Chapter 27

27

W hen my father was first teaching me how to hunt, I thought his methods were akin to torture. While other kids my age were learning how to drive and sneaking out to go to high school parties, I was sweating for hours on the treadmill to build my stamina and being drilled about how to properly handle firearms. If I overslept in the morning because I was tired, Dad would make me stay awake for days on end to teach me true exhaustion. If he caught me mishandling my gun out in the field, he'd force me to endure hours of refresher training until I physically couldn't hold my rifle up anymore. Any complaints I had were met with further consequence, so I learned to keep my damn mouth shut and endure whatever he threw my way.

In his mind, putting me through the paces was a way of building character. He said as much. He also said that he was teaching me how to be a man, and someday, I'd thank him for all those hard lessons.

Given my current situation, I suppose I am thankful that I built a tolerance to pain, but I never knew the true meaning of torture until now. I'd give anything to be dropped off in the middle of nowhere with nothing but my tracking skills to find my way home, or to run through the forest while being shot at as a lesson in evasive maneuvers. Instead, I'm confined to a cell, I've been stripped of my humanity and dignity, and I'm suffering brutal beatings around the clock.

The man who raised me is trying to break my spirit, and it's fucking working. I don't know who I am anymore. My entire life has been a lie, and part of me just wants to give up; to succumb to the darkness and let it swallow me whole. But then there's another part of me that demands answers; that wants to understand the how and why of it all. That's the part my father seems intent on breaking.

One of his favorite methods of torture is keeping a captive werewolf dosed on just enough wolfsbane that they can't transform into their beast, but can still rapidly heal. It's exactly as barbaric as it sounds, and I'm now an unwilling player in that twisted game. There's nothing quite like being bruised and bloodied within an inch of your life only for your body to knit itself back together and provide a fresh canvas for another round. I've lost count of how many times they've done it now, but there's no point in keeping track. They don't care who I am, only what I am.

Fuck, I don't even know what I am. Up until yesterday, I thought I was human. I thought I was Jonathan Knox's son. I thought I was a hunter. How quickly I've become the very prey I was conditioned to despise.

Distantly, I register the sound of the door at the top of the stairwell opening and footsteps beginning their descent, but I remain seated on the ground in the corner of my cell. My elbows are resting on my spread knees, my head hanging between them, and I don't bother lifting it to see who's coming down.

My father- if I can even call him that anymore - hasn't been back to see me since I first woke up. He's left his dirty work to his soldiers. They cut my restraints earlier so they'd have better access to hit me from every angle, and I've since given up on trying to reason with them. They no longer see me as Cameron Knox, fellow werewolf hunter and co-founder of The Guild. I'm just a body to be savaged. A monster to be dispensed with.

The keys rattle in the lock of the cell door and I don't even flinch. Then the door swings open, but I still don't look up to see who's entered. There's no point. Looking into the eyes of the sick fucks here to beat me within an inch of my life won't change the outcome. Hopefully they'll just get it over with quickly so I can sink into blissful unconsciousness again.

"You look like shit, Knox," a familiar voice scoffs, and I jerk my head up to meet Matty's blue-eyed stare. It's a shock to see him here, and also a little jarring to hear someone call me by name. Nobody has since I woke up in this cell, so it seemed I'd been stripped of that, too.

Matty's alone, which is also a surprise, but any flicker of hope I have for this to be a rescue attempt is doused when I spot the syringe clutched in his grip. I instantly recognize the pale purplish fluid inside as LD, which means I'm about to have my lights turned out. Given what I've been subjected to, I actually welcome the reprieve of darkness.

"I've had better days," I grumble, licking my dry lips as I watch him step over the threshold into my cell. The coppery tang of blood lingers on my tongue like an omen.

Matty's brow furrows as he advances toward me, his inner conflict evident in his expression. He stops short when we're toe to toe, then hesitates as he lifts the syringe, his lips twisting in a scowl. "I'm sorry I have to do this, man," he murmurs, shaking his head.

I snort a wry laugh. "Hey, it's not your fault. You're just following orders." I should know. I blindly followed them for far too long.

He heaves a sigh, dropping the hand with the syringe to his side as he scrubs a hand over his face. "Hit me," he mumbles, his voice barely audible .

My heart stutters in my chest. "What?"

He digs his other hand into his pocket, pulling out a set of car keys and dropping them on the ground in front of him. Conveniently out of view of the camera at his back.

"C'mon, just hit me," Matty grits out, his grip around the syringe tightening until his knuckles turn white. "Make it believable, then get the fuck outta here before I change my mind."

My mouth falls open as I stare up at him in a suspended state of shock.

Is this a trick?

I suppose there's only one way to find out.

