Chapter 11

11

I wake up in a cold sweat, my head pounding in agony. Typically after drinking all day and night, I completely black out and wake up some eight hours later with a vicious hangover. I didn't black out last night, though. I dreamed . But I'm still hung over as fuck if this splitting headache is anything to go by.

Rolling over in bed with a groan, I paw for my laptop on my nightstand, pulling it onto my lap and flipping open the lid. The light from the screen immediately assaults my retinas and I hiss in a breath through my teeth, the stabbing pain in my head intensifying. Squeezing my eyes closed, I place my fingers on the keyboard and type in my passcode from muscle memory, giving myself a few more seconds to actually wake up before re-opening them and logging into The Guild's surveillance program.

Just like I have upon waking each morning since she arrived, I begin my day by bringing up the video feed of Luna's cell. More and more, I've been allowing my hand to gravitate to my morning wood as I observe her on the screen, knowing full well how goddamn masochistic it is to stroke my dick to her image, yet unable to stop myself from doing it. Day by day, my obsessive tendencies are slowly driving me to madness.

Fuck. I slide my hand into my boxers, my cock instantly thickening beneath my palm at the sight of my little beastie going through the motions of her morning workout. She's currently on the floor doing crunches. Her shirt is tied up again, bare stomach slick with sweat and her sculpted ab muscles bunching and flexing with every rep. Some guys prefer their women soft and pliable, but I've never seen the allure of easy prey. I live for the thrill of the hunt.

Wrapping my hand around my girth, I run my thumb over the tip, smearing a bead of precum over the velvety skin while I watch the video feed with rapt attention. She makes crunches look effortless, her movements practiced and fluid. I lazily start stroking myself in time with each rise and fall of her body, then pick up the pace as my mind drifts back to just how fucking good it felt to get my hands on her during our little wrestling match yesterday.

She's scrappy, I'll give her that. I wasn't expecting her to put up as much of a fight as she did, nor did I think she'd be able to catch me with a punch straight to the nose. Is it weird that it turned me on a little? Most men aren't able to go toe to toe with me, yet she didn't miss a beat. Color me impressed.

My breath comes out in short pants as I fuck my hand harder to the memory of her pinned beneath me, eyes filled with fire and fury, and my orgasm starts barreling down on me in record speed. Then movement on my computer screen catches my attention as Luna rolls over onto her stomach to start in on a round of push-ups, and the sight of that perfectly round ass is what does me in. I sink my teeth into my lower lip to stifle a groan, body shuddering as sticky ropes of cum land on my lower abs.

As soon as the euphoria of release passes, self-loathing sets in. I lean over to grab a discarded t-shirt from the floor and clean up the mess on my stomach, then proceed to go about business as usual, as if that didn't just fucking happen. As if I didn't just come harder than a teenage virgin at the memory of being punched in the face by a girl I'm supposed to despise.

No. Not a girl. A werewolf. A supernatural monster.

How many times do I have to remind myself that before it'll finally sink in?

Closing out of the video feed, I log onto our encrypted e-mail server to check my messages, skimming through the daily reports from each of our teams. It's admittedly something I've been slacking on, in part due to the fact that Ben isn't here to read through them for me and give me the highlights like he used to. There isn't anything of significance in the reports, so I quickly move on to the message board, finding nothing new there, either.

Lastly, I run through a cursory check of The Guild's accounts, making sure everything's in order with our finances. We just received a big donation from another ‘anonymous' backer to fund the reinforcements we have coming, but other than that, there hasn't been any change. Despite me falling behind on everything over the past two weeks while drunk off my ass, it's all status quo.

Snapping my laptop shut, I finally peel myself out of bed and go about getting ready for the day. The moment I step foot in my bathroom, I cringe at the sight of my face in the mirror- or rather, at the mess of dried blood flaking off my skin from the shot I took to the nose. Fuck, the other guys are gonna give me so much shit for getting punched by a girl. I crank on the tap, bending over to wash my face, but when I straighten and look at my reflection again, I'm pleasantly surprised to find that there isn't any visible bruising.

