Chapter 9

9

" S ounds like things are going well down there," Dad comments as I emerge from the basement, shutting the door behind me to block off the sound of the Luna's angry screams.

I give him a withering look and he beckons me with a flick of his head, prompting me to follow him through the open-plan kitchen and living room in the back of the house and out through the glass French doors to the patio.

Before this place was converted into a Guild safehouse, it was obviously used as some rich fuck's vacation home. The back patio is designed for entertaining, complete with an outdoor kitchen, ample seating, and a firepit surrounded by decorative stone pavers. Dad and I sink down onto a pair of heavy wooden Adirondack chairs circling the firepit and I lean back with a sigh, stabbing my fingers through my thick curly hair.

"Get anything useful yet?" he asks, arching a brow in my direction.

I give a quick shake of my head. "Still working on it," I mutter. "Haven't even gotten to the actual interrogation yet."

"She putting up a fight? "

"Like you wouldn't believe."

I continue carding my fingers through my hair as I turn to glance through the windows into the back of the house, that itchy, unsettled feeling coming over me again. Several soldiers are occupying the couches in the living room, kicked back like they don't have a care in the world. Must be nice.

"Hm," Dad muses, quietly considering. "Be on guard with this one. She's a high-profile target for a reason, son. You shouldn't underestimate her."

I snort a laugh. Don't I know it.

I'm not sure what I expected when I asked to take point on our prisoner, but now that I've spent some time around her, I'm re-thinking how I should approach this. I originally figured I'd just scare some information out of her by making idle threats, but violence doesn't deter the little beastie. It excites her. When she tried to run and I forcibly restrained her, I could feel the way her pulse quickened and hear the way her breath stuttered. Whether consciously or not, her body responded like it thrilled her.

Maybe she's got a fear kink. But if that's the case, then I must, too- because that whole interaction made my dick hard before she even took her clothes off.

Fuck , that body . I told myself I wasn't going to look when she was in the shower, but I couldn't help it, and now I wish I hadn't because the image of her naked and dripping is permanently imprinted in my memory. Her smooth, sunkissed skin, her full, perky tits… goddamn, those tits are fucking huge on her slender frame, and her tiny pink nipples were hard as diamonds beneath the cold shower spray. I'd already seen her floral tattoo sleeve on her right arm, but she's also got a floral thigh piece on the opposite side that climbs up and wraps around her hip, accentuating her already dangerous curves. Between her doll-like face, that incredible body, and her badass ink, she's the hottest thing I've ever fucking seen .

She knows it, too. Luna wields her sexuality like a damn weapon, and for a second, she almost got me. Almost.

Thank fuck I came to my senses and got out of there before I did something I'd live to regret. No matter how attractive she is, I have to remember that she's not a person. She's a monster. Just like a siren aiming to lure unsuspecting men to their demise, she's obviously angling to trick me into letting my guard down so I'll slip up and leave her an opening to escape.

Good thing I'm just as adept in psychological warfare.

"What's our deadline here?" I ask, swiping a hand over my chin as I turn to face my dad again. "How far out are our reinforcements?"

We can't even consider making another move on this pack of werewolves until they arrive. The failed mission on the night of the full moon culled almost half our ranks, and we'd be idiots to make another attempt without learning from our prior mistakes.

"At least another week," Dad mutters in response, his irritated tone telling me just how thrilled he is with that timeline. We're all itching to retaliate for the losses we sustained during the last mission, but we haven't built up The Guild over the last decade only to destroy it now. We can't allow emotion to cloud our judgment. We need to play this smart and stay on guard, because there's no room for another failure.

"I'm sure I can get something by then," I state confidently. "She won't give up anything easily, but I have a few ideas of how to play this."

He shrugs a shoulder, seemingly lost in thought. "Take your time."

My brows lift in surprise. Jonathan Knox has a reputation for being ruthless when it comes to extracting information from captives, so if he's encouraging me to play the long game here, then he must have something else up his sleeve. Which reminds me that I still need to brush up on his original plan. Before I can ask him about it, though, he continues, getting to the real reason he brought me out here to chat.

