Chapter 5 - Lorelei

I let out a scream of frustration, rattling the locked door and banging on it while I called Mark every foul word I could think of. By the time I had finished, my throat ached and my head throbbed. I hadn’t fully recovered from Inara’s captivity, it seemed. Sighing, I turned to face my surroundings, looking at what had effectively become my new cell.

Granted, it was a lot nicer than the one Declan and the others had rescued me from. The entire basement had been converted into what could be considered a small apartment. A small kitchen sat tucked in one corner, and there was a full bedroom and bath down the hall. You could live comfortably down here, no problem.

That didn’t change the fact that it was a cell.

I ran my fingers through my hair as I scanned the room, then looked back at the door. There wasn’t a chance he was going to let me out any time soon. I might as well relax.

The instant I told myself this, the thought of a hot shower after weeks of captivity sounded like heaven.

I found the shower, as well as a baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants. I assumed they were Mark’s, but they would do.

Turning the heat on high, I waited a minute before stepping into the stream of water. I moaned as the hot water hit my skin, soothing my muscles and reassuring me that I was truly out of Inara’s grasp.

As I continued to shower, another question popped into my mind. Why the hell did Mark care? The guy hated my guts in high school. And now, he suddenly cared about my safety? It didn’t make sense. I knew the type of person he really was. So why go to all this trouble? Was it some new sick joke? Something more? I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t care to think about it. If it wasn’t Mark, and if he hadn’t gone to the lengths of kidnapping me, the fact that he cared this much might have been sweet. But it was Mark. And there was no way he cared that much about me.

So what was his plan?

***

I could still remember the worst of his bullying. My parents had always been considered odd by the pack. We stayed where we were because, according to my parents, we had to. Something to do with protecting the entrance to The Trove.

The pack nearby didn’t particularly care for my family, but would still use them begrudgingly. Always at night when no one would see them. The adults were fine. It was the kids who were the real problem.

I couldn’t escape them at school. The nicest thing they called me was “freak.” The meanest was a tie between several things that I didn’t care to think about. On top of the gum in the hair and the constant giggling behind my back, I turned into the resident scapegoat. Every time one of the kids acted out in class, they always blamed me. Considering I had almost the same social status with adults as I did with the kids, they took the kids’ side with such frequency that I stopped arguing with them.

Mark had been the worst. I still didn’t know what I’d done to earn that distinguished honor, but he came up with any number of creative and mean ways of picking on me. His friends followed along.

One time, I was walking home after school when I heard a noise behind me. I turned, expecting a random rabbit or maybe a fox to skitter through the brush. Instead, a blond-furred wolf pushed through the brush. I knew immediately it was a shifter, though I didn’t know the shifters well enough to know who was who. Only that, based on size, it was one of my classmates.

I also knew that whatever the shifter had planned, it wasn’t good.

Then another wolf emerged. And another. And another. They circled me, leaving only one gap in their ranks for me to run through. Not waiting for another to fill that final space, I darted through it, running as fast as I could. The wolves trailed behind, snarling and barking as they nipped at my heels. At one point, my backpack snagged on a branch. I left it behind.

I kept running, not sure what they were planning or what they would do if they caught me and not caring to find out. I just kept moving through the woods, hoping they would eventually get bored.

I didn’t even notice the putrid stench of the bog until it was too late. The mushy land squished beneath my shoes, the awful smell penetrating my nose. I hadn’t gotten that far when my foot caught on a rotting log, and I stumbled forward, landing face-first in the bog.

The dirt filled my nostrils, clogging it with an awful stench. It went in my mouth. I sputtered as I flailed, trying to get onto my hands and knees.

I sat up, my face and front coated in swamp water and mud, only for laughter to echo in my ears. I wiped the muck from my eyes, turning to see Mark and his friends at the edge of the bog, jeering at me as I staggered to my feet.

My eyes locked on Mark, and I knew without a doubt that he was the one who had started the entire thing. He had my backpack in his hand.

My eyes met his. I silently begged him to just leave me alone, to walk away and have his victory. I wanted to scream and yell at him, to demand an answer as to why it was always me. What had I done? All I wanted was to be left alone.

I wanted to say those things, but the words stuck in my throat, and all I could do was stare at him as he looked at me.

With a smirk, he overturned my backpack, unzipped it, and dumped all the contents into the bog, tossing the backpack after it. Then he and the rest of his friends strolled away, still laughing long after they vanished from sight.

I waited for another five minutes, sitting in reeking mud as I waited to see if they would come back. When they didn’t, I forced myself to my feet and trudged over to where he had dropped my backpack.

