Page 12 of Monsters After Dark

“Thank you, sir.”

She sat, glancing back and forth between the two men cautiously. Try as she might, Moira couldn’t think of a single reason for them to call her that required North’s attention. She had no clue what was going on.

Thankfully, they didn’t make her wait long.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why we called you in,” North began, scrutinizing her as he lifted a remote and pointed it over his shoulder. With the press of a button, the screen behind him lit with the image of a large silver were in harsh restraints, his body stretched out next to several pairs of boots. He looked dead, or sedated. “He is why.”

Moira frowned as she studied the image. It was difficult to say for sure since he was on the ground, but she’d swear this werewolf was bigger than any of her boys. He had stockier muscles and a blockier head, making him more tank-like than “lean and mean.” He also had a thick ruff of fur around his neck and shoulders that reminded her of a lion. She hadn’t seen such features before, which made her wonder why he was so different.

“He’s a recent acquisition,” North finally continued. “He has a lot of potential, but his acclimation to the program has been less than stellar.”

“He’s a pain in the ass,” her boss interjected. “We’ve already had some serious injuries and one fatality.”

“The normal methods of subduing new inductees haven’t been as effective on him as they have on prior subjects.” North rubbed his balding head and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “I want him in the program, but if we can’t get him under control, he isn’t worth shit to us. That’s where you come in.”

“Me?” Moira played dumb, but she suspected what they wanted, and she didn’t feel good about it. They’d brought in a were they couldn’t control, one who already had at least one fatality under his belt, and they wanted her to… what? Make friends?

“You’re the only handler in the facility who hasn’t suffered anything more serious than some bruises and scrapes,” Mooreland scoffed. “You make it look easy, considering you don’t have any sort of military or leadership background.”

“Yes,” North agreed, nodding as he glanced in Mooreland’s direction. “There’s something about your way of handling them that even the other female caretakers can’t replicate. It may not make sense to me, but there’s no arguing with results. When it comes to behavior modification, you have the highest success rate of all time.”

Moira knew saying no wasn’t an option. As much as she’d have liked to avoid the situation altogether, she couldn’t bear to think about what they would do to him if he didn’t assimilate. The facility only viewed them as animals, but Moira knew better. The man was still there, lurking beneath the surface.

She sucked in a fortifying breath and glanced at the picture again. “What do we know about him?”

“Nothing,” North snapped.

“Nothing?” Moira glanced between the two men. They never knew nothing about the weres—they tracked potential targets for weeks before taking them. There was always something—a missing persons report coinciding with the were’s appearance in the area; a new were returning home and leading them to his identity—never nothing. “Where did he come from?”

“Appalachia,” Mooreland answered. “Took us three months to catch the bastard. He was hard to find.”

“How long have they been reporting sightings?” Moira queried as her gaze drifted back to the screen. He looked rough. Whether it was from the facility’s handling or his way of life, she didn’t know, but his coat was tousled and missing in places, rust-colored stains clinging to his fur in others.

“Sporadic, but at least fifteen years, according to locals.”

“Fifteen ye—” The words died in her throat. Moira knew the scope of the Brande project was small, considering how large the country was, but she’d never heard of a were surviving so long. Normally they caused enough destruction to get themselves eliminated long before the decade mark. Even the oldest subjects in the facility hadn’t been were longer than a few years before they were captured.

“What about missing persons reports in the area?”

“There are fifteen adult males that have gone missing in a fifty-mile radius since the first reported sighting.” North pushed a piece of paper across the table to her. “I think you understand the real scope of the problem now. He’s rather feral, and determining his identity has been more difficult than usual.”

“But he’s restrained,” Mooreland added. “You won’t be in any danger. More than anything, we’re just curious how he’ll respond to you. If his reaction is favorable, we’ll move forward. If not, we’ll dispose of him.”

“I see.” She hated how callously they spoke about the weres, but tried to mask her disapproval. “When did you want me to see him?”

“Now,” the two men answered in unison.

“I’m tired of his bullshit,” North continued. “If he won’t show progress, we need to make space for another candidate.” He folded his hands on the table and waited for her response.

Moira tried to swallow her concerns and find the courage to agree as she looked over the missing persons list and the tiny pictures next to the names. Knowing he’d killed someone and might be feral was terrifying. The weres were unpredictable enough as it was. She’d been terrified of being gutted or raped the first few months she’d worked with the pack, since they’d often fought over her. But they seemed like puppies compared to this wolf.

“Okay. I should probably shower and change, though, since I’ve been with the pack. It might agitate him.”

“We don’t have time for that nonsense, Dawkins,” Mooreland interjected, a frown etched across the hard lines of his face. “Like I said, he’s bound. You’ll be fine. It’s now or never.”

The push made her feel even more uncomfortable about the situation, but there was nothing to be done. Moira folded the piece of paper and stuck it in her pocket. “All right. I’d like to take something high-value down with me. Some organ meat, maybe? Just in case he responds favorably.”

“He’s muzzled,” North informed her. “Won’t do you much good.”

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