by P. Jameson
Her breath came faster as if she could hear him, but he knew that wasn’t true.
“Alley… Cat,” she breathed, relief pouring from her like a fucking spring welling up.
And Skittles didn’t waste another second.
He drove his fist into the back of Bastian’s skull, laying him out cold. As the man’s giant frame slumped to the ground, nothing but deadweight. Skittles kicked it aside and crouched beside his female. She was shackled to a ring in the wall. Something that had been meant to keep a prisoner secure. The steel around her wrists was two-inches thick and tight enough to leave angry welts in her skin.
Fucking hell.
“Please… please,” she said weakly. “Take me… out of this...” Tears streamed down her cheeks and the panic in her eyes ripped his heart to shreds.
He stood to loosen the ring in the wall, but as soon as he moved, she clawed desperately at his jeans, her nails leaving bloody tracks down his leg.
“Don’t leave. Don’t leave me. God, please. Don’t… don’t…”
Crouching beside her again, he curved his hand around her cheek to force her gaze to his. Her skin was bruised but soft. But he couldn’t let himself savor it. “Female, look at me. Breathe.” When her swimming eyes were focused on his, he gave her a promise he would keep for the rest of his days. “I will never leave you. Understand? No matter what.”
She let out a scared whimper.
“I need you to keep breathing, hear me? In and out, as steady as you can. Will you do that for me?”
She nodded, her eyes fluttering as if she could barely keep them open. In and out, her breath came steady, yet too rapid.
“Now, I have to get that ring out of the wall so we can go.”
“Y-you can’t it’s cemented in. You… you can’t. Oh, god.” Her head swung back and forth, panic dripping from her voice.
“Nyla.” This grabbed her attention and she calmed for a brief moment.
“You know my name?” she croaked. As if it was some kind of miracle, hearing it out loud.
And damn if it didn’t break his heart wide open. He would speak her name to her as much as she would let him. So many times that she forgot she’d once been a number. He’d remind her every hour, every minute, if he had to, that she wasn’t Seven.
She wasn’t a Doll to be used anymore.
“I’m going to stand now. I’m going to free you. And then we’re leaving this place and you will never have to see it again.”
Her gaze drifted away, hopeless as when he’d walked into the room. But he didn’t have time to tell her again. He’d just have to show her.
Getting to his feet, he wrapped his fingers around the ring and yanked with all his might. The piece popped loose on the first tug, concrete crumbling around the hole it left in the wall.
Good shit, it was nice to have his strength back.
He didn’t wait to explain himself. He bent, scooping Nyla’s limp body into his arms. As he turned to leave, his gaze fell to Bastian where he laid on the cold floor, and his chest flared with hot anger.
He should kill the fucker now. Be done with him. It would make the world a goddamned better place.
“Let’s go,” Felix hissed from the doorway.
Shit. They might have only minutes before Bastain’s men discovered they were here.
Later.
He would have to deal with the Lord of Memphis later.
Mate comes first.
Holding Nyla close to his chest, he stalked from the hidden room and into the bright light of the mansion’s foyer.
They moved like wraiths through the broad space, through Bastian’s oversized office, and right out the front door. Too much time to go all the way back through the way they came.
“The fence,” Nyla murmured, her head lolling on Skittles’s arm. She was barely staying conscious as he carried her across the lawn.
“I’ll handle it.”
“I… know the code.”
Skittles stared down at her. The code would make things easier. No disconnecting the electric to the fence. And he couldn’t deny that walking right out Bastian’s front gate would be the ultimate fuck-you.
“Tell me.”
“Nine… twelve… eighty-four… star.”
Nine, twelve, eighty-four, star. He repeated the sequence in his mind over and over until he had it memorized.
Shouting from somewhere behind them, urged him faster toward the huge wrought iron gate at the end of Bastian’s driveway. Skittles didn’t look back to see what the trouble was. Ratchet, Smokes, and Monster were at this back, Felix and Fang at his front. None of Bastian’s men could take them.
“The code!” Felix called, drawing to a stop at the keypad.
“Nine. Twelve. Eighty-four. Star.”
Skittles arrived just in time to see Felix hit the star button and the lights to blink red.
“Shit,” the cat cursed.
“You must’ve entered it wrong,” Fang said. “Try again.”
This time, Skittles watched over Felix’s shoulder. “Nine. Twelve. Eighty-four. Star.”
Again, the ominous red lights blinked their denial.
“Fuck, it’s not working.”
Nyla, half out of it, mumbled the code once more and Fang pushed Felix out of the way to input the sequence himself. But it was no use. The red lights never turned green and the metal rails didn’t swing wide for them to pass. And behind them somewhere, Bastian’s guards were coming.
Shit.
Think, think…
In an exhale, the idea came to him. And it wasn’t even smart. It was more… instinct. Some might even call it desperation.
Skittles turned to Felix. “Here. Hold her.”
“What are you gonna do? We’re stuck.”
“No,” Nyla whimpered in his arms. “… can’t be…”
Skittles didn’t wait for his leader to get on board. “Take her,” he demanded. “And I swear to fuck, if you hurt a goddamn hair on her head—”
“I got it,” Felix snapped out.