Huh. Guess that punch didn't land as hard as I thought. Small victories, right?

After taking a few minutes to scrub up and make myself presentable, I finally emerge from my room to head for the kitchen, spotting my dad pouring himself a cup of coffee at the counter. He glances up as I approach, arching a brow. "Coffee?"

I jerk a nod, glancing toward the living room as I hop up to sit on the counter while he grabs a second mug from the cabinet. A few of our soldiers are already awake, lounging on the sofas and chatting amongst themselves.

"Given any thought to training with Bravo team today?" Dad asks me as he hands my coffee over. He's been on me about getting back in the swing of things with my team and was less than subtle about it over dinner last night.

I grunt in affirmation as I take it from him. "Yeah, I'll be there."

His brows lift in surprise.

"What?"

"Nothing, just glad to see you're finally coming out on the other side of this," he muses, taking a tentative sip from the black ceramic mug in his hand. He makes a face when it burns his tongue, cursing under his breath and setting it back down on the counter.

I roll my eyes at his comment, placing my own cup down beside me so I don't make the same mistake he just did.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, son," he tacks on. "It took me a good month to get past Rixby's death."

"I remember."

"Then again, we weren't in the middle of a mission like we are currently."

"What are you trying to say?" I grumble, more than a little irritated that he's choosing now to harp on me for slacking off. We're talking in low enough voices that I doubt the guys in the other room can overhear, but I'd still rather not discuss this out in the open. It's not a good look for my position of authority over them.

"Nothing," he murmurs with a shake of his head. "It's a good time for you to rejoin us, that's all. "

"I never left."

Dad gives me a stern look, lifting his mug again. "You know what I mean."

I resist the urge to snap at him, instead distracting myself by picking up my own coffee and taking a big sip. Tastes like shit without whiskey, honestly. I make a face, setting it back on the counter and sliding off, landing on my feet and stepping past my dad to head for the fridge.

I stop in my tracks halfway there, swiveling back to face my old man again as I suddenly recall one of the details from my dream last night.

"Hey, you remember Woofie?" I ask.

He nods. Then again, it was sort of a rhetorical question.

‘Woofie' was this little wolf stuffed animal that he bought me when I was a kid. My mom had gone away to visit some dying relative, so it was just the two of us for a couple of weeks, and he softened the blow of her absence by taking me to the toy store and letting me pick out anything I wanted. I scoped out the whole place and somehow landed on that plushie.

I fucking loved it; took it everywhere with me while Mom was away. Then she got back, and as soon as she saw me cuddling Woofie she freaked out. My four-year-old brain couldn't comprehend why she'd be so upset over a stuffed toy, and it was fucking traumatic when she ripped it out of my hands and threw it away. I dug Woofie out of the trash only for there to be another ugly scene when she found him in my room again a week later.

I haven't thought about it in years, but for some reason, that damn stuffed animal made an appearance in my strange as fuck dream last night.

"It makes sense now, why Mom was always so weird about wolves," I muse, swiping a hand over my chin. "Y'know, she used to tell me bedtime stories about them sometimes."

Dad dips his head in acknowledgment. "I remember that, too." He gets a far-off look in his eyes, smiling fondly at the memory. "I used to think Em just had a wild imagination."

"That's probably why I picked out Woofie in the first place," I suggest, leaning a hip against the counter and drumming my fingers against the granite surface absently. "Probably subconsciously associated the wolf with her and wanted to feel close to her while she was gone."

He shrugs a shoulder. "Probably." A soft buzz sounds from his pocket and he reaches a hand in to slide his phone out smoothly, glancing down at the screen. "I've gotta take this," he mumbles, turning away and heading for the doors to the back patio.

