Bound To Moonlight (Sisters Of The Moon #2)

Since she’d got back to the Agency, Anya hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of being trapped. A sense of evil hung about this place. She’d done her best to ignore it in the past, but now, the doubts that had plagued her so long, crystallized into hard, cold certainty.

Everything inside her screamed that Sebastian was not the immoral mercenary the Agency made him out to be. She might not have been able to read his mind, but she’d sensed his innate strength and goodness. He was like the moonlight his people loved, a bright light in the darkness of night. Whatever else she did with her life, she knew she had to right the wrongs she had done to him and his pack.

She’d told her handlers that Sebastian was dead.

The lie wouldn’t hold up for long, but she hadn’t wanted to reveal that she had left him alive. If she’d admitted she’d failed her latest mission, she was unsure how the Agency would react, and she needed her freedom—however limited it was.

Unfortunately, that freedom did not include access to the lower levels of the building where prisoners were kept.

As darkness fell, she sat in her room on the ground floor, staring through the bars of her window. She sensed the people as they left the building, forced herself to wait until only the nighttime guards remained. She knew where they were stationed and chose her route to avoid them, gliding through the corridors.

Halting around the corner from the elevator, she opened the top two buttons of her shirt, and took a deep breath.

The guard looked up as she approached, every muscle alert, but relaxed as he recognized Anya. “Hi,” he said. “What are you doing up so late?”

She shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep. Still hyped up from the job. I needed someone to…” she paused and curved her lips into a smile. “…talk to.”

His eyes flickered over her, lingering on the swell of her breasts and the expanse of cleavage revealed by the open shirt.

“Well, you can talk to me anytime, babe.”

She stepped up close and reached out a hand, pressed her palm against his chest, and felt the thud of his heart accelerate beneath her fingers. Sliding her hand up over his shoulder, she curled it round his throat, found the pressure point, and squeezed.

Anya grabbed him as he fell and lowered his unconscious body to the ground. She frisked him quickly, took his gun and shoved it down the back of her pants, then used his own cuffs to secure his hands in front of him. He wore a keycard round his neck, and she broke the chain and sent a silent prayer that the card would give her access to the cells below.

As the elevator descended deep beneath the ground, Anya’s skin prickled, and she swallowed the nausea that rose in her throat. She’d spent five years of her life down here, imprisoned in one of the cells beneath the Agency.

Up until the age of eleven, her life hadn’t been so bad. She’d had people who looked after her, taught her, and a certain amount of freedom. Then her powers had emerged. At that point, the Agency hadn’t yet developed the shielding technology, and they obviously hadn’t wanted her reading their minds. They’d locked her down here, her only contact with guards who knew nothing. Even so, the brief glimpses into their minds had terrified her. Their thoughts made her stomach churn with fear and revulsion, and she’d soon learned to block them from her mind.

Anya hadn’t seen the sun again until she was sixteen, and by that time, she would have done anything to survive, to stay out of that cell. So she’d done what she was told, become what they wanted her to be.

It had taken her seven long years to realize that however much she wanted to live, sometimes the price was too high.

The elevator came to a halt, and she shook her head, dispersing the memories.

Down here, the walls were bare concrete with bright strip lighting. The miasma of evil was stronger; the scent of despair and death saturated the air and clung to the walls. Anya stood for a moment, unsure which way to go, when a low moan echoed down the empty corridor. She followed the sound, coming to a halt in front of a steel door. A small glass window in the front allowed her to peer inside. A woman huddled beneath a blanket on the small cot, motionless.

Anya moved on to the next cell where a man sat hunched on the bed, hands dangling between his knees.

The stolen keycard slid easily into the slot, and the lock clicked open.

The man glanced up as she pushed open the door, but he didn’t rise. His dark eyes were dulled by pain and fatigue. She reached into his mind and found him unshielded. She could sense the wolf lurking deep inside. His thoughts were slow, sluggish. He believed her another come to torment him, force him to shift. He hoped he could hold out. He wished they would torture him rather than make him listen while they tortured Maria.

“Sebastian sent me,” Anya said quickly.

A light flickered in his eyes. “Sebastian’s here?”