Page 30 of Caged Kitten

“Rafe.” The vampire’s bright gaze innocently darted to mine, his hands still expertly working the deck. I bit the insides of my cheeks, allowing him a moment to realize how he’d screwed up, but when he said nothing and Elijah continued to burn a hole in the side of my head, I crossed my arms tightly and bit out, “It’s rude to listen to my heartbeat.”

He scoffed. “Well, it’s rather loud.”

Slowly, Elijah eased onto his stool, and when I finally risked a look, I found him watching Rafe shuffle, his jaw clenched, the muscles rippling. Damn. It shouldn’t upset me that the news bothered him, but it did—the stupid connection between us meant I actually cared what this gorgeous, possessive dragon shifter thought. How he felt. Why he felt it.

From the expression on Rafe’s face, he was either playing dumb or he genuinely didn’t realize he’d poked the wasp’s nest with a sharp stick. A quick glance between us slowed his skilled fingers, and he tapped the card deck on the table, rolling his eyes again at my What the hell, man? scowl.

“I mean, he is rather handsome,” the vampire added as he set the perfectly uniform deck in the center of the table. “Did you see those cheekbones? They could cut glass.”

Okay, now he was just being a dick. Rafe smirked at me, daring me to argue or deny, and I responded with a swift and solid punch to the arm.

Which, unfortunately, was like punching marble. Pain bloomed on impact, unfurling from my knuckles up my forearm, and I reared back with a hiss.

“Oww,” I whined, knowing full well that I deserved it. “Shit.”

Despite the grit of his jaw, Elijah still reached out for me—as if on instinct, driven to comfort, to soothe away the pain. He did it all the time, reacting without realizing, but like always, he stopped just shy of touching me. Scowling, the dragon withdrew his hand and stuck both under the table in a sullen silence.

“Serves you right,” Rafe told me. “Honestly, beating on a defenseless vampire…”

This time, Elijah kicked him under the table, both of them wincing at the thwack. Seconds later, they were both grinning, and I finally settled on my stool, shaking my head and smiling. While I still didn’t understand my relationship with these two, neither individually nor as a trio, I found comfort in their company and their friendship, and despite the weird tension between Elijah and me, the confusion over what Rafe and I even were on the relationship scale, sitting down with them at this table, at the one in the cafeteria, in my cell beside Rafe each night and at the workstation in the bakery with Elijah each day felt good.

It felt like home.

Fleetingly.

Until something in this hellhole reminded me that I was in prison, like the leather strap around my neck or my pathetic shower shoes, or Deimos and his crew fighting for a stupid table…

Then, you know, it was business as usual: feeling helpless in a system designed to break you down, to make you feel lower than dirt, like you really were a criminal.

Never mind that most of us were innocent.

The fae emerged from the shadows of his cell faster than I had that first day, loitering in the doorway and scrutinizing the cellblock with impossibly green eyes. In turn, I watched him over my shoulder, from his sculpted face to his perfect posture to his large, elegant hands rubbing bloody, raw wrists. What was he: innocent or guilty? Criminal or bystander?

Impossible to tell at first glance.

While he hadn’t so much as peeked my way, I felt someone else watching me intently. Elijah’s caramel gaze drilled into my forehead, and I let out a sharp exhale, beyond annoyed with this particular side of him. Even if it wasn’t intentional, he had no right to be all huffy. So, rolling my shoulders back, I looked him dead in the eye—a challenge in the shifter community—and cocked my head to the side, daring him to say what his eyes screamed, what the clench of his jaw so obviously implied.

Jealousy.

Possessiveness.

Elijah stared back, his expression softening somewhat, but not once did he blink. Neither of us flinched. Neither backed down. He conceded slightly, but this dragon shifter was an alpha through and through: he bowed to no one, not even me. Unfortunately for him, spending all this time in his company, in Rafe’s, meant I’d also found a slight backbone—and I wasn’t about to fold either.

“Guys…” Rafe flicked cards around the table, dealing out the first hand of a new game. “You know I fucking hate it when you do this—”

“It’s nothing,” Elijah rumbled.

“We’re fine,” I insisted, mouth dry. Both of us had ended up talking over the other, which made Rafe shake his head and shoot us one of his famous Oh my fucking god, you two looks that always made me feel like we were being ridiculous. And maybe we were, but I’d never been in this situation with anyone before.

Never been in this situation—period. Never responded so strongly to a shifter, my body igniting with a look. Never floundered around a handsome vampire, unsure where we stood: acquaintances or friends or cellmates who flirted every now and again to distract from the doldrums of their current situation?

And then add a third hottie who I couldn’t stop looking at, couldn’t help but drool over, and I was basically screwed. Prison wasn’t supposed to be a high school soap opera. I wasn’t supposed to be worrying about men’s feelings; I was supposed to be planning an escape so I could get far, far away from this place and find Tully, then go home and never leave my apartment again.

Just as he did with me, Deimos swept over to the fae and walked him out of his cell. I swallowed hard, the memory of the demon’s hot breath on my neck making my stomach churn. That first day, he had taken such liberties with me—taken advantage of my fear, using a very long moment of weakness to touch me, to wrap his arm around me and whisper in my ear. Back then, he had tried to sweet-talk me, to coo and purr, to make it seem like his crew was the safe port in this hellish storm.

What tactic would he use on the fae?

A fae who didn’t exactly seem fazed to be here, despite the bruises peppering his skin, the dried maroon blood under his nose, a streak of it cutting from his mouth to his chin. The guards had beaten the crap out of him—that much was clear—and yet he strolled alongside Deimos with such a confident stride that it made me wonder…

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