Page 33 of The Crimson Wolf
Cameron stands in place, still catching his breath and staring at me.
“What the fuck is going on? Are you working with werewolves?”
He studies my face, wearing a curious expression. “Red, isn’t it obvious?”
“What?” I strain my eyes, making out the dark stubble lining more of his face than usual. His eyes blink with gold,and his teeth point out sharply. I back away from the bars. He’s turning. “You’re a werewolf?”
“I thought Jack would have told you, and after our conversation the other day, I thought it was obvious.” He shakes his head. “Well, now you know. I need you to stay calm. You’ve got yourself tied up in a fucked up situation, but I’ll try to help.”
His words don’t reassure me. My mind races, replaying the conversations between Jack and Cameron over the past few days. Of course, Cameron’s a werewolf. That’s the dark history between him and Jack, and that’s why he was so insistent on the werewolves’ innocence.
Cameron seems to want to help me get out of this, but if everything Jack said is true—which it’s looking that way—I can’t trust him.
I’m not sure why the werewolves wouldn’t just eat me on the spot and get it over with, but maybe they have worse plans for me. Maybe they’re using me as a bargaining chip.
“Red, are you listening to me? You need to stay calm. I’ll work on getting some evidence together for your trial, but you…”
“Why should I trust you?” I snap. “Your kind tried to attack me. You’re a monster.”
A wounded expression spreads across his face for a moment, but a cold and calculating demeanor quickly replaces it. “You’re right. You shouldn’t trust me. It seemsthe rumors about you are true—the Hunter blood runs deep in your veins, but right now, I’m the only person here who gives a damn if you live or die, and honestly, my concern is dwindling. You need me.”
“I don’t need you! Jack will come for me,” I yell back, hoping that if I say it loud enough, I’ll start to believe it.
He sighs and shakes his head, running his hands through his dark hair. “You’re right. I’ll just leave you to it then. Enjoy imprisonment.” He winks before turning and walking down the cave hall as if taunting me.
I hate the way my body feels whenever I’m in his presence, as if lightning zips through my veins. Maybe it’s my Hunter instincts preparing me for a fight, but it always leaves me feeling scratchy whenever he’s gone.
I sit down, itching at my arms and thinking about what a smug asshole Cameron is. The thought of punching him in the face is a good distraction from my dire situation, but once my brain quiets and I realize just how utterly alone I am in this strange dungeon, I start to feel more sorry for myself.
What did I do? Did I just push away the one person who could help me? No, Jack will come for me. I’m sure of it. But even as I tell myself this, I can’t help the doubt that shoots up my spine.
I’ve never been the type of girl to wait around for someone else’s help. I may be in a monster prison, but I’m not helpless. It’s time to think of a way to get the hell out of here—on my own.
23
Apparent Freedom
The concept of time doesn’t exist while trapped in a dungeon. Usually, an escape mission happens in the dead of night, but the sun could be perpetually absorbing the planet right now, and I would have no idea.
I’m not sure how much time has passed, but after three meals brought to my cell by more cloaked figures, I have a better understanding of when the prison should be less occupied by guards.
I wait for what I assume is nighttime—although I imagine werewolves could be nocturnal, making it likely tobe daylight. It doesn’t matter—as long as I can escape without turning into kibble.
A smaller figure delivers my last meal of the day. I hope its size relates to its age and experience and that he’s a young pup just starting his career as a monster overlord.
There’s no slot in the bars to slide the silver tray of some mystery steamy mush into my cell. The prison door must be propped open for every meal, and the food must be placed on the floor. This seems like a serious design flaw for a paranormal prison. I’m probably the weakest creature they’ve had in one of these cells, and I plan to get the hell out of here. I can’t imagine how difficult it would be to feed a Bigfoot or something without it ripping off the deliverer's hands. Maybe werewolves aren’t known for their intelligence. I sure hope so because that’s the only thing I’ve got going for me.
“Stand back,” a squeaky voice comes from the black abyss under the cloak. The only sign telling me he’s a werewolf is the pair of golden eyes shining through the void.
“Whatever happened to good afternoon or a simple hello?”
The figure doesn’t respond.
“Alright then. What’s on the menu today?” I walk closer toward the bars—my eyes lifting as if to gaze at the contents of the tray. The werewolf opens the door just as Iconveniently trip, the door banging my shoulder as I hit the floor.
“Oh, shit!” he yells in his prepubescent voice. His feet scuff the ground, and I cry out in pain as I throw my arm overhead, carefully lodging a stone in between where the door would meet the stationary bars. I silently beg any god listening that my performance and the low dungeon lights will be my saving grace.
I hold my head at an imaginary injury. “I hope you have some good dungeon insurance because if I have any brain damage, I’m suing.”
