Page 76 of Caged Kitten

“Cooper… What the fuck is this?”

A black figure descended on me, but gentle hands found my body this time. Thompson? I blinked up at a familiar and very welcome face, at the one warlock who had always been decent to me.

“Can you stand, Fox?” he murmured as more uniformed warlocks streamed into the room, several dogpiling on Rafe and Deimos while two others dragged the rest of them out. I gargled some nonsense up at him, throat screamed to ribbons, blood dribbling down and soaking into my jumpsuit, then shook my head. Exhaling softly, he helped me up, then stilled when I wailed, his hand veering too close to my rib cage.

“Katja!” Rafe thundered my name, features contorted and savage, the bloodthirsty beast lurking beneath a calm veneer suddenly out for all to see. Deimos was gone, but they needed four guards to haul the raging vampire out of the storage closet, and a flash of bright blue beyond the doorway ended it all. Someone had stunned him, his fury subdued, and Thompson waited until the hoard of footsteps shuffled away before helping me limp out.

“Boss’s orders,” Cooper drawled when we happened upon him leaning against the opposite wall, a cigarette in hand and a smirk on that smarmy mouth. “And no, you can’t take her to the infirmary. He wants her to sit in it and rethink some of her life choices. It’s a teaching moment.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Thompson demanded, his sturdy frame the only thing keeping me up. The edges of my vision darkened, unconsciousness tickling at me, beckoning me into its arms.

“You want to go ask him?”

“I didn’t sign up for this shit.”

“Yeah you did.” Cooper flicked his cigarette butt at me with a snort. “We all did. So, fall in line or get out.”

Scowling, Thompson eased me away, guiding me on the most direct route back to the cellblock. He let me take my time, every step an ordeal, my jumpsuit hanging open, my face and hands bloodied, my cracked rib slicing at my insides.

But I did it.

As soon as I spotted the door to Cellblock C, victory swelled from the well deep inside me, the place that housed all my magic. I fucking did it. I made it back to my guys, my bed, my familiar—this hadn’t broken me, and it wouldn’t. I refused to let it, refused to give in to him.

If he thought this would drive me into his arms like they were some bobbing buoy in the stormy seas, Lloyd Guthrie was the dumbest man alive. Bones healed. Bruises faded. Scabs eventually fell off. Scars became memories. I would recover from this, an hour at a time, and come out the other side stronger—just to spite him. It would be a cold day in Hell before I accepted his offer, let him own me, no matter what he did to me.

Give it your best shot.

Thompson unlocked the cellblock door and let me shuffle in ahead of him. Elijah shot up from his spot at our usual table with a roar, his shadow exploding into the silhouette of his inner dragon.

Show me the whole iceberg, Guthrie.

With a panicked Fintan hot on his heels, he sprinted toward me, and I collapsed in his burly arms with a wail, groping behind him for Fintan—for someone else to cling to as a few tenuous threads held my world together, thin enough to snap at any moment but still holding strong for now.

I can take it.

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