"We got another tip-off about that pack near Denver that keeps evading us."

I sit up straighter, my interest piqued. "Verified?"

He gives a little shake of his head. "Not yet, but the Delta team is headed out tonight to confirm. I don't want to split our focus again, so if the info's good, we'll wipe out the pack up north, then head there. I want to be ready to move by the time our reinforcements arrive."

I drum my fingers against the wooden armrest of my chair, mulling it over. The werewolves in Denver have been on our radar since the beginning. The Guild's first successful mission resulted in killing off a handful of them, but the rest seemingly went into hiding afterwards, so we were forced to move on. We caught a lucky break when we returned to Colorado this year and picked off a couple more before they went dark again, and we've been biding our time with this pack up north until we could get more solid intel to carry out another mission there. A pack that we located based off a random tip and vastly underestimated.

"Keep me posted," I finally say, assuming he'll be with Delta team to verify the intel. The Denver missions have always seemed personal for him, probably because they're the only ones we haven't been able to successfully complete.

Well, until recently, that is. Now we've also got a vendetta against the northern Colorado pack, and that one's personal to all of us.

"Same to you," Dad sighs, pushing out of his chair. "Set a strategy meeting for tomorrow afternoon?"

"Yeah, I'll have…" I catch myself before I say Ben's name, abruptly snapping my mouth shut. I was about to say I'd have him get a message out to the team leads, like he always did, but dead men can't arrange meetings. "Fuck," I groan, scrubbing a hand over my face .

Dad steps over to where I'm still seated, setting a hand on my shoulder and gazing down at me with sympathy.

"It's fine," I grumble, shrugging his hand off. "I'll get it set."

He nods, taking the hint that I don't want to talk about it and turning away to head back inside. I hear the patio door open and close as I lean forward in my chair, resting my elbows on my knees and burying my face in my hands.

We never should've split up for the full moon. I had a bad feeling about heading south with my dad while Ben and Miller took their teams up north that night, but I kept it to myself. We hadn't seen any real action for a while, so Dad thought the best play was to divide and conquer; try to hit two packs at once and hope to finally get some results. I was so checked out that I didn't raise any objections. I didn't even recognize how flawed the plan was until it was too late.

We should've scouted more before going in. Should've known not to underestimate their numbers. Instead, all we could do was listen in on our comms as everything went to shit, knowing we were too far away to do anything about it. There was no way to save them.

Twenty-one men went out on that mission, and none of them made it back alive. In the history of The Guild, we've never sustained casualties like that, and the only thing keeping me going now is the belief that my best friend's death won't be in vain.

I'll slaughter them all myself if I have to. For Ben .

It's no surprise that thinking of the full moon massacre sent me spiraling again. I'd planned to interrogate our prisoner this afternoon, but instead wound up hiding out in my room for the rest of the day, drowning my sorrows with vodka. Ben had a stash of Russian vodka that we used to shoot to celebrate successful missions, so it seemed appropriate to raid the cache beneath his bed and drink the stuff in his memory. It's not like he's coming back for it.

My dad stopped by a few hours ago to tell me he was heading out with the Delta team, and the dull rumble of chatter from those who were left behind died out not long after. Even the Luna's fast asleep, curled up on the cot in her cell and using the towel I threw in there as a blanket. Watching her on the video feed has become my newest hobby. I could've dragged my ass out of my room and gone down to visit her at any point, but it's much more interesting to observe people when they're alone. That's when they drop their guard and show their true selves.

Though I might've actually chipped away at her armor earlier, judging by the drastic change in her behavior. Rather than furiously pacing her cell all day, continuing her futile search for a way out, she's just been laying there sulking.

Maybe I've already broken her?

The wave of disappointment that ripples through me at that thought takes me by surprise, because breaking her down was supposed to be my objective. I should be glad that I accomplished it so soon. Instead, I'm like a kid regretting breaking their new toy before they really got a chance to play with it, wondering if there's a way to salvage the pieces.

