Authors: Noah Harris
They followed a small, but well-worn path until they broke through the trees and into a large clearing. The landscape sloped downward for a while before reaching a large castle. Dylan was by no means a master of architecture, but it looked like a mix of old and new styles. Like a modern estate, build with space for people in mind and not empty rooms. There was a long, stone paved driveway that led up to the front of the castle, ending in a large circle before the wide stone steps.
He and his escort cut across the front lawn toward those steps. They stopped when they reached the driveway, and the leader of their little group pulled out a strip of black cloth. “I’m sorry about this, but it’s a necessary precaution until we know more about you,” as he tied the blindfold around Dylan’s eyes.
Dylan wasn’t led up the front steps, that much he realized. He was directed somewhere else, through a door, and down a flight of stairs. The air down here was colder and tasted of chilled stone. They moved him through hallways and corridors, through doors and doorways, some with swipe card access, and some without. They passed a few people, but conversation was kept to a few minimal phrases in a language Dylan didn’t understand.
When the blindfold was finally removed, Dylan was in a small room with stone walls. The door was thick and had a small barred window. It looked like he was a prisoner after all, but was it a precaution or had they seen through his lies? What about his team? Were they here too? Although he was clearly a captive of sorts, the room was well furnished. The bed was single sized, had comfortable looking blankets, and was neatly made. An intricate rug covered the floor, a decent desk with some writing materials was against one wall, and an old, polished wood wardrobe was against another. Tapestries hung on two walls, hiding some of the stone and giving the room an overall cozier feel. To be honest, for a holding cell, it wasn’t bad. It looked more like a college dorm room.
Dylan turned to face the leader of the small group. The others had waited in the hallway outside the room. Dylan raised an eyebrow and gestured to the room. “Where are we?” He asked, trying to seem clueless and innocent, although he knew very well what kind of place this was. He didn’t think he’d be able to pull off the innocent charade altogether. Dylan didn’t look like an innocent man, and his personality wasn’t geared towards that and he knew it, but the man didn’t seem to think anything was amiss.
The leader smiled apologetically. “It’s a holding cell. Strictly protocol. I hope you understand,” as he gave a mild shrug, tugging down the face mask that hid the lower half of his face. The man looked to be in his thirties. A strong jaw, brown eyes, a slightly crooked nose, and a thin white scar that ran from temple to the corner of his lip. “It’s just until we have a chance to hear your story and verify your identity. Can never be too careful. Make yourself comfortable. There’s clothes you can use in the wardrobe. They’ll send food down,” said the leader as he left.
Dylan felt both a sinking feeling of dread and a lifting feeling of relief as the heavy door closed, and the lock slid into place. He was alone, which meant he had time to think, but he was also locked away in enemy territory. How were they going to verify his identity? He had no form of ID on him, and his face was hidden in all except the most secure government databases; even those requiring a high level of clearance. It was possible if he got his story to be convincing enough, that he could get out of here unscathed. Though he would probably need to play the part of a mole for a while before he could make a clean escape. It would look suspicious if Dylan disappeared the moment he was freed. Particularly, after saying he had come to find the Pack. They would question that. He certainly would.
The wardrobe was filled with a variety of men’s and women’s clothes of all sizes. As a shifter, he didn’t feel the cold as humans did. His body temperature was naturally higher, and it took more for him to feel the cold. Added to that was his training, which allowed him to ignore such conditions if they weren’t immediately relevant. So with everything that had happened since he woke up, he hadn’t been paying attention to how his body felt. Specifically, he hadn’t realized that the chill of the air and the stones were starting to seep into his skin. No doubt this area was underground, where the sun couldn’t reach.
He shivered as he pulled on a pair of gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt. The pants were a little loose, but the shirt was tight, being stretched across his broad shoulders and chest. He wasn’t exactly huge with muscles, but he wasn’t exactly skinny either. His training had left him well toned and well built. Luckily, the shirt wasn’t tight enough to be uncomfortable. Still feeling mildly chilly, he dug around in the drawers of the wardrobe until he found a black hoodie big enough to fit him and pulled it on.
Once he was dressed, he went to the bed and sat with his back against the wall. His eyes found a small camera positioned in one of the corners of the ceiling, but he quickly glanced away. He didn’t want to be caught starting at their security measures. Shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. He had nothing to do but wait, so he might as well think.
They brought food roughly twenty minutes later. Dylan hadn’t thought of much of a backstory, but he had vague and believable answers ready in case they asked any questions. They didn’t. A woman brought him a tray of food with a couple of magazines. She wasn’t in uniform. She wore casual jeans and a blouse. She smiled at him and apologized for the poor entertainment accommodations as she gestured to the magazines. He thanked her as warmly as he could and asked how much longer he’d be there. She said she didn’t know, but they usually get to newcomers within an hour of their arrival.
It was nearly a whole hour later by the time he heard movement in the corridor. He opened his eyes as he heard a voice, loud but muffled beyond understanding. As the footsteps and the voice grew louder, he turned, swinging his legs off the mattress and putting his hands on the bed beside him. He stared at the door, waiting. His heart hammered in his chest; he tried to relax, although he felt the tension in his face. The voice sounded angry. His fingers gripped the bedsheets. This was the moment. He would have to find a way to lie his way out of here. No confrontation. That was part of the mission guidelines. No confrontation. He was to give away no knowledge that they were there. The Shadow Pack couldn’t know they had caught the attention of the government.