As Matty slowly leans down, bringing the syringe toward me, I muster every ounce of strength left within my being. A rush of adrenaline floods my veins, and it gives my exhausted body the boost it needs to spring forward, cocking back my fist and landing a hard punch to his jaw. The momentum sends him stumbling back in a daze, and I seize the opportunity to snatch his keys off the floor and shove up from the ground, sprinting out of the open cell door and down the hall toward the old storm cellar.

At least I have the wherewithal to go that way rather than up the main stairs into the cabin. I'd for sure be caught if I tried to make a run for it through the main house, but the cellar door leads straight outside. I bound up the crumbling stone steps, where I encounter the first stroke of luck I've had since being caged- the numeric sequence to unlock the door hasn't changed. The light on the keypad glows green as it disengages and I push the heavy door back, bounding out onto the side lawn.

I've only got minutes to make my escape- maybe even just seconds. Taking off at a dead sprint, I round the side of the cabin and frantically hit the unlock button on the key fob in my grasp, the lights of one of the SUV's in our fleet flashing to indicate which vehicle it belongs to. I yank the door open, hop into the driver's seat, and crank the ignition, my pulse racing as the engine roars to life.

Slamming the gear into drive, I floor it down the driveway, tires squealing against the asphalt as I peel away from the safehouse. I don't look in the rearview mirror to see if anyone's following. I just drive like a madman until I hit the end of the long drive, turning where it bottoms out on the little mountain road and speeding toward the nearest highway.

I have no idea where I'm headed. I have no home to return to; no family other than the man who disowned me. I just drive without any grasp on a destination, breathing a sigh of relief when I finally glance up at the mirror to see that nobody's behind me.

I did it. I'm free.

Well, this is less than fucking ideal.

After escaping the Guild safehouse, I drove for hours, instinct guiding me north. I guess I'm not surprised that I wound up chasing down the one person who can shed some light on what happened the night I transformed, nor am I surprised that I was quickly intercepted and apprehended after turning off highway four and onto the forested road we'd identified as access to the northern wolfpack's territory. Some red-haired prick blocked the road with his truck, hauled me out of my SUV, and blindfolded me before dumping me off in this room. Though the term room is generous. I know a prison cell when I see one.

I'm underground, if the cold dampness, lack of windows, and cinderblock walls are anything to go by. There aren't any bars in this cell, though- just a steel door on one side with a small window looking out into the hall. The fact that the room's completely empty indicates they must not keep their prisoners for long. That certainly doesn't bode well for me.

I'm sitting on the floor across from the door with my back against the cold wall, wondering what the hell possessed me to come here in the first place. I just escaped captivity, so it was pretty damn stupid to go somewhere I'd just wind up a prisoner again. I guess my need to understand outweighed my own sense of self-preservation. That, and her . Avery. Something deep within me ached to see her again; something I can neither comprehend nor explain.

The muffled sound of footsteps in the hall has me snapping to attention, my gaze pinging to the door in front of me. A strange sense of excitement lights me up from the inside moments before the lock clicks and the doorknob turns, and a breath whooshes from my lungs when I see her step inside.

Fuck , she's even more stunning than I remember. Tiny denim shorts hug her hips, highlighting her long tan legs and the sexy-ass tattoo crawling down her left thigh. The ribbed white tank top she's wearing is tight around those full, perfect tits of hers and her long blonde hair is styled in loose waves, cascading over her shoulders like a damn mermaid. Her sunkissed skin is practically glowing, and the deviant smirk on her plush lips is a sinner's dream.

Avery closes the door behind her, folding her arms under her boobs and leaning back against it with an arrogant lift of her chin. "How does it feel to be the one locked in a cage for a change?" she asks, the smug look in her eyes mocking me.

As much as I've missed our lively back and forth, I'm too worn down to even come up with a decent retort. My shoulders slump in defeat as I hang my head between my spread knees. "Just get it over with," I murmur, stabbing my fingers through my hair. "Put me out of my misery. I'd rather be dead than one of you."

"You honestly didn't know? "

"How the fuck would I have known?" I snap, jerking my head up to meet her eyes.

She stares back at me blankly, a skeptical brow arched. "I mean, shifting into a wolf is sort of a dead giveaway, dontcha think?"

"Yeah, well that never happened before," I mutter, flickering my gaze away once more. This role reversal is uncomfortable, to say the least, and she's fucking eating it up now that she's the one with the power.

I wonder if she realizes she always had it.

"You sure?" she mocks, clucking her tongue condescendingly.

I snort a laugh. "Pretty sure I would've remembered turning into a monster."

My beastie rolls her eyes, shaking her head in exasperation. "You still think that's what we are? Even now, after everything?"

"I don't know what the fuck to think," I mutter.

She heaves a sigh, bending her knees and sinking down to sit on the ground with her back against the door. She drags her pouty lower lip between her teeth, dark lashes fluttering as she drops her gaze to the floor. "What do you wanna know?"

"Huh?"

