The cold dungeon air clung to his skin like death itself.
Torchlight flickered on the damp stone walls, casting shadows over the figure chained behind the rusted bars.
She drew shaky breaths, her body marked with bruises.
Yet when she lifted her face to him, she still tried to smile.
"You should not be here," she whispered, voice hoarse from crying.
He gripped the bars until his knuckles turned white.
"How could you keep this from me?"
His voice broke, thick with anger and heartbreak.
Tears slid down his cheeks before he could stop them.
"If I had told you," she whispered, "you would have chosen me… instead of your pack."
He trembled and stepped closer, pressing his forehead to the iron bars, wishing he could reach her.
"You think I care about them more than you?"
"You must," she breathed.
Pain and something deeper, fear, showed in her eyes.
"If he finds out you came here… he'll kill you.
You know he will."
He felt his wolf stir inside, golden light flickering in his eyes.
"Let him try."
"No," she cried out, shaking her head. "Please, listen to me this once. I can handle the pain. But if he harms you because of me..."
"I'm not leaving you."
The words came out as a growl.
"I'll tear this place apart stone by stone if I have to."
She let out a sob.
She lifted a trembling hand through the bars until her fingertips brushed his palm.
"There's something else," she whispered.
He froze, his breath caught in his throat.
"I didn't tell you because I was afraid," she said. "Afraid of what he would do to you… and to our child.
"He felt his world stop."
…our what?"Her lips quivered.
"Our baby."
For a moment, everything went silent: the torches, the dripping water, even his own heartbeat.
He took a shaky breath, a tear sliding from his jaw onto her hand.
He wrapped his fingers around hers, holding on as if she were the only thing keeping him going.
"I swear," he murmured, voice breaking as his wolf pushed forward, "I'm getting you out of here."
He pressed his forehead to hers through the bars.
"And I will protect you both. Whatever it costs."
Her chains rattled as she tried not to sob.
"It will cost your life,"
she whispered.
He closed his eyes.
"Then so be it."
*****
The sun rose over Monday traffic in Crescent Heights, turning everything gold. Horns blared as drivers fought for space. Jane sat in her old car, sighed, and turned off the engine.
It was half-past eight, and she could already imagine her boss, Mr. Gihls, getting annoyed. He never tolerated lateness, and today she had no excuse or story to offer.
In her side mirror, a group of bikers wove through the cars, black leather jackets and helmets making them stand out.
Their engines rumbled, almost in sync with each other, unlike the chaotic traffic. When they stopped in front of her car, Jane read the words on their jackets: "Ride or Die."
These bikers clearly followed their own rules. The cars ahead finally moved, and Jane started her engine, snapping back to the moment.
She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. Dark circles stood out under her green eyes, a sign of a weekend with little sleep. Makeup couldn't hide how tired she looked.
She wondered if anyone else could tell.
She had spent the whole weekend working on a story for the City Newspaper, but she knew Mr. Gihls would criticize it if it wasn't perfect. The fear of letting him down weighed on her.
Jane tucked her auburn hair behind her ear and gripped the wheel. As soon as traffic cleared, she drove off. Her car's worn tires matched her mood: exhausted but still moving.
A little after nine, she hurried into the newspaper office. The smell of old coffee and ink filled the air. Mark, her partner, waited with a hot cup of coffee.
"You're beyond late, Jane," Mark said, handing her the cup with a knowing look.
"You're beginning to sound like Mr. Gihls," she replied with a chuckle, grateful for the caffeine.
"Did you get his 'big Monday news' ready?" he asked, his tone teasing but with an edge of curiosity.
"We both know there's no big news," she sighed, disappointment and worry flickering across her face as she took a sip of coffee.
"The city has been so boring and quiet. Nothing much is going on around here," she admitted, frustration showing beneath her attempt at casual conversation.
"Well, we both know how this will end, Jane," he said as they reached the boss's office door. He gave her a small, sympathetic smile.
"I'll be waiting in our office," he added before walking away, leaving Jane to face the inevitable alone.
After the short but predictably harsh meeting with Mr. Gihls, Jane left his office, almost depressed at her failure.
Anxiety hung over her.