The pounding headache that I've been fighting off for days suddenly intensifies, prompting me to snap my laptop closed and finally leave my room in search of something else to drink. I should've passed out by now after taking down an entire bottle of vodka. Though with as much as I've been drinking lately, it stands to reason that I've developed a tolerance.

My bare feet slap against the hardwood as I make my way through the dark hallway of the cabin and into the kitchen, skirting around the island to get to the fridge. I pull it open and grab a beer from inside the door, my gaze catching on the grey plastic tray resting on the middle shelf inside the refrigerator as I go to swing it closed.

Shit. I forgot to feed her.

Clutching the neck of the beer bottle in one hand, I reach in to pick up the tray with the other, chewing my lip absently as I check out what Matty prepared for my beastie. In addition to the usual stack of crackers, there's sliced cheese, deli meat, and a slightly bruised apple. It's basically an adult Lunchable. Not gourmet cuisine by any means, but definitely a step up from what she's been given thus far.

It's pushing two a.m., so I should probably just let her sleep. Then again, she was the one who opened the door for the use of psychological warfare. Feeding her at unpredictable times will mess with her mind. Or maybe I'm just looking for an excuse to go downstairs and see her in the flesh.

Tucking my unopened beer beneath my arm, I add a bottle of water to the tray and nudge the fridge door closed with an elbow, heading for the basement. I may not be drunk enough to pass out yet, but it's still a feat to balance the tray while keying in the door code. Somehow I manage to pull it off, opening the door, snagging the keys from the hook inside, and descending the stairs in the dark.

I probably should've turned the lights on, but I'm more comfortable in the dark. My demons prefer it. The windows in the cells must be giving off a decent amount of illumination from the moon, because I have no trouble navigating my way down the stairs to the Luna's cell. She's still laying on the cot when I approach the bars, curled on her side in the fetal position with the towel tucked around her body.

I just stand there for a moment looking in at her, debating whether I should wake her or just leave the tray and go. I'm still frozen in indecision when she shifts her weight slightly on the cot and I hear her speak.

"If you're here to gloat, save it," she mumbles, her voice raspy. "I'm gonna get out of here, and when I do, you're all dead."

My heart trips over its valves, an odd sensation of guilt creeping in despite the fact that she's openly threatening me. Because even knowing what she is- knowing full well that she's an inhuman monster- right now, she just seems like a sad girl.

I clench my jaw as I stare at her through the thick steel bars, recalling my thought from this morning.

"You wanna know what pretty birds and feral beasts have in common?" I ask rhetorically, eyes fixed on her unmoving form. "They're both better off in cages."

Luna pushes up to a sitting position, turning at the waist to face me. Even though the darkness, her eyes blaze with defiance, that spark still very much alive and well when they meet mine. "Where's your cage, then?" she scoffs.

"In my mind," I deadpan.

She stares at me for a long moment, squinting like she's trying to see beneath my skin. Then she finally breaks eye contact, shaking her head with a sigh. "Just go away," she whispers.

"I think you're forgetting who has the power here," I murmur as I fit the key into the lock of the cell door, pushing it open just enough to drop her tray on the ground inside.

"Being on that side of the bars doesn't make you more powerful," she mutters as she watches me warily.

"Maybe not," I shrug as I straighten and pull the door closed again. "But you being trapped in there makes you less."

Her lips twist in a scowl, hands fisting the towel like she wants to rip it to shreds. "If your endgame is to kill me, then just get it over with," she snaps, glaring daggers at me as I re-lock the cell and pocket the key.

"Giving up so soon?" I remark, arching a brow as I start backing away from the bars. "And here I thought you had more fire in you than that. "

"You don't know a damn thing about me," she snarls.

"I know you probably thought your precious Alpha would come for you by now." I drop into the folding chair as soon as I feel the brush of the metal seat against the backs of my calves, pulling my beer bottle out from beneath my arm. "What would he think if he knew you were throwing yourself at me earlier?"

