Chapter 3 Stockholm Syndrome in Reverse
Wynn
After a quick trip to my mother’s kitchen for a peace offering, I navigate the narrow stone passages back to the dungeons. My people skills haven't failed me yet, so I plan on just talking to the prisoner. If Adelaide wanted an interrogation, she’d have sent someone with sharper teeth.
I learned all about keeping the peace from my dad, the former second in command. Our Alphas can bite and break bones just fine on their own, so they need a second who can communicate and manage public relations.
That’s what I’ve been trained for, and I’m good at it, even if Adelaide hasn't given me the position yet.
When I return to the prisoner's cell, he’s sitting casually on the stone bench, one knee propped up as he smirks. "Finally, turn down service. You arrived just in time. I was about to give you a bad review."
I raise an eyebrow. "Do criminals have their own prison rating systems?"
He rises from the bench, sauntering closer to the cell door. "Oh sure, five-star accommodations, would be detained here again. Actually, it's about a zero on amenities, but a five in terms of ability to bust out." He raps his knuckles against the bars.
Nothing happens. Unlike last time, the bars hold firm. His eyebrows draw together and he gives the bars a supreme look of betrayal for abandoning him in his darkest hour. It’s priceless.
"Damn,” he grumbles. “So that's why someone was in here chanting and waving their hands."
"Yep. The bars are now magically fortified. You won't be going anywhere." I cross my arms, leveling him with a serious expression. "Do you want to tell me what you're doing here?"
He only gives me a cheery grin. "Sightseeing."
"At night?"
"Well, you know how it is. The best views are always under the moonlight." He winks, leaning his shoulder against the bars.
Should I be impressed or offended by his audacity? Haven't quite decided yet.
Determined not to let him fluster me again, I take a moment to get my bearings and scan the dungeons. Medieval torture chic at its finest. Cold, miserable, and filthy.
But apparently, someone once attempted to soften the harsh atmosphere with decorative touches.
A small gargoyle carved from black stone perches beside the stone slab in the cell, something I missed during my first visit.
Is the little creature there to guard the prisoners?
Or was it meant to brighten this dismal place?
If so, it fails spectacularly. One of the people traipsing through since the prisoner's arrival even tried to dress the creature up by pinning a little red bow tie around its neck.
Shaking my head, I step closer to the cell and offer the prisoner a smile. "Wanna try again? You can have a cookie."
I hold up the tin, giving it a gentle shake. The delicious scent of homemade snickerdoodle cookies wafts through the damp air of the dungeon.
Mystery Man raises an eyebrow. "Interesting form of interrogation."
"Not interrogation, just a conversation. Let's start with an easy one. What’s your name?"
“Marlow,” he says.
Well, that was easy for a man allergic to answering questions. He offered it without thinking, so it's probably his real name. One of them anyway, though it's hard to say whether it's a first or last name.
A smile forms on my lips. At least we're getting somewhere. “Hi, Marlow. I’m Wynn.”
“So nice to meet you. If you’re wondering what I’m doing here, it’s a funny story—”
I cut him off before he can start up again. “That wasn’t going to be my next question.”
“No?”
“Why don’t you want to tell me what you’re doing here?”
That charming smirk returns to his lips. "It's in my nature. A little foreplay always adds excitement, right? Makes the reward so much sweeter."
Marlow stares right into my eyes as he says it, whispering like he's sharing a secret. His heated low voice could really have an effect on me if I let it, so I'm trying really hard not to let it distract me.
"Uh, I think you're full of it," I stammer. Any second now I’ll build up an immunity to his shamelessness. Hopefully.
But he did tell me his name. That means he gets a cookie.
I open the tin of fresh snickerdoodle cookies and pluck one out.
The moment our fingers connect through the bars, a jolt of electricity shoots through me.
The flirting and teasing may be a distraction or game, but he can't fake the tingle I feel from touching him. My breath catches in my throat as I stare into Marlow’s blue eyes, eyes filled with mischief and an intensity that makes my pulse quicken.
I shouldn't be getting cozy with a potential threat to my pack.
But I can't pull away.
Marlow leans a fraction closer, his smirk softening into something almost genuine.
His hand feels nice against mine. We're trapped in this charged moment, drowning in each other's stare, and we might be stuck frozen staring at each other for all eternity until he suddenly jerks back and breaks the spell. He steps back and coughs and clears his throat like he didn’t mean to get caught in a staring contest with me.