She adjusted her posture, tucked her white shirt into her jeans, smoothed out the wrinkles, and adjusted her blazer, making sure it looked right. The routine helped her feel a little more in control, even if she wasn't sure she was.
Mark looked up as she walked back into their shared office, his expression curious. "What'd he say?" he asked, though he probably already knew the answer.
"What do you think he said?" she sighed. "He thinks the story is shit and asked me to get him something that'll get people talking for the rest of the week."
Mark threw his head back and laughed, his amusement echoing through the large office. He brushed his sandy blonde hair out of his teary blue eyes.
Mark was the kind of guy most women admired: slender but masculine, quick-witted, and with an easy confidence that made him seem well-off, or at least he always smelled like it.
Usually, he wore his shirt with three buttons undone, a casual way of ignoring formality. Except for days like today, when he wore a tie.
"If you keep laughing like that, I'll ask Mr. Gihls to let me share an office with Carrie instead," Jane threatened, though there was no real heat behind her words.
"Oh, I didn't know you two were best friends now," he teased, still laughing.
Jane tossed a pen at him in response, but he dodged it easily, his laughter contagious. Soon, she was laughing too, even with the pressure of her next story hanging over her.
That evening, Jane drove through Maplewoods with the 6 p.m. news on the radio. This part of the city felt completely different from Crescent Heights. The streets were quiet, with only a few cars and people around.
The smell of street food filled the air. Shops lined the streets, their neon signs flickering as night came. Bakeries, mechanics, and flower shops all added to Maplewood's friendly feel. Jane had grown up here, where everyone knew each other and secrets didn't last.
Two years ago, she left to become a journalist, hoping to tell the stories of people from her old neighborhood.
Jane parked in front of a shop with a large coffee sign hanging above the door. The shop had always been a staple in the community, a place where people gathered to catch up on the latest gossip over a cup of freshly brewed coffee. As she walked in, the familiar sound of the bell above the door greeted her.
The lady behind the counter, her mother, moved with practiced ease as she brewed a fresh pot of coffee. She looked up as Jane entered, smiling warmly, surprise in her eyes.
"I wasn't expecting you today," her mother said, turning back to the coffee machine.
"I'll always make time for you, Mum," Jane replied, stepping forward to give her a quick hug.
She glanced around the shop, noting that most of the customers were regulars. Among them was the mysterious man who had been visiting for the past two months.
He always sat by the window with a cup of black coffee, no sugar. His attention fixated on the book he was reading.
Something about him drew Jane in, beyond his dark hair, sharp jawline, and the way his skin caught the sunlight. He had an air of mystery, as if there was more to him than she could see.
"Stop staring," her mum chuckled, noticing where Jane's attention had wandered.
"I'm not," Jane quickly denied, tearing her gaze away from the man.
"C'mon, Bobu, get an apron and help me out."
"Mum, that name is really embarrassing for a woman my age," Jane protested, though she smiled as she said it. "Where's Carl, anyway?"
"We're short on milk supply, so he went to get some from The Hunkins farm. Usually, we would get some from the Ketles, but Jenny hasn't been seen in days. Her old man was here the other day looking for her."
She sighed, "Poor girl kept the farm running."
"Jenny Ketles?" Jane asked, a slight frown creasing her brow.
"Yes, she's made things easier for us here the past year, supplying milk door to door," her mum said, reaching up to grab a container of coffee beans from the top cabinet.
"Let me help you," Jane insisted, stepping forward to reach for the container herself.
"You have to be careful," her mum warned, her tone suddenly serious.
"I'm taller now, Mum," Jane laughed, dismissing her concern as she handed the container over.
That's not what I meant," her mum said, pausing as she wiped down the reception table. She hesitated for a moment before speaking again.
"Rumor has it that werewolves are back in Maplewoods." Her voice dropped, adding weight to the words.
"You remember the stories, right? In some parts of the world, they're just myths or folklore. But here in Maplewoods, we know better. Some think they're merely an urban myth, while others believe in an uneasy coexistence and an unspoken pact between humans and werewolves not to cross certain lines. But if the rumors are true, these creatures aren't just stories. They could be a real threat to the community, like they were years ago."