Page 39 of Caged Kitten

Next time, I might actually fight back—remind them of what I was, where we fae ranked in the supernatural order. Today, I’d sat back and let it all play out to get a read on my fellow detainees, to assess the hierarchy, to learn where loyalties lay within Cellblock C. Very telling, that fight.

My stomach roared suddenly, painfully empty and cawing for something greasy after drowning in bourbon last night. The rest of the jumpsuits had been escorted out for supper a good half hour ago; unless someone was coming back for me, my gut would have to go on bleating until breakfast. Apparently, starvation was penance for starting the fight—never mind that the demon had thrown the first punch.

I mean.

I had spurred him on.

Deimos—boring, just like all the others. So predictable. Insult their dick size and they were gone, so desperate to prove to their fallen angel overlord that they were worthy of the darkness he bestowed upon them. So determined to out-alpha the shifters all around them, the only true alpha in this place that dragon who had come to the witch’s aid.

Female demons were a little more difficult. No dick to insult, but I had a bag of tricks for them too.

Hopefully I’d get to use them in here—how fun.

A series of locks clinked and clanged, and seconds later the block’s main door swung open. In marched the guard who had broken up the fight, and I squinted at the patch sewn onto his black uniform: Thompson. Noted. By his side, however, was a far more interesting subject, and I straightened at the sight of the petite redheaded witch, that purple jumpsuit perfect for her creamy complexion.

A familiar giddy tingle stretched from my head right on down to my tippy toes—the same little prickle I felt whenever I was about to have my way. Which was often. So beautiful, even with her slumped shoulders, her steps heavy and dragging. Don’t fret, pet. I’ve just the lap for you to rest your weary bones upon.

Only it wasn’t just exhaustion that tainted her lovely features. Her cheeks had lost their delectable rosy glow, now sickeningly white and hollow. Those glittering sapphires sparkled less than before, dulled by the bloodshot whites surrounding them. Disappointing and annoyingly cliché that a trip to the warden’s office produced this, but never mind. A few choice words from a fae prince could fix everything.

And if that failed, a glorious tumble in the sack really was the finest distraction in all the realms.

“Hello, little witch,” I purred. My attempt to gracefully stand and sweep toward her was sullied by one of the fucking nailed-down stools, which I smacked my knee against in passing. With a wince, I limped toward her, fully aware that being both handsome and wounded really stoked a woman’s fire. She stopped her slow shuffle into the cellblock, the guard now with his back to us as he sealed the door, locks clinking, and I scooped up her hand, ignoring the dazed look on her lovely features. And the—oh, yuck, the frigid sweat on her palms. Well, no matter. Beggars certainly couldn’t be choosers, and for her, I might consider begging.

Might.

I bowed low and pressed a chivalrous kiss to the top of her pale, clammy hand. “Thank you, sweet girl, for your bravery.”

She just stared down at me, full mouth slightly parted, her other hand limp at her side. Not exactly the reaction I’d expected, but it certainly wouldn’t be the first time the attentions of a prince stupefied a commoner into silence. Naturally, I took it as a compliment.

“I have a reward in mind,” I whispered roguishly, smirking as I straightened and pinched her delicate hand between us. “Something I think you’ll most enjoy. Perhaps you could accompany me to my cell so I can ardently express my gratitude—”

Without a word, the witch ripped her hand from mine, scowling, and turned on her heel. The flutter of her red mane unleashed a cloud of her scent—faintly floral, patchouli and jasmine and rose, and my word I needed more. But she stalked away from me—the first of the feminine species to ever do so—outright rejecting my offer and headed instead for the dragon’s empty cell.

“Fox,” the guard called, loitering by the main door, hands on his hips. “No.”

The witch stopped again, seeming to crumble on the spot, and slowly faced him. “Thompson, please, can I just—”

“You’re all on lockdown for the fight,” the warlock insisted, addressing her with a gentler tone than he had anyone else. Clearly he possessed a soft spot for her, but from the way he spoke, the way he looked at her face and not her curves, it wasn’t sexual. Huh. Strange. I crossed my arms with a huff, knowing I had a gorgeous pout, but neither paid me any mind. They looked to each other, the witch—Fox—begging with teary eyes and the guard refusing her with a shake of his head. “Once the rest are back, I’ll bring you dinner, but until tomorrow, you’re all in your own cells.”

Did she make it a habit of visiting cells that were not her own? Excellent for me. Clearing my throat, I sidled into their eyeline, flashing her a handsome smile before shining it on the warlock. Even men fought for my attentions—it seemed cruel to deny him.

“Surely, good sir, you could allow her a visit to my cell…” I fiddled with my nails, then shrugged a shoulder innocently. “Perhaps for a price—”

“Shut your fucking mouth, inmate,” Thompson snapped, his words whip-sharp and promising today’s third beating if I wasn’t careful. In an instant, my expression soured, and I glared back at him, hands in fists. No one dared address a prince like that. Never in my life had some lowly warlock raised his voice to me. I ought to whip him for his—oh, wait, she was coming back.

My whole being brightened the nearer the witch drew, but as soon as she realized I was watching her—something that had made her blush beautifully only an hour prior—she changed course and beelined as far from me as the cellblock would allow. She stalked along the outer walls of the circular room, determined to ignore me, and her cheeks remained a deathly white even when our eyes met.

As soon as she disappeared inside her cell, I returned to the table in a huff.

Curious. This had never happened before. Women never refused me, be they fae or human or any other sort of creature. Another first.

I… wasn’t all that sure what to do with myself now.

Rejection—for other things, never a bedmate—always put me in a mood.

Tonight, it only made me want her more. Not because she was a lovely specimen, a pretty witch with plump lips that would look exceptional around my cock, but because she had refused me. Because she had been unmoved by my smile, my words, my presence.

And, shockingly, I rather liked that.

A challenge. For the first time in my long life, a true and honest challenge.

At last, someone who didn’t immediately bore me to tears.

Perhaps Xargi Penitentiary would be a great deal more interesting than I initially thought…

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