Page 170 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
The voices arguing below fell silent instantly.
“You have sixty seconds to open this hatch before we blow it open for you.”
“Thanks for consulting me on that plan,” Seb deadpanned.
Kit grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, boss.”
I pressed my ear back against the concrete, straining to catch every word. More arguing erupted below—panicked this time, voices overlapping in frantic whispers.
“—told you we should have just stayed put—”
“—can’t leave the cargo without authorisation—”
“—who the hell are they?”
My stomach lurched. Cargo. They were talking about people like bloody cargo.
“Ten!” Kit bellowed, making me jump. “Nine! Eight!”
Scuffling sounds echoed from beneath us, followed by electronic beeping. Maxwell grabbed my arm, pulling me back from the hatch as mechanical whirring filled the air.
“Seven! Six!”
The concrete hatch opened with a sharp hiss, revealing a ladder descending into darkness. Stale air wafted up, tinged with antiseptic.
“Out you come,” ordered Seb in that voice nobody ever dared disobey. “Now.”
The first figure that emerged was a burly man in tactical gear who burst through the hatch with a taser raised, scanning for targets.
Kit moved like lightning, tackling him before he could fire. They hit the ground hard, the taser skittering across the grass.
Two more armed figures scrambled up—a tall woman and another bloke with a sidearm. Maxwell’s gun was already trained on them whilst Seb simply stepped forward, and something about his presence made them freeze mid-draw.
“Weapons down,” Maxwell barked. “Now.”
The remaining figures climbed out sheepishly after that—a young bloke in expensive trainers, a middle-aged woman clutching atablet, others in smart office attire. One wore a white lab coat over a pink shirt. Seven in total, all looking significantly less confident now that their armed colleagues were face down in the dirt.
Maxwell kept his gun raised, expression hard.
Seb surveyed the group with cold efficiency. “Is this everyone?”
The group exchanged nervous glances. Eventually, the woman in the white coat cleared her throat. “Two more are still with the cargo.”
“Cargo?” Seb’s voice dropped to something dangerous.
“The um…” She swallowed hard. “The patients.”
Seb nodded at Kit, who climbed down the ladder without hesitation. A minute later, footsteps echoed up from below, and two more figures joined our ragged lineup.
“There’s about thirty to forty wolves down there. One of them fits Carrie’s description. All unconscious and restrained on metal trolleys,” Kit spat. “Like meat.”
“You’re all being transported for questioning,” Seb stated calmly. “We’ll use that airfield’s outbuilding,” he murmured to Kit.
“What?” the youngest man squeaked. “Questioned? On whose authority?”
Seb only smiled. Was I imagining the hint of fangs?
“You can call me Black,” he told him. “But do try not to talk to me unless it’s truly necessary.”