Whiskey-brown eyes flicker back up to meet mine. "About being a shifter," she clarifies. "If this is all new to you, then I'm sure you have a lot of questions."

I swallow thickly, unsure where to even begin. "How do I stop it?"

"You can't," she replies, my stomach sinking. "Your wolf's part of you, whether you like it or not. The sooner you accept that and integrate, the better off you'll be."

I scowl in confusion. "What does that even mean?"

"It means you become one and the same. You share space in your brain. Once you're fully integrated, you'll have complete control over your animal side. You'll be able to hold your wolf back when you want to or let him out when you need to."

"So just give up my humanity and let him take over?" I scoff, the sarcasm thick in my tone.

She gives a little shake of her head, pinching her lower lip between her teeth again. Fuck, every time she does that, it makes me want to cross the room, free her lip, and sink my own teeth into it.

"That's not how it works," she sighs. "You'll still be you, just… more . Trust me, you don't want to have a wolf that isn't fully integrated. Most shifters master their wolf, but a few of them never do, and the results can be catastrophic. Just ask my aunt."

"Yeah, I'll be sure to do that as soon as you let me outta here," I grumble.

Her lips curl into a grin, eyes sparkling with mischief. "It's cute that you think I'd let you go."

"Why not?" I fire back. "I let you go, didn't I?"

"Only after weeks of mindfuckery."

" Please ," I scoff. "You know you gave as good as you got."

The corner of her mouth kicks up as we stare at one another for a long moment. This might just be the first honest conversation we've had, and it's… nice . For a second, I almost forget I'm being held captive in this cell and the two of us are at odds with one another.

Her smile fades, throat bobbing with a swallow as her gaze flickers down to the floor again. "What happened after I left?" she asks quietly.

My chest constricts as a kaleidoscope of bloody memories flash through my brain. "Pretty sure you can guess," I mutter.

She glances back up at me, her eyes slowly roaming over my form to take in the dried blood and still-healing bruises painting my copper skin. "Well, that explains why you look like hell," she remarks. "But it looks like Ares gave you some clean clothes, at least. "

I jerk a nod. That must be the name of the redheaded asshole who tossed me in this cell, spouting all kinds of threats of bodily harm along the way. He seemed particularly fond of Avery, if his rambled promises of retribution for her kidnapping are anything to go by, which only made me despise him more. Not that I have any right to be jealous. Anything between her and I was merely a product of her captivity; a twisted game that went too far.

"I'm not gonna say you didn't deserve a taste of your own medicine," she continues, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, "but at least you were able to get out."

I grunt in agreement, meeting her eyes again. A swirl of gold flares to life in her irises, followed by a harsh tugging sensation in my chest. Damnit, why do I simultaneously want to choke the life out of this girl and fuck her senseless?

"My dad said I wasn't his," I blurt.

Her brows pinch together in confusion. "Huh?"

I rake a hand through my hair, sighing. "You said it's genetic, right? Well, the man who I thought was my father said he wasn't. After I turned into… this . So, I guess whoever my real dad was must've been one of you."

She nods slowly, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she considers my admission. "Could've been your mom," she suggests with a shrug.

"Not unless werewolves die of cancer."

She sucks in a breath, eyes rounding in sympathy. "Sorry," she whispers.

I shake my head, grumbling, "It was a long time ago."

Another long pause settles between us as I pick at the edge of a fingernail, dried blood flaking away. "She's the reason all this started, you know," I murmur. "When she was on her deathbed, she started babbling about werewolves existing, and my dad latched onto it. After she died, he made it his mission to find out the truth. "

"And you just blindly went along with it?" she asks, lip curling in disgust.

"He was all I had left. We moved around so much that I was never able to get close with anyone."

I don't know why the hell I'm suddenly baring my soul to the person holding me prisoner, but something about this girl has me wanting to spill my secrets. Maybe it's just some innate need to get them off my chest prior to my inevitable demise.

"Why did you come here, Cam?" she asks, tilting her head to study my face like she'll somehow find the answers there. "You had to know it wouldn't end well for you."

"I don't know," I admit. "I just did."

Avery blows out a shaky breath, shifting her weight and pushing up from the floor. She brushes off her shorts, turning to place her hand on the doorknob while glancing back at me over her shoulder. Her lips part as if to speak, but then she snaps her mouth shut, shaking her head sadly and pulling the door open to leave.

As soon as it snicks closed behind her, a desolate ache takes root inside my chest, pathetically longing for her to return. There's no guarantee she ever will. The next time that door opens, it could be my executioner that steps through, but that's the chance I took in coming here. At least I was able to get some of the answers I was seeking.

Too bad it's only the tip of the iceberg in the fucked-up disaster my life has become. The problem with searching out the truth is that there's no way to prepare for the harsh bite of reality that comes along with it, and now that it's sunk its teeth into me, even supernatural healing can't erase the scar.