I watch after him for a moment as he steps outside and brings the phone up to his ear, then wander back over to my coffee cup, chancing another sip since I need the caffeine to help relieve this headache. Another swallow only confirms that it tastes like dirt without the addition of whiskey, though. Maybe just a little splash…

"Hey Knox," Matty greets, striding into the kitchen before I have a chance to slyly raid the liquor cabinet. "Are you waiting for the Luna's food? I was just coming in to make it, it'll only take a few minutes."

"Yeah, no rush," I breathe, waving him off and taking another gulp of coffee. As if I wasn't just two seconds away from making it Irish. I try not to grimace as I swallow it down, wiping off my mouth on a forearm. "Remind me what time Bravo team is doing field training today?"

Matty snaps his head in my direction as he pulls open the fridge, blue eyes alight with excitement. "Are you coming?" he asks eagerly, then quickly dials it back. "I mean, no pressure, I know you've got a lot of other stuff going on, but the rest of the team takes training more seriously when you're there."

I shrug, sipping from my mug. "I was thinking about it."

"Cool," he replies, pulling a few things out from the fridge and bringing them over to the kitchen island to prep Luna's tray. "I mean, I'm sure the interrogation takes precedence, but even if you just stopped by for a little while, it'd boost morale. Starts at ten." He spoons a portion of chicken salad from a small container onto a plate, fanning out some crackers beside it. "How are things going with the prisoner, anyways?"

"Fine," I reply gruffly, officially giving up on my un-spiked coffee and splashing the rest into the sink.

"Yeah, I bet it is," Griffin remarks as he joins us in the kitchen, clapping a hand on my shoulder as he passes.

I shoot him a glare, immediately going on the defensive. "The fuck's that supposed to mean?"

He glances back at me over his shoulder as he pulls open the fridge, lips curling in a smarmy grin. "C'mon, bro," he scoffs. "I've seen what she looks like. Doesn't seem like much of a chore to spend hours down there pumping her for information."

A spike of rage flares to life within me, my hands curling into fists at my sides. I grit my teeth under the effort it takes to shove it back into the cage in my mind where it belongs, knowing full well that I'm overreacting and wondering where the hell it even came from. I'm not normally quick to anger, or I at least usually maintain my composure better. Then again, I haven't felt ‘normal' in weeks. Not since Ben.

I've almost got my temper in check when Griff opens his big mouth again.

"Offer still stands if you want help," he quips, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge before nudging it closed with an elbow.

"I'm good," I grind out.

He chuckles to himself, cracking the lid on his water bottle. "Fair enough, just let me know when you're done with her. I'm not a friend who's above sloppy seconds, if you catch my drift." He waggles his brows, grinning like an idiot while lifting the bottle to his lips.

It's like I have an out of body experience. One second, I'm standing there as Griff spews absolute filth, and the next, I'm grabbing him by the front of his shirt and slamming his back against the refrigerator door. The bottle of water slips from his hand, hitting the floor with a splash while I pin him to the fridge and shove a forearm against his throat. "I'm not your fucking friend , Griffin," I snarl, pressing in tighter to restrict his air and drive my point home. "I'm your superior, and you'd do well to remember that. Do we understand one another?"

Griff's eyes go wide as saucers, his face turning red as he grapples at my arm and nods frantically.

"Say it!" I demand.

"Y-yes," he stutters.

"Yes what ?"

"Yes, Sir!"

I release him, taking a step backwards as the pathetic excuse for a man clutches at his throat, coughing and sputtering. He nearly slips in the water on the floor as he scrambles to move away from me, and of course that's right when Dad walks back in from the patio.

Fucking great.

I shoot Matty a side-eyed glance, but to his credit, he wipes that deer in the headlights look off his face in an instant and goes right back to prepping Luna's tray as if he didn't see a thing. Smart kid.

Too bad the guys in the other room are still gawking like idiots.

My father strides toward the kitchen as Griffin hightails it out of here as if the room's on fire, red faced and huffing. Dad watches after him curiously before turning to me and arching a brow. "What was all that about?"

