He pushes off the wall with easy grace and steps forward, closing some of the distance between us. “Look, I may not be the most upstanding guy, and I'm the first to admit that. If we had more time, I could tell you all my sins and watch you make adorably offended expressions—”
“Hey!”
“Let's cut to the chase.” Marlow’s unwavering gaze locks onto mine with sudden intensity. “I didn't kill anyone.”
“It’s true,” Iggy pipes up. “He never even met the victim.”
“Why should I believe you?” I whisper. “Don't say it's because we're mates.”
“Because it's true.”
Then why didn't he mention being innocent before? Awfully convenient to add that detail now that he’s trying to convince me we’re meant to be. Then again, why divulge his shady businesspractices and lack of ethics when he could have kept quiet about everything that makes him look guilty?
Every instinct is warring with itself. My gut screams at me to trust him despite everything. Is this why I believed his ruse when we first talked, some innate sense of our connection? Or is that wishful thinking, a convenient excuse to soothe my ego after being such an idiot? My brain begs me not to be so stupidly naive. Don’t make the same mistake twice.
This time… this time my brain wins.
I don’t say anything else. I spin on my heel and walk away.
~
Wynn
When I enter the dungeon, my muscles are tight and tense like I’m expecting a prison riot.
Yet everything is calm when I step inside. Marlow sprawls out on the stone slab, his arms propped up behind his head. The stone can’t be comfortable, but he looks almost peaceful. His eyes are closed, and the little gargoyle snoozes on his chest.
They're not adorable. They're absolutely not.
I edge toward the corner where the empty plate and silverware sit. Trying not to disturb them, I pick everything up and turn, inching away…
“Wait,” he says.
I freeze. Damn. “What do you want now?”
“Saved you a cookie.”
He only ate one, leaving an extra. He holds it out toward me when I turn around.
“No thanks.”
“It’ll go to waste if you don’t eat it,” he reasons.
“A cookie won’t convince me that anything you’re saying is true.”
He rolls his eyes. “It’s just a cookie, Wynn.”
Something shifts inside me—some strange reaction as I realize this is the first time he’s said my name. Since focusing on what this reaction is or what it means will surely lead to madness, I cross the space between us and reach for the cookie.
Marlow lifts the gargoyle off his chest with both hands, cradling the tiny creature as he sits up. He transfers Iggy to the slab in a practiced movement, something he's done countless times.
“You don’t like snickerdoodles?” I wonder.
“They're fine. Figure you like them more.”
“They're fine.” Certainly not my favorite or anything... Except they totally are. The excitement of the new prisoner means I’ve been scurrying to my family’s place for supplies and then rushing out again. I never even grabbed a cookie for myself.
Marlow saving a treat for me doesn’t change my opinion. It's an obvious ploy. The cookie sits in his palm, tempting me to make a move.
