Page 48 of Caged Kitten

But… what a way to go.

Elijah’s pace stuttered for the first time since he’d started, faltering from a savage pounding to a breathtaking grind, milking another ounce of bliss out of me. His hand clamped down harder over my mouth to silence my cries, and my heart leapt into my throat at the first true brush of teeth over my shoulder. I blinked hurriedly, the dim pantry coming back into focus, his teeth so sharp and present.

I’d heard shifters bit their lovers.

Sometimes they marked them, the scarring permanent.

But that only happened when the pair were—

“Fuck,Katja—fuck,” Elijah gritted out, his teeth replaced by his lips, dragging an openmouthed kiss along my shoulder and up my neck. He nipped at my ear when he finally stilled, hips jerking ever so slightly, spilling himself inside me. That little nibble wasn’t what I imagined a shifter’s bite to feel like. It… It wasn’t. He hadn’t marked me.

I let it go, ignoring the thought as best I could, hating the bitter stab of loss in my chest. Because I hadn’t lost anything. The sex had been spectacular—best I’d ever had, despite the circumstances.

So…

Why did I feel like something was missing?

We untangled slowly, neither of us ready to stop touching the other just yet, all lingering caresses and brushing hands and bodies hovering in personal bubbles. A heavy, tangible silence hung over the pantry, one that surprisingly didn’t make me nervous. Sure, I wasn’t smiling like an idiot after a phenomenal orgasm or anything, and neither was Elijah, but it wasn’t guilt thickening the air. That didn’t slow my movements or make my mind sluggish.

As soon as I straightened, panties on, something oozed out of me—something hot and sticky. Elijah glanced my way, eyes dipping down to my thighs, and then offered an apologetic look that I just nodded at. Thankfully, I was beyond diligent about taking my potion at the start of each year. The brew to both prevent pregnancy and protect against sexually transmitted diseases was the most annoyingly complicated in my arsenal. The ingredients cost thousands to acquire, and I had spent the entire month of December, every December, babying a temperamental, constantly simmering cauldron since I had turned sixteen. I always took it on the second of January, without fail, and then had to weather the unpleasant side effects—a wave of sickness similar to the human flu—for a full two weeks after. But then I was safe for the rest of the year, protected and secure and never needing to worry about having a baby when I wasn’t ready.

So, we were covered, Elijah and me, but…

What if I was still in Xargi come next January? What then?

The thought brought a fresh batch of tears to my eyes, but I blinked them back as fast as I could. Without knowing the details, Elijah was bound to misread the situation—take my upset for regret and self-loathing and guilt and all the other crap that came with spur-of-the-moment sex. I didn’t feel any of that, and as I buttoned up my jumpsuit, fingers trembling again, I hoped he didn’t either.

But… I felt something.

When I looked up at him scrubbing his face, dressed and ready to go back to work like this had never happened, I felt…

Longing.

Need.

Not for another round. Not for his mouth on mine or his hand between my thighs. Not for teeth or fire or punishing caresses that would leave me bruised in all the right places.

I couldn’t explain it, but the flood of feeling struck hard, pounding into me with all the savagery that Elijah had, and I slapped a hand to my mouth to muffle a sudden and very unwelcome sob.

The dragon shifter stilled, eyes snapping to me and shimmering with panic. I shook my head, hoping to dispel the fears, and then sucked in a heaving breath, throat thick as I said, “I don’t understand it…”

Elijah exhaled softly, reaching out for my arm even as I retreated into the door. He gently cupped my elbow, steadying me, supporting me as hot, cruel tears streaked down my cheeks. Great. Just what every guy wanted after a quickie in a prison pantry.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, shuddering through the apology and wiping at my face. “I’m sorry. I just don’t get it. I don’t get us—this… It doesn’t make sense to me, and I’m so sick of wondering—”

“Katja, we’re fated.”

Three little words, and my brain short-circuited. Arms falling limply to my side, I gawked up at him as the static between my ears reached a deafening roar. We… Fated?

“I don’t get it either,” Elijah admitted with a nervous chuckle, scratching at the back of his neck, that good-guy persona shining through those warm eyes, those full pupils, the faint rose flush in his cheeks. No more animal. No more brutality, all carnal need and pleasure and base instincts… Back to the man, back to two people forced into a life-altering conversation that made my head spin. Elijah shrugged as I continued to stare blankly up at him, my mouth seconds away from just falling open, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. “But, you know, here we are, so… yeah.”

Anger raged when my brain finally rebooted—anger and hurt and shock and outrage that he had kept me in the dark for the last month and a half. Because he would have sensed it right away, wouldn’t he? I had felt it from the second we first made eye contact, but I didn’t get it. I just floundered around in a mess of feelings, confused and alone and upset, needing him and not understanding why. Wrongful incarceration was bad enough, but throw in the fact that my body was responding without my consent, drawn to this stranger, and he had just let me go on feeling like that for weeks…

Teeth gritted, I reared back and smacked him as hard as I could, slashing across his broad chest and nearly taking a button with me.

“If you knew, why didn’t you say something?” I demanded—yelled, almost, voice rising well above an acceptable level for where we were. No telling if Jensen had come back yet, but if he had, he definitely would have heard that.

Elijah and I glanced at the door together, holding our collective breaths, and when no guard came trundling through to investigate, he let his out in an exasperated hiss.

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