Page 99 of Vicious Luna

“No,” I lie, stilling my fingers.

The corner of his lips curl in a knowing smirk.

My blood boils in my veins, his condescension striking a nerve. “Let’s cut the crap, we both know this was supposed to be an ambush,” I murmur, narrowing my eyes on him.

He steeples his fingers, that maddening smirk still firmly in place. “Was it? You seem to know a lot about Guild matters for someone no longer affiliated with the organization.”

“Yeah, well considering recent events, it seemed like a good idea to get up to speed,” I mutter.

“You've always been resourceful.”

I shrug a shoulder. “Learned from the best.”

A long pause ensues as we eye one another, but I don’t find any warmth in his gaze at the reminder of the relationship we once had. He’s stone cold; completely devoid of emotion.

Was he always like this?

“Which one of my men flipped?” he finally asks. Because of course, he’s more concerned about the traitor in his ranks than the loaded weapon pointed his way, wielded by the man he used to callson.

“Doesn’t matter,” I grumble, confident in the knowledge that Matty should have made it safely to the access road by now. “I came here today to ask for a ceasefire.”

He snorts a wry laugh, giving a little shake of his head. “You shouldn’t have bothered.”

“Why not?”

“You know we can’t do that,” he tuts.

“Why?” I demand.

He leans back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “Don’t you remember how The Guild came into existence, what our objective is?” he questions. Obviously it’s rhetorical; the mission statement is practically tattooed on the inside of my skull. “As long as even one monster walks the earth, the human race isn’t safe,” he continues, dark eyes boring into mine. “And since you’re one of them, as long as you live and breathe, you’re a threat.”

“How can you still believe that?” I snap, the bitter sting of resentment sitting heavy on my tongue. “Don’t you get it? We had it all wrong. They’re not monsters, they’re people, and they don’t want to hurt anyone. They just want to be left alone.”

“Werewolves are notpeople,” he snaps back, slapping a palm against the wooden desktop.

“Yes, weare. Look at me, Dad,” I plead, my voice almost breaking. “I’m still me.”

“You’renotmy son,” he spits, his upper lip curling back from his teeth in an ironically wolfish snarl.

“Maybe not biologically, but you raised me,” I point out. “Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“No.” Jonathan leans forward, pinning me with an icy glare. “Do you need me to spell it out for you, Cameron?” he asks mockingly. “You’re amonster. I regret every second I spent with you, every lesson I taught you. If I could go back and do things differently, I would’ve smothered you in your crib and saved us all the trouble.”

His words land precisely how he intends them to- they cut through me like bullets and I barely even flinch. Because now that I’m looking at the man I used to call my father through the lens of the truth, I wonder how I ever thought I saw myself in those cold, hollow eyes.

Those same eyes haunted me as I endured his ‘lessons’ designed to shape me in his image; years of cruelty I braved in the name of love. Now, there’s no mistaking the depth of his hatred radiating off him like a shadowy plume of smoke, tainting the air and suffocating my lungs. I can feel it taking root inside me like poison. Sloane was right; this is different than simple human intuition. It’s bone deep.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” I rasp.

“Yes, it does,” he deadpans.

There’s a sharp twist of warning in my gut, but I don’t react quickly enough when he suddenly reaches beneath his desk and brandishes a pistol. I spring to my feet, raising my own gun and popping off a shot in an effort to knock it from his grip, but it’s half a second too late- his bullet slices through the meat of my left side, white-hot pain searing through my body. The wolfsbane coating the bullet immediately starts spreading through my bloodstream like acid in my veins,paralyzing my inner beast.

At least my own shot landed true. Jonathan grabs at his wounded arm as his pistol slips from his grip and clatters to the floor, our eyes meeting for a fraction of a second before we both lunge for it. I get there first, managing to tackle him to the ground and kick it out of the way in the process. We grapple on the floor, the wound in my side pissing blood and causing my elbow to slip against the hardwood. The moment I fall forward, he digs his fingers into my mangled flesh and I roar out in pain while he makes a grab for the gun in my hand.

Despite the agony searing through my body, I keep a tight grasp on the grip of my weapon, throwing my weight to the side to pin Jonathan beneath me. With a sharp shove of my arm, I slam the barrel beneath his chin and his body immediately slackens, the fight draining from his muscles.

“You won’t do it,” he sneers, his teeth coated in blood from a blow he evidently took to the mouth during our struggle.

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