“Be careful,” Skittles warned.
Handing Nyla over raked his insides raw. It felt like a whole new betrayal. Mine, mine, mine, his mind screamed. But he didn’t have time to dwell on it. A gunshot rang off in the distance. They were running out of time.
Not wasting another moment, he used his fingers to pry the keypad open and ripped the wires lose. There. That took care of the locking mechanism. Now to open the damn thing. Crouching at the corner of the gate, he wrapped his fingers around the hydraulic and pulled with all his might. It busted loose, the pressure causing a pop as loud as an explosion. Skittles bent the hinge sideways while Fang threw a stick at the iron to check if it was hot before shoving it to produce an opening.
As soon as there was enough space to move through, Felix carried Nyla free of the fence and Fang followed. Skittles looked back to find Monster and Smokes running for the gate. Behind them, a flaming beast roared and spit fire at a throng of Bastian’s men as they fired weapons. As if bullets could hurt the thing.
Skittles almost laughed.
Something sick and inky writhed up in him. Something so similar to what he was before the witches cursed him.
Power.
With the Firecat, he could take the whole operation down. Destroy Bastian and all the people doing his business in one fell swoop. And oh, did he want to. He wanted to absolutely ruin the evil man who’d hurt his female. Who’d used her, forced her, and then tortured her.
Vengeance.
He growled, the need for it so hot in his center that he thought he’d combust.
But then a small whimper drifted over the wind, reminding him Felix held his girl. And Skittles remembered his purpose.
Protect mine. Keep mine. Heal mine…
And she would heal him.
He had to trust that.
This power he contained wasn’t perfect yet. It still wanted revenge. But she could help him.
And he was going to let her.
Chap
ter Six
Staring down at Skittles’s female in my arms was like looking at a ghost from the past. The last time I saw her she was on the other side of the fence being forced to turn back. To return to the dungeon where Bastian kept the Dolls.
That fucking horrible place.
The first time, I only saw it through the window we helped the females escape from. It was just a glance but it was enough to earn Bastian some major props for being that damn heartless.
I’d been that heartless once, hadn’t I? Maybe. Maybe not. I’d never locked females up and starved them until they did what I wanted. I had a lot of shitty things on my record, a lot of blood on my hands… but not that.
There was nothing to describe the feeling of actually standing in the fucking room though. Seeing the dirty nests of blankets the girls had tried to sleep on. The only slip of privacy they’d had behind a rickety barrier where the toilet was. The scratches in the wall where someone had tried to mark off days. The tell-tale signs that someone had tried to pry the tiny window open before we’d cut the bars on it and busted through that night.
It was like stepping into a death room even though no one had actually died there.
That I knew of.
It reeked of despair, and that was without any of my werecat senses.
It reminded me of the training room at the warehouse. The one that was hardly ever used anymore. Where scourges happened. Where cutting and fighting happened. Where I was taught I had no choice but to be the worst of the worst.
I hated that room.
But oh, how I had loved that room too.
The room where people feared me. Where they respected me.
Maybe I was more like Bastian than I realized.
I ran with Seven in my arms, as best I could, circling back to where we’d left the trucks. My body was fucking weak and the extra weight slowed me down. But I wouldn’t risk getting fried by an angry Firecat for hurting his girl. And fuck me, but now there was three of them. And an Ice Cat too.
They made the clan stronger, but it meant my power was waning even more.
“Here, let me have her.” Skittles’s dark voice boomed as he rushed up behind me, and I paused long enough to glance over my shoulder and see the burning beast known as Ratchet heading our way.
The battle was over. Whatever had happened back there, they’d taken care of it.
While I’d carried the female away. Like a young who wasn’t quite ready for war but could stay behind and protect the weaker of them.
What a bunch of bullshit.
“Felix,” Skittles spoke sharply.
I handed the female off to him, and the emotion he didn’t bother to hide on his face made me sick. Twisted my stomach as much as any beating my father had doled out.
It made me think of mine. She was tucked away in the safety of our warehouse. Skye was her name. It reminded me of freedom and stretches of unending conquests. Both of which weren’t a reality. Ever. There was no such things as freedom. No such thing as that much power.
Which meant she was an illusion.
I had only known her a few weeks, but it was enough to know I despised her.
To my very core.
Ratchet, Smokes, and Monster ran past and Skittles followed them.
Three broken males whose mates helped put them back together again. One who was still a beastless waste, but had a chance at changing. Yeah, I believed Smokes could be fixed too.
And then there was me.
I found the one who was supposed to be mine, but she couldn’t fix me.
No one and nothing could. I wouldn’t make the same mistakes those assholes made. I’d never chain a female to me.
Especially one like Skye.
I’ll never claim her. I hate her.
I hate her because she’s weak. I hate her because she makes me weak. She’s just another knife in my skin. Except those made me tougher. Those cuts bled and then healed so hard nothing could get through them.
Her cuts just bleed, never heal. And all I do is feel.
I hate her.
Chapter Seven
Nyla fell in and out of consciousness. Awake one minute, asleep the next. She had no concept of time or space. Only that strong arms held her tightly. A little too tightly. But it was better than the aching, empty loneliness she’d endured since the other girls left. Rather her bruises hurt from this touch than nothing at all.
