23. Apparent Freedom

23

Apparent Freedom

T he 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 to be 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 I conveniently 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."

He scoffs before outstretching a hand to help me up.

I look up at his offering, honestly surprised at his gesture. A small pang of guilt rings through me, realizing he's going to be drowning in shit once I get out of here, and he's to blame.

"You're pathetic."

That pang poofs from existence.

"Sorry if I'm not at optimal efficiency after getting knocked out and locked in a cage." I crawl to my feet. "The lighting in here can't be up to code. You're lucky I didn't bang my head and spill my brains all over the floor." I charge toward him, pointing my finger toward his chest.

My explosive confidence startles him, sending him backward and tripping over his long robe. He catches himself on the bars. "You're in prison. Stop acting like you have rights," he says as if trying to convince himself of his words before shutting the door to my cell and turning to walk away. It's obvious I've rattled him, and he's embarrassed by his loss of composure. He quickly retreats down the tunnel without making sure the lock clicked into place.

I wait until his footsteps disappear before I reach out to check the door. I push it slightly, and it creaks open. "Yes!" I whisper to myself. I stop my quiet celebration to be sure that no one runs down the hallways or a booby trap doesn't fall from the sky. After a moment of silence, only interrupted by the dripping of water, I take a deep breath and push the cell door open, stepping one foot outside. I stop for a second, assessing my surroundings before charging toward a parallel tunnel.

This plan is as spotty as a slice of Swiss cheese. I have no idea where I'm running, and I could very well stumble upon a whole litter of werewolves sitting at a table, ready for their next meal, but what other choice do I have? I can't just sit in that cell waiting for someone to rescue me.

Although I hoped my escape plan would work, I'm surprised at how well it's going. I nearly shit my pants once I notice the fluorescent red Exit sign overhead leading me to my apparent freedom. These werewolves really are peas for brains when it comes to kidnapping and storing prisoners.

I make a sharp right, my heart beating out of my chest, and come to a door. I stop and do that little catholic cross prayer thing over my chest that I've seen people do and steel my nerves before pushing the door open.

Bright light swallows me, and I clench my eyes before stepping out into the warm moisture. My eyes blink open, and I almost can't believe it—I'm outside. I've emerged from a cave, the door camouflaged to look like a stone surface. I sure as shit have no idea where I am in the dense forest, but I made it. I escaped on my own.

I have to remind myself that just because I made it out of the prison doesn't mean I'm free. There could be werewolves hiding behind every inch of this forest. I don't have time to look around and plan my best course of action. I sprint in the direction opposite of the prison cave.

With each step, I grow more confident. Maybe it really could be this easy. I saved myself, and I'm almost home. When I see the bend of a road off in the distance, I can barely contain the joy slipping through my pores. I'm only a few paces away when something falls against me, bringing me down to the ground.

I struggle, wiggling my way to turn and face my attacker, who tries to force my hands behind my back. I'm able to turn my head slightly.

When I see his dark hair and shining eyes, I groan. "For fuck's sake. Will you leave me alone? "

"Believe me, I'd love to," he says, turning me to him and collecting my arms over my head. "It's like you want to get killed or something," Cameron says through his teeth.

I try to knee him in the balls, but he blocks me with his thigh, pinning me in place on the forest floor. His touch heats deep in my skin. I'm pretty sure I'm allergic to werewolves because every time he touches me, I feel as if my skin is about to melt off. My blood bubbles in my veins as if I try just a little bit harder, I could get out of his grasp. It's a stupid idea, though.

He's a tall man and from what I've seen—well built, but his ability to mold me to his will is scary impressive. I guess that makes sense, though. He is a werewolf, after all. They probably have ungodly strength even in their human form.

"I'm trying to help you."

"From my point of view, it looks like you just tackled me to the ground, and now you're attacking me."

He rolls his eyes and huffs. "You are a pain in the ass."

I'm ready to argue more, but before words can slip from my lips, he picks me up and throws me over his shoulder. "Let's get you locked up and safe again," he says in an amused tone.

"You're crazy!" I yell, banging my fists against his solid back.

"I know. But you better be thankful because crazy is about to save your ass."