"Just reminding Griff who's in charge," I mutter, nodding down to the phone still in my dad's hand. "Who was it?"

"Finch was just confirming that our package was received. "

I nod slowly. "Remind me how the Luna's supposed to factor into this plan?"

"We can discuss it later," he replies curtly, sliding his phone back into the pocket of his jeans. "I've gotta get over to Boulder to meet with a potential supplier."

"For what?" I question, not recalling any mention of a supply drop before now. We're still armed to the teeth from the last one.

"I'll fill you in when I get back," he mumbles as he breezes past me, clapping a hand on my back with a nod before continuing toward the front of the house.

Something feels off about the way he's acting, but I'm not about to press for additional information with so many of our soldiers around. They already witnessed me snap with Griff. I have no idea why my dad's suddenly being so cagey, though, and I hate feeling like I'm left in the dark. We're supposed to be partners in running The Guild.

"All done," Matty announces, carrying the tray over and handing it to me proudly.

I glance down at the food as I take it from him. Not gonna lie, it looks like a decent spread. "Thanks," I murmur, turning to head for the basement. Hopefully someone mops up the water on the floor while I'm down there because I really don't feel like dealing with that bullshit. And hopefully Griff learned a valuable lesson about when to shut the fuck up.

After going through the motions of keying in the passcode, flipping on the lights, and grabbing the keys from the hook on the wall, I descend the steps to the basement, mentally slipping my callous hunter mask into place. It's easy to do, since I'm still on edge after what happened in the kitchen- but as soon as I step off the last stair and meet those whiskey-brown eyes, it feels like all the anger I was carrying whooshes out of me in a single breath, the tight coil of rage inside my chest finally unwinding.

What the fuck is that about?

"You look like shit," Luna comments in greeting, gravitating toward the bars of her cage. She wraps her hands around them, peering out at me. "Another rough night of getting blackout drunk?"

Ignoring her heckling, I glance down at the empty tray on the floor as I approach her cell, then back up at her. "Glad you came to your senses," I say, since she clearly took my advice and ate the damn crackers.

She shrugs. "Girl's gotta eat."

"Back up," I direct, lifting my chin in command.

Her fingers tighten around the bars, knuckles whitening as she debates whether to do as she's told. The glare she aims my way practically gives me frostbite.

"Do you wanna eat or not?" I mutter impatiently, lifting the tray.

All at once, her entire demeanor changes. She lets go of the bars, stepping backwards as she tilts her head and her lips pull into a coy smile. "Please sir, can I have some more?" she asks in a ridiculous Oliver Twist impression.

If I didn't see right through the game she's trying to play, I'd be tempted to crack a smile of my own. As it is, though, she's pathetically transparent. I wouldn't be where I am today if I was easily manipulated by the prospect of easy pussy.

Maintaining my deadpan expression, I make quick work of unlocking the cell door and nudging it open just enough to stoop down and replace her tray of food. I could've made her stand on the other side of her cell with her nose to the wall again, but it seems unnecessary since it takes me all of two seconds to swap the trays. And if she tries to rush me and attempt to escape again… well, I almost hope she does.

It seems Luna's fully committed to this flirty, docile act today, though. She doesn't budge, much to my disappointment as I pull the door shut and re-lock it.

I don't really have time to fuck around down here anyways. I've gotta try to do something about this headache before training with Bravo this morning, and it feels like this chilly basement only intensifies the pain in my skull. Casting one last glance toward the girl in the cell, I turn on a heel and start for the stairs.

"Leaving so soon?" she calls after me.

"Got shit to do," I grumble over my shoulder. Our eyes meet for a fleeting second, and I swear I see a flicker of disappointment in hers as she watches after me, like she was hoping I'd stay.

Maybe I've finally gotten in her head. But some small part of me aches to walk away, which means she's getting in mine , too.