our hole and our neighbor’s. Vampire Rafe glanced my way as soon as he shuffled out into the shadows, sunlight beaming from every cell but his, only I refused to meet his eye. Last night had been one of the worst of my life—and it had been utterly humiliating that he heard me bawling like a homesick schoolgirl during her first year at the academy.

I just… couldn’t face him. Needed some time to, I don’t know, find my dignity again.

And then let go of the fantasy that a peppy host with a camera crew was about to materialize out of nowhere with a microphone that he’d shove in my face after telling me this was all a big joke, a new supernatural prank show that someone had nominated me for…

Because…

Because that was just pathetic. Life seldom worked that way, and as they marched Cellblock C out in a single-file line, wands drawn, I accepted that this was real.

But I couldn’t accept that I was stuck here. I wouldn’t accept it. I was an innocent witch wrongfully detained, and if it was the last thing I ever did, I would breathe free air again.

While we had sunlight in our cells, the interior corridors of the penitentiary were illuminated by long fluorescent bulbs that flickered and tinged at random. It appeared vampires weren’t permitted their usual schedule—sleep all day, up all night—which explained why the prison cafeteria was underground. Down a few winding stone corridors from our cellblock, one guard at the front, one at the back, the other stalking the line with a steely eye, a cruel smirk, and a wand as black as his uniform, we took a hard left into a stairwell.

And went down, down, down, three levels deep before filing into the huge circular cafeteria. With a max of ten inmates per cellblock—judging by the number of cells in ours, anyway—the entire inmate population ate together, called to grab our food by wedding-buffet rules, which meant one at a time, starting with Cellblock A. Last night at dinner, I had counted thirteen cellblocks total: A through M. Roughly a hundred and thirty inmates in one place, thirty-plus guards patrolling the area.

I’d expected chaos.

And compared to the unnerving quiet of the cellblock, it was, but at least it was organized chaos. As soon as we filled our trays with whatever the kitchen crew had prepared, the hair-netted supers behind the counter wearing jumpsuits like me, we had the freedom to sit wherever we wanted.

Last night at dinner, I’d sat alone. That had felt safest.

This morning, with my plastic serving tray and a breakfast of greyish scrambled eggs, a tiny carton of orange juice, and a slightly burnt English muffin awaiting me, I wasn’t quite as lucky. Not an empty spot in sight, dozens and dozens of round metal tables with stools bolted to the ground situated across the center of the cafeteria. Guards patrolled the perimeter, chatting, laughing, wands always in hand.

I missed my wand.

Missed what it could do to the bastards who had first shoved me into my cell, to the bitch in processing who literally made me strip naked, right down to my bobby pins, then squat in front of her and cough.

Like I’d somehow shoved contraband into my pussy before whoever kidnapped me from Seattle knocked me unconscious. Honestly. The most degrading experience of my life: who knew how many others had been watching through the two-way mirror.

I bit the insides of my cheeks, trying not to think about it, to get lost in the events of the recent past—because I’d lose it. Again. And I couldn’t lose it in here. Rafe had been sweet in his own way, but for all I knew, everyone else was a hardened criminal, and they ate weakness for breakfast, not expired eggs.

Most of my cellblock had already found their tables, that handsy demon and his posse occupying one near the middle, then Rafe and his gorgeous—albeit intense—shifter friend choosing one near the outskirts by the tray return counter. While it might have been helpful, I wasn’t here to make friends. In the end, prisoners were out for themselves, and Rafe might have laid on the charm to shut me up last night, but I refused to trust anyone.

Especially the shifter who wouldn’t stop staring at me. Elijah. A shiver cut down my spine the second our eyes clashed across the sea of tables. When he looked at me, it was like he was looking straight through me, right down to the marrow, and I didn’t like that. Not one bit. Not when he made me weak-kneed and vulnerable with nothing but a glance.

Since there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d throw my hat in with the demon who’d licked my ear twice while purring into it yesterday, I beelined away from my cellblock and scanned the countless other faces, searching for the most unassuming of the bunch. Eventually, I settled on another loner: a woman in a dark blue jumpsuit like Elijah—shifter, then, if we were all divided by our most basic identity. Smaller than me, probably a little shorter too, she sat poking at her eggs with a scowl, her hair a peppery brown, and when I wandered closer, I noted one of her eyes had clouded over.

A crippled shifter… Rare. Their genetics healed just about any wound, but as I gnawed at my lower lip, debating whether or not to join her, I also wondered if the collars muted healing abilities too. Had someone done that to her in here? Fear mottled in my belly—made my already unappetizing breakfast seem so beyond gross I gagged. Good morning, anxiety puke. Like I needed to make that kind of scene in front of everyone and totally obliterate my prison rep.

Okay, Katja, make a move. Supers at the surrounding tables were already starting to glance my way—strangers who looked infinitely more terrifying than the shifter. So, choice made.

“Hey.” I stopped at one of the metal stools across from her, my empty belly somersaulting when she peered up. “Can I sit here?”

Her one good eye gave me a quick once-over, and she nodded, her features delicate and angular. Beautiful. Easily mistaken for a fae or elf maiden if it weren’t for the jumpsuit.

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