Evaline:
I had braced myself for sothing ugly.
But nothing could have prepared for the sight that greeted when the dungeon door closed behind with a hollow thud.
The cell was steeped in darkness, the kind that clung to the skin. Only a single candle burned on a small wooden table in the far corner, its weak fla flickering as if even it was tired of being here. Shadows crawled along the stone walls, stretching and bending, swallowing most of the room whole.
And in the middle of it all sat Marcus.
Chained to a chair.
My breath caught.
He looked... smaller. Not physically - he was still broad-shouldered, still built like a warrior - but sothing about him seed shrunk inward. His posture was stiff, his head slightly bowed, his wrists bound behind the chair with thick restraints made of silver. His clothes were rumpled, stained, torn in places.
Thoroughly investigated, indeed.
The mont the door shut, he looked up.
Our gazes collided.
Confusion flickered across his face first, sharp and imdiate. Then fear crept in, slow and unmistakable, tightening his features as he took in... my clothes, my stance, the way I stood there unflinching in his hell.
For a long second, neither of us moved.
I studied him openly, my eyes adjusting to the dimness, cataloguing details without rcy.
And he watched like a cornered animal, clearly trying to figure out who I was... and why I was here.
I took a step closer.
He flinched.
Not subtly. Not guardedly.
He recoiled... shoulders tensing, breath hitching, his body pulling back against the chair as if he expected pain to follow my movent.
I froze.
Just for a second.
Sothing twisted uncomfortably in my chest, sharp and unexpected.
I hadn’t ant to scare him.
Slowly, deliberately, I closed the distance between us. I reached for the only other chair in the room, its legs scraping loudly against the stone floor as I dragged it closer and placed it directly in front of him.
Then I sat.
Marcus’s eyes never left .
I wasn’t afraid of him. Not even for a mont. River had made sure he was secured well enough that even the strongest wolf wouldn’t break free. The silver chains, the bindings... they were thorough. Professional.
Letting out a quiet breath, I leaned forward slightly and let my eyes roam over him.
He wasn’t broken beyond recognition. Not beaten bloody. But he had clearly taken hits.
A cut marred his brow, crusted and red. His cheek bore a fresh scrape, his lower lip split. Bruises blood along his bare arms - dark purples and sickly yellows - while scratches traced angry lines across his skin. His wrists were the worst of it... raw, bruised, bleeding in places where silver had bitten into flesh.
And I could feel it.
Whatever they were feeding him... it wasn’t normal.
Sothing laced into his als suppressed his wolf, dulled its healing.
I sighed softly and raised my hand toward his face.
He flinched again, sharp and instinctive, his breath stuttering as he turned his head away.
I stopped imdiately.
"Relax," I said quietly, my voice calm. "I’m not here to hurt you."
He hesitated.
Then... slowly... his shoulders loosened just a fraction.
It was enough.
I reached out again, gently brushing his hair aside to get a better look at the cut on his brow. It wasn’t deep. Painful, yes... but manageable. My fingers were careful, precise, as I examined him piece by piece.
His cheek was scraped but it had already started to scab. His lip was split. His arms were bruised and scratched from places. His wrists were even worse.
And then there was his left shoulder.
The way he held it unnaturally still. The subtle tremor in his muscles every ti he shifted.
It was clearly dislocated.
"Idiot," I murmured under my breath.
When I finished assessing him, I stood abruptly and walked to the door. Pulling it open, I t River’s stare head-on.
"I need a first aid kit," I said, and watched him arch one of his eyebrows before he dropped a very expected - "No."
I didn’t even blink. "Then I’ll heal him myself."
That got his attention.
His eyes widened just a fraction. "Eva-"
"You either give the kit," I cut in coolly, "or I use my power. Your choice."
For a heartbeat, he just stared at . Then his gaze slid past ... over my shoulder... and landed on Marcus.
The temperature in the room seed to drop.
I felt Marcus flinch behind .
I shot River a warning look, sharp and unyielding.
He exhaled slowly, clearly displeased, before signaling to a nearby warrior. "Get the kit."
Satisfied, I closed the door and returned to my seat.
Marcus watched the entire ti. Not with fear now. But with confusion. Like a lost child watching an adult bend the rules of the world he thought he understood.
The warrior returned within minutes. I took the kit without a word and set to work imdiately.
The next stretch of ti passed in quiet efficiency.
I cleaned his cuts carefully, applied herbal solution that stung but healed, wrapped his wrists to protect them from further damage. Marcus barely made a sound, his jaw clenched, eyes following every movent of my hands.
When it ca ti to fix his shoulder, I paused.
"I need to untie you," I said evenly.
His eyes widened. "You are... not afraid I’ll run?"
I didn’t even look at him as I loosened the restraints. "You can try."
Sothing flickered across his face... sothing like disbelief.
He didn’t move.
Not when his hands were free. Not when pain etched lines into his face as I reset his shoulder with a swift, practiced motion. He hissed, breath shuddering, but he stayed right where he was.
Obedient.
When I tied his hands again - this ti in front of him, looser, more humane - he didn’t resist.
When I finished, I packed up the kit and stood.
I turned toward the door.
"Wait."
His voice stopped .
I turned back slowly, eting his gaze. He looked... different now. Less afraid. More uncertain. Vulnerable in a way I hadn’t expected... but wanted. Needed.
I didn’t ask why he stopped . I simply waited.
His fingers tightened around the chain binding his wrists, his knuckles whitening. "Can we... talk?"
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