Four

"Was someone following you?" Here we go again.

"I don’t know."

"Then why did you run?" The same question would only get him the same answer.

"I already told you that I was hitchhiking, and the last person left me on the side of the road since he was going the opposite way. I continued walking until I felt someone behind me; it was dark and I couldn’t see anything. I might have been followed, but it was too dark."

"So you ran into the woods?"

"Yes." I’m beginning to lose my patience with this man. He had been driving me for the last hour, asking the same question and getting the same answers. He wasn’t satisfied. He wanted me to mess up, but I had already made up my story. Why I was hitchhiking Where I was coming from and where I was going It all added up; he had no reason to think I was lying, but all hot blood was the same. We didn’t trust anyone we didn’t know.

I wouldn’t trust myself.

"Look, I’m exhausted and in pain." "Just point me in the right direction, and I will leave."

He leaned back on his chair, his face a mask, no emotions whatsoever; his eyes still wore the same hard look they had when they first met. This man was not backing down, and neither was I.

"I’m sorry. You can’t leave."

"Why?"

"Because I said so." What messed up the answer was that.

"But I need to leave."

"What for? You just told me you were an orphan. No one is waiting for you."

No one was waiting for Lyanna Black. Now, Yelena will have a debriefing in a few days. or, in its defect, show signs of life so no one would worry about her whereabouts.

Curiosity killed the cat—or dog—in this case. Now, from the looks of it, I had to stay put until she said otherwise. He didn’t offer more explanations, and I didn’t push for more. Then the click on the lock was loud enough to wake a prisoner. This situation I was in was laughable. Only I could have gotten into this type of situation. I am handing myself over to the opposite band on a silver platter, I must add. Mother would kill me if she found out. We had been in conflict for a long time. Any mishaps have been handled with extra care, and with me being here, a field investigator—not to say a spy—would rile things up pretty quickly, which is why I need to keep my shit together, lie until my brain bleeds, and hope that they can’t tie me to my pack. The stakes were high, and I couldn't afford to make any mistakes. I had to play my cards right if I wanted to leave this place the same way I came—alive.

Days two and three were much of the same. Locked up in the same room, he was allowed to bathe, was fed, and was offered clothes, followed by more questioning. He got the same lies and a bonus, along with a few sad tears, and like any other male, he got irritated by them and left.

I decided I didn’t like the hand-me-downs, so I took the extra-large sweaters and cotton briefs and used them as my prisoner garments. The socks kept my feet warm. Winter was coming upon us in just a few days, which meant that going back to the reserve was going to be a little tricky. The path to it gets covered by snow, then the lake freezes.

I was on foot, and my only way of communicating was through my cellphone, which had been taken away and most likely inspected by some computer wiz. It was unlikely that they would find anything; it wasn’t encrypted, but all my contacts were the basic kind. It wouldn’t tie me up with anything suspicious.

"You don’t like your food?" Ask the same woman who had been assigned to take care of me.

"I don’t eat meat." Another lie. Playing with my food is something I've seen them do, so mimicking boredom in the same way would probably make me more believable.

"We don’t waste food here." God, her voice was so high, it was annoying. Like nails to a chalkboard. I tried to hide my annoyance and continued to push the food around on my plate, hoping that she would eventually leave me alone. However, her constant reminders about wasting food only made me feel more guilty about not wanting to eat it.

"What can I say? I don’t eat anything with a face." I looked away, not wanting to see her shocked expression, knowing quite well how good meat tastes. The smell of the overcooked pieces they were offering me was heaven on a plate.

"A prisoner who thinks she has a choice" Her condescending tone was starting to irritate me. She had been taunting me since day one. Snarky remarks and talking down to me were typical MOs from a high-family staff. They usually thought everyone was beneath them. I had no idea why she was here, but from the looks of her well-kept appearance, she had some type of status in this household.

"I’m not a prisoner."

She laughed, "Well, can you go outside?"

"No," I said after a few seconds, coming to terms with my reality.

"Well, that sounds like a prisoner to me." That said, she proceeded to take the tray and started moving towards the door like she was on some sort of catwalk, leaving me once again all alone. I sighed, knowing that my situation was not that different from a prisoner's. But at least prisoners have the hope of release, while I was stuck in this room with no end in sight.

The carpet had muffled her bullet-like steps on the other side of the door. Hating her had nothing to do with the fact that she was a major b*tch; the situation made us rivals, and yes, I was in her territory. Her pretty blond curls would look pretty great wrapped around my fist while I broke that upturned nose of hers. I would take my sweet time slamming her all around the room. Too bad I had to pretend I was anything but her kind. She was a full werewolf; I could tell by the way she smelled. It was very particular.

Going through his belongings was no longer fun; there wasn’t anything important or interesting inside this bedroom. The computer was password protected, and the few drawers that had been locked contained files that held nothing relevant.

My conclusion is that anything that was important to him was not inside this bedroom.