Page 49 of Barons of Decay (Royals of Forsyth University #10)

“What are we doing out here?” I ask, scrambling out of the car. Maybe it’s all been a scam. A ruse to lull me into complacency, to trust the men that are my enemies. My pulse thrums, wondering if this is it. This is the night I’m sacrificed to the gods and demons of this hellmouth.

He slams the door shut with his hip. “Feeding cats.”

I stare. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He starts walking toward the building. “We’re feeding cats.”

Sure enough, it smells like mildew and piss. Something floral, too, probably from the crushed body of some cheap air freshener tossed among the junk. Damon crouches near a broken pallet by the side of the warehouse and shakes the bag.

A high, ragged chorus of mews and rustling answers him.

“There’s like six of ‘em. Mostly kittens,” he mutters. “Little monsters. I didn’t mean to get involved, it just kind of… happened.”

I stand a few feet back, arms crossed, watching as shadows slink from the corners with their small bodies and suspicious eyes.

The cats emerge slowly: a few scrawny kittens, a male with a torn ear, and then, finally, the sleek, narrow shape of a black female who stops just out of reach, tail twitching.

Damon reaches into the brown bag and comes out with a handful of dried kibble. He tosses it down, but the black cat watches with suspicion, waiting until the others dive in before creeping closer.

He points to her. “That bitch. That’s the one I want.”

“She’s beautiful,” I murmur, looking at her shiny black fur. She’s got a white patch on one foot.

“She’s a menace.” He opens the box, and I realize it’s an animal trap. He hooks the mechanism, and drops a little kibble inside. “I’ve been trying to catch her for a week. The others’ll let me handle them now. But her?” He shakes his head. “Smarter than me, apparently.”

I kneel a few feet from him, still in my gown, now grimy at the hem with dirt and dust. I don’t care, it was ruined the minute my uncle told me to take it off, when it just became another obstacle to his violation.

Out here, in the smelly boathouse, I’m breathing easier. Something about the cold and the stray cats and Damon’s quiet fury calms the noise in my head.

“She reminds me of myself,” I say.

Damon snorts. “Yeah? You think you’re a sleek little alley cat with trust issues?”

“I think maybe I have nine lives.”

He glances sideways. Doesn’t smile. “Well. That makes two of us.”

The comment makes me look at his throat. At the story he told me about how he got it. We sit in silence, waiting, the trap between. One kitten hobbles over, its paw crooked, and I gently extend a finger. It sniffs me, then bats my hand, bold and rude.

I laugh before I can stop myself. Damon raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, she laughs,” he mutters. “Didn’t think we’d get that out of you tonight.”

I shrug. “I think my nervous system short-circuited two hours ago.”

“That tracks.”

The black cat edges closer to the trap. Damon freezes. His fingers tighten on the bag of food.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Just step inside,” he murmurs. “Just a little farther…”

The cat sniffs the metal lip. Pauses. And then, with perfect contempt, she walks around the trap and grabs a piece of kibble from the side.

“ Fucking slut, ” Damon hisses.

I burst into laughter. I can’t help it. It comes out sharp and high and unhinged, but it’s real.

Damon watches me for a second, then shakes his head, grumbling. “You two deserve each other.”

“I think she likes you,” I tease.

“She’s got a funny way of showing it.”

My laughter fades, and the silence after feels too big. Too real. I look at him, this man I barely know–hardly trust–yet we’re thrust together.

“Damon,” I say quietly as the cat snags another piece of food.

He glances at me.

“Thank you. For bringing me.”

He grunts. “Don’t thank me. I didn’t do it for you.”

“You didn’t have to do it at all.”

He opens his mouth. Shuts it. Stands up and wipes his hands on his pants.

“You ready to go?”

I nod and push up to my feet, trying not to step on my dress. I know that once this night is over everything in my life changes. Probably for both of us.

“Do you ever wonder if people see us like that?” I ask, glancing back at the cats swarming the piles of food he left scattered about.

Damon frowns. “Like what?”

“Feral. Uncatchable. Just… surviving.”

He stands in the bright light of the car beams and says, “No.” His fingers reach out and trail down the curve of my cheek, not soft, not tender, just anchoring us together.

“People like us? They don’t look close enough to see anything other than what they can take…

” His voice roughens. “They don’t want the mess.

They don’t want the noise inside our heads.

They want the shape of us, the story of us, broken things dressed up pretty, pliant, fuckable. ”

He drops his hand, turns his back to me. His shoulders rise and fall like he’s trying not to say more. The problem is that Damon thinks he understands the darkness in Forsyth, but he has no idea what I know– what I’ve witnessed.

The pain I felt today? That’s nothing compared to the pain I saw in the Manor.

The humiliation? That’s just penance for the secrets I’ve kept buried for so long.

If I need to be pretty, pliant, and fuckable just to survive?

I’ve done what I’ve needed to before and there’s no reason I can’t do it again.