Page 7 of Vicious Luna
Though she’s dressed unassumingly in a pair of black leggings and a plain white cropped tee, the strip of tanned skin showing at her midsection betrays just how lethal this creature really is. Her abs are well-defined, taut and toned like she spends all her hours in the gym. Her arms are lean and muscular, one of them decorated with tattoos in intricate floral designs, and though her legs are covered by the fabric of her pants, I’m willing to bet that they’re just as toned as the rest of her is.
At a peaceful state of rest like this, the girl looks almost innocent. Human, even. But I know better. Which is why I ignore the fleeting thought of picking her up and moving her to the cot, leaving her lying on the floor like the wild animal she is as I exit the cell.
I tune out the smacking sound of fists against flesh coming from the next cell over as I lock the cell door behind me, not even glancing that way as I pass by to head to the staircase. Unlike so many of my comrades, I don’t get off on violence. I typically stay behind the scenes when we bring in prisoners, preferring to keep an eye on things using the video feed on my laptop rather than personally involving myself in interrogations. Which is exactly what I was doing when I saw the girl start freaking out and felt the need to intervene with a quick dose of LD. We can’t have our prized captiveinjuring herself before we even get a chance to use her, after all.
I pocket the keys to her cell rather than returning them to the hook at the top of the basement stairs, closing the door behind me to seal off the sounds of the savage beating taking place down there. The basement of this place is completely soundproofed, accessible only by keying in a code on the panel beside the door. All of it was set up by the owner prior to our arrival and tailored to my father’s specifications. This is the first time we’ve had an opportunity to actually use the cells for their intended purpose, though.
A strange feeling of unease washes over me as I stride down the hall toward the back of the house, heading straight for the fridge in the kitchen to grab a beer.
“How’d it go down there?” Dad asks from the living room.
I twist the cap off the bottle, tossing it into the sink as I turn around and nudge the fridge closed with an elbow. “Fine,” I grumble. “Gave the girl enough LD to knock her out for at least eight hours.” Raising the beer bottle to my lips, I drain half of it in two gulps, the carbonation scalding my throat.
“And the male?” my dad asks as I wipe my mouth with a tattooed forearm.
“The boys are taking care of him,” I mutter. “Don’t know why we bothered dragging him back here, we should get more than enough information from the girl.”
Matty fully debriefed me on what went down after he got back last night. It was a lucky guess that the ones who’d installed the new cameras might also be the ones to repair them, and his suggestion to set a trap paid off. The Alpha male didn’t show, but his Luna did, and she’s the first high-profile target we’ve been able to bring in. Though I should probably clarify with my father what he plans to do with her now that she’s here.
I down the rest of my beer, grabbing another from thefridge before heading over to join him in the living room. It’s early, so most of the other soldiers are still in bed, giving us the room to ourselves. A lot of us have adapted to being night owls since it’s the best time to hunt, which makes for quiet mornings around here.
Dad’s nursing a cup of coffee and scrolling on his phone when I slump down onto the couch across from him, kicking my feet up on the coffee table and bringing my beer bottle to my lips.
“Little early for that, isn’t it?” Dad asks, not even glancing up from his phone screen.
I take a swig of my beer, swishing it around in my mouth before swallowing it down. “Considering what I just saw down there, beer for breakfast seems appropriate.”
“Eh, let the guys have their fun,” he sighs, his thumbs typing out a message. “Everyone wants their pound of flesh after that massacre on the night of the full moon.”
I snort a wry laugh. “Kicking the shit out of one werewolf hardly evens the score.”
“If it makes them feel better, then who am I to say no?” Dad reasons, shrugging. “People express their grief in different ways, son.”
I grunt in affirmation, sipping my beer as I try to shut out that strange, edgy feeling I’ve had since going downstairs. “Whatever you’ve got planned for the girl, I want to take point on it,” I mumble, idly tracing my fingertips over the outline of the keys in my pocket.
Dad’s brows shoot up in surprise as he looks up from his phone screen, finally setting it aside to give me his full attention. “You don’t usually involve yourself with the captives,” he states, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
“No, but that was before they murdered my best friend,” I reply coldly.
He nods solemnly in understanding. “Have at it, then.She’s all yours.” He stares into my eyes, tipping his head. “For Ben.”
“For Ben,” I agree.
Fuck, just saying his name out loud breaks open something inside me.
Ben and I were both twenty when he joined The Guild, and the two of us hit it off right from the start. For the past six years, we’ve been fighting in the field together, rooming together at the safehouses, and hanging together whenever we’ve had downtime. I’m an only child, but Ben’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a brother.
Well, hewas. Now he’s nothing but worm food- if they even bothered burying his body, that is. It wouldn’t surprise me if those freaks ate him or something. Nothing surprises me anymore when it comes to werewolves.
“So, whatisthe plan, exactly?” I ask, picking at the label on my beer bottle with a fingernail.
“I’m still working on it,” Dad replies vaguely. “Just extract information for now, but keep her breathing. I’ll let the other guys know that you’ll be her handler and to go through you if they want to help out.”
I hum in acknowledgment, draining the rest of my beer and pushing up from the couch to get rid of the bottle. “We gonna promote Matty?” I ask over my shoulder as I head toward the kitchen.
My dad makes a scoffing sound in his throat. “Oh sure, that’d go over well with the others. Kid hasn’t even been with us a year yet, not to mention the fact that he’s still a teenager.”
“So?” I challenge, sliding open the drawer for the hidden trash can beneath the kitchen island and dropping the bottle in with a clank. “He’s already proven himself more in one year than the others have in five,” I say, kicking the drawer closed. “And don’t forget, I regularly led a team for missions when I was a teenager.”