Page 55 of Vicious Luna
He’s in pain.I don’t know how I know, I just do- I can feel an echo of Cam’s agony through our fated bond, and the more I try to ignore it, the more insistent my wolf is that we can’t.Something’s wrong. He’s suffering, and I have no idea what to do about it.
I can’t go back for him. I just made it home; I’m finally safe. He’s still the enemy, even if he’s also my mate. Butfuck… how can I just leave him there if he’s in trouble? What if he truly didn’t know what he was until last night?
Even after the Beast let her go, Belle went back to save him...
The roar of motorcycles outside jolts me from my inner turmoil, my mom springing to her feet in response.
“Sounds like they’re here,” she announces, extending an eager hand toward me. “Do you wanna come downstairs?”
I nod, donning my best fake smile as I take her hand and allow her to pull me up from the edge of the bed. Dad, Sloane, and Madd get to their feet, too, all five of us starting for the door.
As I step out into the hall, there’s another sharp pinching sensation in my chest, reminding me that even though I escaped that cell, I’ll never truly be free. Not from my obligations, not from my choices. Not from the godforsaken pull of the mate bond ripping me apart from the inside.
Freedom is nothing but a bittersweet lie.
27
When 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 Iamthankful 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 findmy 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’sthe 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 carewhoI am, onlywhatI am.
Fuck,Idon’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 sincegiven 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.