Page 100 of Captive of Outlaws
From the desk comes the sound of ripping cardboard, like a package being opened, startling me back to my senses.
“Yep, all four present and accounted for.” A light jingling noise—presumably Will unboxing whatever four things just got delivered. “Thank you for—hm? No, I know it’s not the fanciest upgrade. But we can’t use retinal scans or fingerprints, given how often we’re, you know, changing things.” He chuckles. “Yeah. An old-fashioned key fob works fine. Yes, you too. Bye.”
I wait for a beat, then two, before announcing my presence.
“Will.”
Will startles a little and turns around in his seat. His face softens when he sees me.
“Hey,” he says. “Maren.”
Immediately, he jumps out of the chair to stand at attention, all old-fashioned manners style, which pulls at something in my chest. Behind him, on the desk, I see a few small, shiny trinket-like objects—the key fobs, presumably.
Upgrade the security.
That makes sense, I guess.
“What’s wrong?” He frowns, seeing my expression, and strides over to me, catching my face in his hands. I close my eyes, letting them linger shut as the cool scent of his cologne washes over me.
How do I even say this?
I open my eyes.
“Nothing,” I lie. Coming in hot’s not going to get me anywhere, I decide. “Just...processing a lot.” I gently take his wrists and lower them from my face, then pace over to his bed and sit. “Your room is nice.”
Will looks around nonchalantly and nods, hands in his pockets. “I try to keep it calm. An oasis away from all the chaos.”
“Mm.” I nod. On his bedside table, there’s a single paperback—Italo Calvino,If On A Winter’s Night A Traveler...
“I know, pretentious as hell,” Will says, following my gaze as he sinks onto the bed next to me. “But it’s interesting. I like the experimentation in forms. How every chapter’s different—”
“The transformation,” I finish for him.
His lips tick up in a smile. “You could say that.” I can feel his gaze on me, even as I’m not looking back at him. My skin flushes, betraying my calm.
There’s so much I don’t know about him, about all of them, I realize. Not just what they’ve been covering up or lying about, either. I don’t know what they wear to sleep, what their birthdays or middle names are, what they were like as kids or who their families are.
And I want to know. I want things to go normally—or, okay, as normally as possible, given the circumstances. I want to have that getting to know them, that gradual discovering.
I want to fall in love with them.
The thought staggers me, would send me wobbling off my feet if I were still standing.
But it’s the truth.
And it’s why I don’t want this moment to end, don’t wantto say what I know I have to, and shatter that possibility for once and for all.
But maybe I can get just a little more out of this moment before it all blows apart.
“Have you always known?” I ask suddenly.
“Known?”
“That you’re...a shifter,” I say, still weirded out by saying the word out loud. “Like, is it a family tradition, or something?’
Will gives a short, brief laugh. “Not hardly. My parents were only too happy to cut me out as soon as they learned there was something different about me. Not exactly appropriate for the social set they ran in, I guess.” He shrugs a shoulder. “And no, I didn’t always know. Maybe if you grow up around this kind of thing, you’re clued in earlier, but for me it was...a surprise. Not exactly a pleasant one. Kind of like puberty on steroids.”
I wince. And a thought occurs to me.