“How long has he been down here?” The enraged voice was saying. It was male, and they were getting closer. He didn’t hear the response. “An hour and a half? You’ve got to be kidding me … you’re not. What the hell, Clark? Usually, visitors are seen to within an hour. Usually twenty minutes … I don’t care how unusual the circumstances were; he’s a person! The full moon was last night, for fuck’s sake. He’s probably disoriented and confused, and you’ve probably told him nothing.”
“He didn’t say anything about knowing you.” That was the voice of the leader of the group that had found him. They had stopped outside his door. The man sounded skeptical.
“Did you hear me when I said the full moon was last night, and he’s probably disoriented and confused? Not to mention he’s new to the area and woke up with your blokes in his face.”
The man grumbled. “Well … he did seem rather confused.”
“See? Now open the door, man! I haven’t seen him in ages.”
“I must say, this is … rather unorthodox,” came from just outside the door. Dylan could hear the sound of key’s clanking together. He braced himself, trying to figure out what was bothering him in the back of his mind.
“I know it is, but I appreciate it.” The unfamiliar man said. His voice was calmer now, almost relieved and a little apologetic.
The key was inserted into the lock. “And you got permission to override standard procedure?”
Dylan heard the unfamiliar man huff quietly. “Of course I did, Clark. From the big Alpha himself. I swore to him that I could vouch for Dylan.” He chuckled lightly. “I wouldn’t come down here to get you in trouble, man. Relax.”
The man seemed to chuckle in return, definitely more relaxed. “That’s reassuring. Well, I suppose he’s your responsibility now.” The heavy lock tumbled, echoing in the small room. Dylan’s back tensed. He was mentally preparing his story and trying to control his expressions and body language. Something about the overheard conversation was bothering him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, and he didn’t exactly have time to analyze it.
The man chuckled again, the sound multilayered and assured. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of him.”
The door swung open and a man Dylan didn’t recognize stepped in. He paused just inside the door, and they made eye contact as they regarded each other. The man was tall and lean, and he wore well fitting black jeans, red converses, and a dark red shirt. His white blond hair wasn’t too long, but it did swoop back from his forehead and to the side in a wave. His eyes were blue and regarded Dylan cryptically. They looked him over from head to toe, missing few details. It made him feel oddly exposed, and he tried not to fidget under the stare. His lips were set in a firm line, and Dylan found it hard to read his expression. He couldn’t tell what the man was thinking, but something strange danced in the depths of the man’s eyes.
And something about the previous conversation was nagging at the back of his mind.
Although they couldn’t have been staring at each other for more than a few seconds, time seemed to slow to give them enough time to take each other in. Then it suddenly sped back up and everything was moving quickly.
The man launched into action. His face broke out into a broad smile and his eyes softened. He sighed softly, his body visibly relaxing as he did so. “Dylan …” He muttered, and the tenderness and emotion in his voice made heat rise to Dylan’s cheeks. Then the man was moving toward him rather quickly. He crossed the room in only a few strides, positioned himself directly in front of Dylan, cupped his face with his hands, and leaned down to kiss him.
Dylan froze, completely and utterly surprised, and the man used his unresisting surprise to deepen the kiss, using his tongue to spread Dylan’s lips for better access. He tilted his head, his hands running through Dylan’s short, dark hair to rest behind his neck. The hands there locked him in place, holding him firmly, and the man stepped closer, standing against the bed and between Dylan’s legs.
Dylan was so surprised that he barely felt any of it. His mind was busy trying to catch up with his body. He hadn’t been expecting this, and he hadn’t prepared for it. He hadn’t been kissed like this in … years, and never by a stranger and this man was indeed a stranger. He had looked him up and down, and he didn’t register any memory or familiarity. Dylan did not know this man.
And then he realized what had been nagging him about the earlier conversation: this man had been implying that he knew Dylan.
Gaining control of himself once again, Dylan put his hands on the man’s forearms, pulling back to break the kiss. The man obeyed, but remained close enough that he felt his breath on his lips. The look in the man’s eyes was haunting, passionate, and filled with a depth of emotion that once again surprised him, but then it was gone, leaving Dylan to wonder if he had imagined it. The blue eyes before him were hard, cold, and calculating, despite his body being relaxed and clinging.
“Who-” Dylan started to ask, his voice barely above a whisper.
The man cut off the rest of his question by promptly kissing him once again, but this kiss was short and sweet. “That’s just Clark.” He said when he pulled away. His voice was calm and casual, betraying nothing. “Don’t be mad at him for putting you in here. He was just doing his job.” He leaned back, leaving his grip around the back of Dylan’s neck loose. It was a familiarity that made Dylan uncomfortable. “I told you to let me know when you were coming so you wouldn’t have to go through this.” His tone had changed to one of mild scolding and heavy teasing.
Dylan blinked at him, completely and utterly confused. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but the man was trying to communicate something with his eyes. It was subtle. So Dylan did the only thing he could think to do: he played along.
“Sorry?” He tried a smile, but he felt it came across as awkward but maybe that was fitting.
The man shrugged, smirking. “No skin off my bones. You had to deal with the consequences.” He idly ran a thumb across Dylan’s cheek in a tender gesture. “I’d appreciate some warning next time, though. Why didn’t you call me?”
He didn’t have to think too hard about answers. The man seemed to be leading him to his responses, holding his hand through this charade of a conversation. He went with what felt natural, had this been a conversation between two people who actually intimately knew each other. “I wanted to surprise you.”
The man snorted and rolled his eyes. “Some surprise. Why did you come on a full moon? You know that can be dangerous.”
“I got … um, a little lost?” He was pleased when his confusion sounded sheepish. It was more believable.