Or worse, the torture Bastian’s guards inflicted.
Knives in her skin. Water in her lungs. Burns where it would hurt the worst.
The blackness of sleep swallowed her up, blotting out the ugly memories.
Occasionally, she would catch pieces of conversation, between two males maybe three. Their voices blurred sometimes, so she couldn’t tell.
“The others are guarding the warehouse the females will be safe.”
“How do you know?” a rough voice asked.
“Bastian would be a fool to send his men after us now, after seeing the Firecat.”
Nyla drifted off again but the soothing words didn’t keep her from fearing Bastian’s retaliation. When she awoke next, it was to a hard, brutal shiver. Her body shook, and she was unable to control it.
It reminded her of when she was a kid and would play outside in the winter. She’d loved the frost covered branches of the trees out behind her Gran’s house. Loved the way the rock garden looked when it was covered with ice. Like a tiny field of crystals that sparkled in the early morning sunlight. But she would stay out there too long, imagining she was a fairy princess and the crystals were her collection of magical powers. She always knew it was time to go inside when she couldn’t control the shaking.
“Turn up the heat,” a smooth voice rumbled against her ear, and she felt her self being shifted closer to a rock-hard chest. Even with all the fog and the hunger pains, she knew who it belonged to.
Skittles. It was the man who came for her, the one she’d tried to get a message to. The one who saved her from Bastian’s wrath finally.
He’d appeared behind the devil like some unassuming avenging angel. Bright and colorful, when she’d only seen the dull gray walls of captivity for so long. If freedom was a person, he’d be it. Except his eyes were dark. Just dark enough to make him seem dangerous. They had a story to them. Something twisted and hard. It called to her like a sweet lullaby.
Bright. Colorful. Freedom.
Then he’d viciously slammed his fist into Bastian, sending him to the floor. And it was a testament to how far down she’d really gone, because she loved that moment more than anything. She wanted to replay it in her mind over and over again. And even worse, she wanted to worship the man who made it happen.
Now he held her as they rattled down a road toward the warehouse that contained the other Dolls.
Safe.
No, she didn’t know that for sure. Couldn’t let herself believe it when there could be a new battle ahead.
Warm breath skated over her forehead and she couldn’t help the way her body reacted to it, pressing closer like a helpless child. She would regret her weaknesses later. Right now, he was so warm. So solid. He was strength when she had none.
“It’s okay, female,” he whispered, his mouth so close to her skin she almost imagined he had dropped a soft kiss there. A kiss that had the power to pull more tears from her eyes. Because it didn’t want anything except to soothe.
But she’d imagined that, hadn’t she?
She shuddered out a sob and he rocked her closer. Wetness streamed down her cheeks burning her skin like lava leaking from the cracks of a volcano. A sandpaper thumb brushed each streak away softly.
He lowered his mouth to her ear, murmuring so softly, as if trying to lull her back to sleep. “Never hurt you. Make you safe. Don’t be afraid.”
It seemed an impossibility, that she’d landed in the hands of someone who wanted no harm to find her. It seemed unreasonable. As if she was meant to be harmed. Used. As if it was her destiny.
T
hat was the kind of hold Bastian had on her mind.
Once again she reminded herself of the truth: What felt like ages ago, a group of men came to rescue the Dolls. One of them called Skittles, had broken past her own security measures to temporarily shut down the fence so the girls could get free. Another of them turned into fire trying to help her over the hot fence. The evidence was in the burn on Nyla’s wrist. They had left her behind. Where she’d endured great horrors at Bastian’s command. And now… now, they’d come back for her.
They’re real. This is real.
But still, she needed to ask. Needed to hear it from his mouth.
“Fire… cat?”
The man’s breath seemed to catch before he answered.
“Yes, female.”
And it was enough. Until she could rely on herself again, on her mind again… it was enough.
“Okay.”
She melted against him, feeling like all the weight had been zapped from her body, to soak in his warmth and the soothing words he murmured in her ear. Sleep found her. And if she died, she wouldn’t mind as long as it was this peaceful wherever she was going.
***
Skittles sat in a truck, in the warehouse parking lot, and he didn’t want to move a muscle.
Because in his arms was the most precious gift he’d ever been given. And he didn’t even know who to thank.
Maybe the witches, maybe something bigger. It didn’t matter really. What mattered was he had her. And nothing was ever going to take her away.
He’d see to it.
The way she had clung to him before she passed out made all his possessive instincts flare to life. He wanted to cocoon the two of them away somewhere and just… be.
He had so many questions. Who was she as a child? How did she come to work for Bastian? Does she have any family? How does she like her fucking coffee?
And he had so many things to tell her. About his past. About his curse. About what he was now. About what he wanted in the future.
Shit. He would have to take things slow. He didn’t want to scare her. She didn’t know that he’d already committed to her.
A tap on the window brought his thoughts back around.
“Will you stay out here all night, or are you going to bring her in?” Ratchet stood just outside, speaking through the window Skittles had cracked just to get some relief from her enticing scent.