I spent the rest of the evening picking stray pieces of paper out of the bog. When I finally got home, I raced into the shower before my parents saw me to avoid questions I didn’t want to answer. I didn’t want them to know how bad school was. Them knowing would only make them feel bad and wouldn’t improve anything for me.

That was only one example. It doesn’t include all the times Mark and his friends put tacks on my seat or called me names. But that incident cemented one thing in my mind, one irrefutable fact: Mark was a horrible bully who enjoyed tormenting me for the fun of it, and that was never going to change.

***

Later, I heard the door at the top of the steps open, followed by footsteps creaking down the stairs. I straightened, head swiveling toward the locked door. The lock clicked, and the door swung open. Mark stood in the doorway with a large collection of food, which he deposited on the island counter.

“These are for you,” he said. “I also picked up some clothes. If you want, I can—hey!”

I dashed for the open door, thinking I could lock him in before he realized what happened. I hadn’t even reached the frame when strong hands gripped my arms and jerked me backward. One hand snaked around my waist, pinning me against rock-hard muscle as I writhed, trying to escape. I screamed and kicked as Mark pulled me away from the door, hauling me to the plush chair and plopping me in it. He leaned forward, his hands on either armrest, his legs pinning mine.

My heart raced as his face stopped inches from mine. I hated this asshole. So why the hell was I so attracted to him? I wanted to tangle my fingers in his hair, to have him carry me into the bedroom and strip off all my clothes. The intense look in those gray eyes warmed me all over. And, despite the fact that I hated every second of it, I couldn’t deny that something about that assertive dominance made something beneath my stomach lurch.

“If you keep trying to run, I won’t hesitate to tie you up,” he snarled.

Something inside me stirred, and my stomach lurched. I was furious with him, but something about the thought of him tying me up made my heart pound faster.

His hand went to my arm, but gently. Almost like a caress. “I’m trying to help here,” he said, and I was surprised to hear the genuine earnestness in his voice. “You don’t understand how dangerous Inara is.”

“I’m pretty sure I do,” I countered. “I’ve heard stories about her since I was a kid.”

His face contorted. I couldn’t read his expression. “Then why on earth would you want to put yourself in danger?”

I arched an eyebrow, cocking my head even as I was still painfully aware of how close he was. How I could see every individual eyelash. “You mean, why would I want to help? Besides that, it’s the right thing to do. It’s also the fastest way for me to get back to my old life.”

“You could die,” he argued.

I shrugged. “Maybe, but I doubt it. Right now, I’m too valuable for her to kill me. And your lot needs me, too, so it’s not like I’m in any danger. Right now, I’m probably the one least likely to die.”

“Kidnapped and tortured, then,” he said.

When I shrugged in disinterest, he snarled, taking a step back and running his fingers through his hair.

“Why don’t you believe me?” he asked.

“You tormented me,” I said. “For years. And after all these years, you show up and expect me to just believe you suddenly have my best interests at heart?”

He gave me a look so perplexed that it had to be genuine. “What are you talking about?”

“Are you saying you don’t remember bullying me every day I was in school?” I asked, both surprised and not at all surprised.

He scratched his neck. “I mean, I know we picked on you a bit because you weren’t a shifter, but that isn’t the same as tormenting you.” He frowned, concern creasing his features. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

At least he was genuinely asking instead of gaslighting me and saying I was wrong. But the fact that he didn’t realize how bad it had been still stung in its own way.

“Do you remember the time you chased me into the bog?” I asked.

He blinked, brow furrowing. His struggle to remember told me everything I needed to know.

“You destroyed my notes and backpack, made me fall face-first in the muck, then laughed and walked away,” I said.

Comprehension dawned on his face as the memory came back. “That? It was just a joke. We were having a bit of a laugh.”

“Did I look like I was laughing?”

He didn’t answer.

I changed topics. “Why me?” I asked. “Why, of all people, did you pick on me?”

He continued to stay silent. Just as I decided he wasn’t going to answer, he said. “I’m not sure.”

I wasn’t sure if that was everything, but it sounded like that was all I was going to get from him for now.

“Those years in school were the worst time of my life,” I said. “I was happier alone in the woods than I ever was when you were around.”

“It was years ago,” he argued. “I’m a different person.”

“And how the hell do I know that?” I asked. “All you’ve done since waltzing back into my life is kidnap me. That doesn’t really seem like you’ve changed all that much.”

When he opened his mouth again, I held up a hand. “Let me make this perfectly clear,” I said. “I don’t trust you.”

The hurt on his face took me by surprise. He looked like I had just slapped him across the face. I couldn’t help but hesitate for a moment.

His next words surprised me more than anything else he could have said.

“What can I do to make you trust me?” he asked.

I opened my mouth, then closed it. The silence stretched between us as he waited for my answer.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know.”