Chapter 4 A Gargoyle of a Different Color
Wynn
When I arrive in the dungeons, I storm up to the lone occupied cell. Marlow watches me lazily, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
"What did you bring for me this time?" he asks.
I flip him off with both middle fingers.
He frowns. “I was hoping for more cookies.”
I'm happy to be the bearer of bad news. "All you’re getting is a first-class ticket back to Brighton."
“What?” He freezes on the bench, his carefree facade cracking. “What are you talking about?”
"Cut the crap. You aren’t the innocent, unfairly persecuted demon just passing through. You’re a criminal and an asshole."
He shrugs, leaning back. “If the cell fits.”
My mouth actually drops open in shock. That’s it? The jig is up so he's dropped the act? No shame or guilt for being caught, nothing?
“Are you even going to deny it? Defend yourself?”
“What does it matter?” He sounds almost tired, his eyes drifting away as if the conversation has lost its importance. “Nobody’s believed a word out of my mouth since all this started. Why should I expect you to be any different?”
"Well, you never gave me a chance. God, you’re not even ashamed, are you?"
“Why should I be?” He stands up now, glaring at me from the other side of the grime-streaked bars. “I’m just trying to save my own skin.”
“I stood up for you,” I shoot back.
“Then that’s on you."
The worst part is that he has a point.
Marlow didn’t con me. I conned myself. I let myself be fooled. My gaze drops to my shoes. A gargoyle statue looms right by the bars. How many of these did the designers cram into one cell?
My eyes dart to the stone slab against the back wall—but no creature lurks there. What the hell? That thing was definitely farther back.
Clearly, I'm mistaken. What other option is there? It's not like the statue moved. My eyes must be playing tricks on me. Or maybe it's the prisoner. He's already done a number on me and messed with my mind. Now he's making me doubt my eyes and memories. Making me doubt myself.
"You’re right," I say. "You fooled me once. That’s on me. But it won’t happen again." I grin. The last laugh is mine. "I’ll be right there when you get handed over to the authorities. I might even film it."
“Would you look at that?” Marlow says, a note of bitterness creeping into his voice. “Visiting hours are over.”
“You ran with your tail between your legs and tried to con me, but it didn’t work. You’re still going to face justice for your crimes.”
Marlow stays silent. It gives me a grim sense of satisfaction.
“Don’t have a comeback for that, do you?" A thrill goes through me at rendering him speechless for once. I look around, telling him, "Better get used to places like this. This is what the rest of your life will look like."
Well, not quite. Holding a prisoner in a place like this long term probably is cruel and unusual punishment. Unfortunately, his accommodations will be more modern. What a pity.
I give him a grim smile. "You said these dungeons are lacking, but they're better than what you deserve."
"How dare you?” speaks a voice that sounds nothing like the man in front of me. Marlow’s mouth doesn't move at all. What the hell?
A small, agitated creature flies up in the air. The little stone gargoyle. It can fly?
“Holy crap!" I stumble backward, totally surprised. The tiny statue I thought was just a normal decorative piece is suddenly moving, its little wings flapping as it hovers in the air.
Marlow looks at me like I’m crazy, so I wave my hands and point wildly at the creature… which must not help me look sane, but seriously, how can he stay so calm when statues come to life?
The thing is a tiny mass of black. It could have come right off an old building that decorated its waterspouts with gargoyles, except it’s much smaller, not even a foot tall. The flash of red from the bow tie stands out.
Marlow ignores the tiny winged terror entirely. The reason hits me: he must be doing this somehow.
"Is this some sort of trick? An illusion? Am I supposed to be intimidated by your little winged friend?" Now that the shock is fading, I’m not impressed. He could have picked way more fearsome creatures.
"What are you talking about?" Marlow eyes me suspiciously, his arms crossed defensively across his chest.
"Your little buddy." I gesture towards the tiny figure, which snarls at me in response.
"Are you out of your mind?" He looks to where my gaze is fixed, then back at me, his expression one of perfect confusion. But this time, I think I catch him stiffen just the slightest bit. “I have no idea what you’re babbling about.”
Is he really going to pretend I'm seeing things? My subconscious isn't inventive enough to dream up a tiny living gargoyle wearing a bow tie.
"Fine, have it your way," I say. "We'll pretend there isn't a gargoyle wearing a bow tie flying around the dungeon. Sure, totally normal. It doesn't matter anyway. Your pet is hideous just like you."
Marlow stiffens, face going slack and dumb with shock, no trace of that casual smirk he wears so well.
Getting the last word feels so satisfying, and I've already turned to leave him behind when I hear his whisper.
"He can really see you? What the fuck?"
The gargoyle hisses a reply I can't make out since I'm not using my enhanced senses in the dungeon, too afraid the smells and sights from past horrors will scar me for life.
“Stop, don’t go,” Marlow says urgently. “Come back.”
“Nothing more to say to you.”
“Listen to me!” he insists. “There's something strange happening.”
I pause, turning my head for one last look. "Oh, so you're admitting that your little friend exists?"
"You shouldn't see him. Why can you see him? It doesn’t make sense." His voice sounds small and lost. I tell myself it's just an act.
"You weren't doing the best job of hiding him," I point out. "He's been there the whole time." The creature being Marlow’s pet makes way more sense than the creator of this macabre dungeon deciding the place needed some ambiance and decorating with little gargoyles.
His mouth drops open. "You saw him the whole time?"
"Why does it matter? If he could help you, he'd already have sprung you. Right?" Even if the creature can slip through the cell bars, it'd still need to free his bigger friend, and the bars are now spelled to hold out against whatever strength it can muster.
"You don't understand—"
"No, you don’t understand," I cut him off, raising a hand to silence him before he starts weaving another elaborate lie. "Nothing you could possibly say will change my mind. I’m never going to believe a word out of your mouth again. You’re a criminal.”
“I’m your mate,” Marlow says.
…Well then. Gotta hand it to him, that’s not the comeback I was expecting. Points for originality, that’s for sure.
Despite growing up in a tough pack, I've always been a romantic. I used to daydream about finding my destined mate—how I’d see a glimpse of who they truly are, see something genuine, and suddenly feel a pull deep in my chest that screamed mine.
A true mate. A connection so profound that I wouldn’t have to worry about picking the wrong person, because I’d know I was safe. Surely, the one meant for me wouldn’t shatter my heart into a million pieces like so many others had.
But my fantasies never included a dungeon cell and a liar in artistically ripped jeans.
“Are you really that desperate?” I force a laugh that sounds hollow. “You’re sick.”
“I’m not lying,” he insists, his blue eyes locking onto mine. How can he look me straight in the eye and spew the most ludicrous crap with such conviction?
Time to get the hell out of here. I’ve already wasted enough energy on him.
“Wait, don’t walk away. Come back. Come back!”
I keep moving, determined to put distance between us.
Just when I thought he couldn’t sink any lower, Marlow Maddox proves once again that he’ll do anything to save his own skin. Fortunately, I see through the act this time. There’s no way in hell my fated mate is a wanted criminal and murderer.