That reaction catches me off guard, considering how brazenly he's been pushing my buttons. Marlow shakes the moment off far easier than me, acting casual as he takes a bite of the cookie. "Wow. Your prison is falling apart, but the cookies are great."
Am I imagining the moment between us?
Doesn’t matter. I have a job to do.
“What are you up to, Marlow?”
His eyes roam over my body. “Like I said, sight-seeing.”
I cross my arms, fed up. “Don’t flirt or try to distract me. Why are you really here?”
“I’m not a bad guy," he says. "Do you not trust demons?”
I blink. “I didn’t even know you were a demon.”
“Plenty of good people are demons. My mother’s a demon!”
“Cut the crap, Marlow.”
“Okay, my mother isn’t a good person. Terrible example, not sure why I used her, but the point still stands.”
I take a steadying breath, forcing myself not to get sucked into his banter. “Why are you really here?”
"Well, it's a funny story—"
"Save it,” I say. “Tell me the truth."
His easygoing demeanor falters at my insistence.
“Uh, well… the real story is predictable. Boring even.” He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly bashful. “I was just passing through, okay? It seemed easier to cut through the Iron territory on my own instead of asking for permission."
"Wolf packs don't take kindly to people waltzing through their territory without permission."
He snorts. "Lots of people don't take kindly to demons at all.”
"What?"
“Look, I live in the mortal world,” he explains.
“The supernatural community has to hide themselves. There’s no other choice, the closest supernatural sanctuary won’t even let demons live there.
If the people here have similar views against demons, I knew you'd never let me through, so I tried to slip past on my own. "
Oh. I live in Concordia, where anyone with a connection to the hidden other world is welcome. Not everywhere is so accepting.
"Sneaking around isn't the best idea," I offer quietly. "Even if you get past us wolves, the mountain isn't the easiest to navigate.”
He gives me a weak smile. "I'm tougher than I look." And apparently he's also got a softer side under all his bravado and charm.
The question is, do I believe him?
I'm not always the best judge of character, especially with beautiful people.
I fall fast and get carried away. My dating history reads like a cautionary tale.
Like the brute from my pack who embodied every toxic Iron trait, Dante the damn Dracula vampire wannabe who aimed to take advantage of my pack connections, or Ava the jealous witch, to name a few.
But dating my fair share of jerks has given me some insight, and I'm not getting that same sense from him.
Marlow’s cagey and clearly has secrets. Does that make him a threat? Adelaide might think so, but I’ve seen no indication he means us any harm.
My instincts tell me to believe him. There's something about him, something I trust. And what kind of sorry wolf doesn’t trust his instincts?
I step closer to the cell. "I believe you. You deserve a fair chance, even if you made a mistake.”
“Really? Thank you, I don’t know what to say." He leans forward, fingers wrapping around the bars as he looks into my eyes. "Please, help me. If you let me go now, I’ll be out of Concordia by morning, I swear it.”
Is it possible? Could I take him at his word and free him? Let him vanish into the night?
It would be so simple. With Adelaide trusting the magic to reinforce the cell bars, security is at a minimum right now. But I can't make such a serious decision on my own. He's the pack's responsibility, and the pack will suffer the consequences if I’m wrong.
“Marlow, I can’t just let you go. But I promise that I’ll do my best to sort this out. I’ll make sure you’re treated fairly.”
“Okay,” he concedes. “I appreciate that."
Marlow and I say our goodbyes for the moment. I leave him with a few more cookies and head out of the dungeons. I need to talk to Adelaide.
~
Wynn
The Iron Pack used to be run more like a military operation than a close-knit family. I feared Adelaide would continue the strictest of our traditions, but instead she adopted more of a ‘work hard, play hard’ motto.
The tavern buzzes with energy tonight after the fights. I weave through the rowdy crowd and spot Cade and Cierra dueling in a beer chugging contest.
Cierra Blackwood is the Alpha Mate, married to Adelaide. Her braided black hair swings behind her as the pair guzzle from large tankards of ale. Cade may have beat me earlier, but Cierra’s chugging that beer faster while the crowd chants, “Alpha! Alpha! Alpha!”
She throws her head back, drains the last of her drink, and slams the mug down on the table with a mighty roar of triumph. The crowd erupts in a chorus of howls and applause.