Page 221 of Primal Bonds

The cat whined and pushed itself up on all fours.

The human was too cautious. Maybe battering itself against the cage wouldn’t help, but it couldn’t just lie there and do nothing. And it might bring that fae bitch running, and then the cat could sink its teeth into her.

“Jani?” The blond man with the good smell lifted his head. “What are you doing?”

The cougar flung itself against the door. The iron bars seared its fur. It fell back on the sheepskin, wheezing.

“No!” He pushed himself up on his forearms. “It’s okay—honest. I know you can smell the blood, but don’t forget, I’m a quarter fae. The cuts are already closing up.”

Rising back onto all fours, the cat swung its head in the man’s direction. A deep inhale confirmed he spoke the truth. The terror eased.

“Rest, now.” A soft command. “If you want to help me, you have to heal first.”

Calmer, but still agitated, the cat snarled at the locked door. It still wanted to go to him. It needed to go to him.

“Please, Jani.” His gaze snagged the cat’s. “Calm down. I can’t stand for you to get hurt any worse.”

Jani? The name belonged to the human part. The woman.

The cat turned it over in its mind. A cougar had no name—or need of one.

It shook its head. The cage pressed in on it from every direction. Something wild and primitive screamed for it to beat itself bloody against the bars. But the man was right—it needed to heal first. Then when the woman who had dared put the cat and its man in a cage returned, it would be ready.

The cat settled back onto the rug.

“That’s it,” the man said. “Rest.”

The cat was tired. So tired… Its eyes shut and it dozed.

Time passed. An hour, maybe two. The cat had little use for the way humans marked time.

“Jani. Jani? Wake up, damn it. Someone’s coming.”

The cat jerked awake just as the heavy oak door banged open. The cat snapped up its quartz, hiding it in the pocket of its cheek. No way was that bitch getting her hands on its real quartz.

But it wasn’t Blaer, it was a big, bearded redhead with the acrid silver scent of a pureblood.

The cat lifted onto its forepaws, growling a warning.

“That woman has gone too far,” the redhead declared in ringing tones. “Caging the fada is one thing. But my own bloody grandson?”

Words. But they might be important. The cat allowed its Marjani-part to surface enough to understand.

“I agree,” said a silky voice. The fae king with the cold gray eyes followed him into the room. “My apologies, Roald.”

Roald? From Marjani, the cat got a picture of a fierce redhead who captained the fae king’s warriors. Another picture told the cat that the warrior could conjure fae balls, the fae version of grenades. Take a direct hit, and you were toast.

The Marjani-part blinked. Fane was Lord Roald’s grandson?

The man—Fane—pushed up onto his knees and glared at both fae, his heart beating hard and fast. He was too hurt to be moving.

The cat rose, anxious to go to him. To make him better.

More talk from the two purebloods. Then the king snapped his fingers and Fane’s cage opened. He half-crawled, half-fell out and then, with a pained grunt, drew himself up to his full height.

“The boy needs healing,” snapped the redheaded fae.

The fae king inclined his head. A fog-message formed in his palm and then disappeared. Thirty seconds later, a tall blonde with the serene presence of a healer entered the tower. Clucking her tongue at Fane’s injuries, she set a hand on his back and urged him to sit.

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