"I was not ," she huffs, clearly offended by my recollection even though that's exactly what happened.

I chuckle softly to myself. "So, you're a liar, then. Noted ."

She balls up the towel in her hands, chucking it at the bars. "Fuck you!"

"I thought we already established I have no interest in fucking you?" I fire back, smirking.

She glares at me for a long moment. "Now who's the liar?"

Fair point. If we'd met in any other situation and I didn't know what she was, I definitely would've tried to get in her pants. She's hot as fuck and twice as spicy; I love a girl who can hold her own in a verbal sparring match. This Luna is a rare find in more ways than one.

As it is, though, I just shake my head, twisting the cap off my beer and tossing it on the floor. It clinks against the concrete as it rolls away from sight while I raise the bottle to my lips and take a swig.

"Got one of those for me?" she boldly asks as I lower my beer, wiping my mouth off on a forearm.

"What do you think this is, a luxury resort?" I scoff.

"With this kind of service?" Luna tilts her head, scrunching up her nose. "Nah, zero out of ten, do not recommend."

I roll my eyes, taking another pull from my beer bottle.

"Drinking alone is just sad," she comments, curling her hands in her lap and inspecting her fingernails absently. They were painted hot pink when she arrived, but most of the polish has chipped off since. "Then again, you probably don't have friends to drink with, considering how warm and fuzzy your personality is."

"Shut up," I mutter.

Her gaze darts up to meet mine again, plush lips curving in a smirk and her big brown doe-eyes sparkling with devious intent. "Ooh, I hit the nail on the head, didn't I?" she remarks, her tone dripping with snark. "Poor lonely hunter doesn't have any friends. Or are they just all dead now? I suppose we did take out a lot of your people last full moon…"

I tighten my fist around my beer bottle, jolting to my feet.

How fucking dare she bring up Ben?

"Ooh, whatcha gonna do, big man?" she taunts, her self-satisfied smirk deepening. "You wanna hit me?"

I grind my molars, glaring at her icily through the bars.

I know exactly what she's trying to do. I know she's aiming to provoke me so I'll act on impulse, charging in there half-cocked and sloppy drunk, thereby giving her an opportunity to escape. And even though I'm well aware of her intentions, here I am, falling for her tricks. Because she's just inadvertently stumbled upon the one thing that can set me off in an instant.

Drawing a measured breath, I release it on a slow exhale, shoving my rage back into the cage in my mind and carefully locking it away as I regain my composure. Then I lift my beer bottle to my mouth and take another swig, swallowing it down and licking the residue from my lips.

"Typically, I don't believe in violence against women," I say coolly, meeting her stare once again. "But you're not a woman, are you, beastie?"

She rolls her eyes, flipping her long blonde hair over a shoulder. "I think you're well aware of what I've got between my legs. You stared long enough earlier."

I make a scoffing sound in my throat. "I was supervising, nothing more."

"Yeah right," she snickers, lifting her chin haughtily. " Women are by far the superior gender. Flash a tit and men lose all sense."

I take a threatening step toward her, lowering my voice an octave. "You talk a big game for someone behind bars."

"This is all just temporary," she replies confidently. "Your days are numbered, Warden."

My brows shoot up. "As if yours aren't?"

She shrugs, looking smug as fuck. "We'll see."

Even though I'm the one with all the power here, that wicked expression is fucking unnerving. It has me questioning everything I know, wondering if I'm missing something.

I'm nowhere near sober enough for these mind games.

Downing the rest of my beer, I flip her the bird and turn to head for the stairs. Because I can leave, and she can't. I'm the one in control.

Before ascending the steps, I pause to look back toward Luna's cell, finding her watching after me.

"You'd better be ready to share something tomorrow," I say with a sharp edge of threat to my tone. "You haven't even begun to suffer, but if you keep pushing me, you will."

Her plush lips twist in a scowl, but I start up the stairs before she has a chance to respond, an aching hollowness taking root inside me with every step of retreat.