22. On My Own

22

On My Own

T he space around me materializes slowly. First comes the slow trickle of sound—voices whispering from a distance. Then comes the awareness of my body—the pounding in my head, the cold pressing against me. My eyes flutter open, but absorbing the space around me takes a second. It's dark, but light flickers from lanterns outside my cell, illuminating the stone walls and tunnels leading away from me.

My cell.

The bars separating the small cavern I'm lying in reveal my imprisonment. I shoot up to a seated position, ignoring my body's nagging pull to rest more .

"Hello?" I call, immediately regretting my words. Why would I want anyone who put me here to come to my aid? No one puts someone in a cage to have a peaceful little chat, but my brain still isn't working at one hundred percent. I'm operating purely on instincts, which tell me I need someone to explain where the fuck I am and what's going on.

"Hello?" I call again, against my better judgment.

Darkness ripples from the far end of the hallway. I rise to my feet and lean forward until I can make out the three black-cloaked figures walking toward me. My heart pounds in my chest as they grow closer, their faces not becoming any more visible.

"Who are you?" I ask, my voice shaky.

They don't respond; they just continue their descent until they reach my bars.

"Um, hello? Who the hell are you guys?"

A voice booms from the middle figure. "You are Mildred Hoodson, daughter of Charles and Sophia Hoodson."

I wait for a moment, the air growing thick in the silence. "Uh, yes. I know who I am. Who are you? And why the fuck am I in a cage?" I step closer, anger slowly replacing terror.

A voice lower and more frightening than the first comes from the figure on the right. "Your mother was a Hunter, and you seem to be fulfilling her legacy. You are a danger to us all."

"A danger to you all? Look at me! Do I look dangerous? I think there's been some sort of a mix-up." I lean closer, wrapping my hands around the bars.

"You killed one of our own in the clearing. You have been seen with Hunters."

"What? No, I…" My mind registers what these mysterious figures' words must mean. They're werewolves. I back away from the bars.

"I promise I didn't kill anyone. It wasn't me." Werewolves kidnapped me from Granny's. My mind races with worry about her, but then I remember Jack was there. Werewolves wouldn't get to her with him in the way.

"You will have a trial in three days' time—the day after the Blood Moon."

"Are you going to kill me?" I ask, finally realizing the gravity of my situation. This whole story seemed too far-fetched—too impractical to be scary, but now that I'm behind bars, captured by werewolves, I realize why Jack didn't want me to get into this mess.

"Wait!" A man's voice bellows down the long corridor.

The three figures turn toward the source.

I don't move, unsure if I want to know what this new arrival could bring .

The man jogs into view, his features illuminated by the golden glow of the lanterns. "You've got the wrong person," he says, slightly out of breath.

"Cameron?" I ask, lunging forward. "Are you part of this?"

His frantic gaze catches me for a moment before he addresses the figures. "She doesn't know everything. She couldn't be the person who killed Leroy."

The figure on the left hisses, pulling down his cloak to reveal the back of a furry head and animal ears. He seems to be partially changed—his body a man's, while his head is almost wolf-like. I don't know shit about werewolves, but it seems that the transformation isn't always immediate. Maybe the Blood Moon has something to do with it?

"We will decide her innocence before a trial. Until then, she stays here. You know the rules." He flips his hood up again before all three walk away from my cage and descend back to where they came from.

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 seems the 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.