Page 25 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
“Tell me what you did to Dev Bassi,” I hissed, tasting copper. “Where is he?”
The wolf’s eyes darted to the door, calculating his chances of escape. I pressed harder against his throat.
…can’t tell…they’ll kill me…
“Who’ll kill you?” I demanded, the words slipping out before I could stop myself.Fuck.I wasn’t usually that sloppy.
Brody’s expression changed instantly, fear giving way to something else—realisation, thencold fury.
“You’re a fucking telepath,” he snarled, disgust dripping from every word.
“You’re right. I am,” I admitted, easing the pressure on his throat slightly but maintaining my grip. “So don’t bother lying to me. Just tell me what I need to know about Dev Bassi, and we can both continue with our evenings.”
His eyes narrowed with revulsion. Most supernaturals viewed telepathy as an invasion, a violation worse than physical assault. I didn’t entirely blame them.
“Not a chance,” he spat. “And don’t you dare read my mind. I mean it.”
This was the part nobody ever understood about telepathy—it wasn’t the convenient superpower they imagined. It wasn’t like flipping through a filing cabinet. It was messy, like trying to catch specific words in a hurricane of consciousness. Detailed information required focus, proximity, and sometimes physical contact. The pressure behind my temples was already building as I pushed past his surface thoughts, like forcing my way through thick fog. Each deeper probe sent sharp needles of pain radiating from my skull down my neck.
Even now, with my hands on him, I was only catching fragments. Images of Dev, flashes of fear. The deeper I pressed, the more my vision blurred at the edges, his panicked thoughts mixing with the throbbing in my head until I couldn’t tell where his fear ended and my pain began.
I could push harder, dig deeper, but that came with risks beyond just ethics. My father warned me about going too deep into someone’s mind. You could get lost, drown in their consciousness.
“Listen,” I said, softening my tone. “I don’t want to hurt you. Dev is missing, and someone close to him is worried. I just need to know if he’s alive, where he might be.”
Brody’s thoughts flickered briefly to a warehouse, concrete floors, the smell of antiseptic. The image sliced through me, sharp enough to make me blink hard against the sudden spike of pain.
“I can’t help you,” he said, but his thoughts betrayed him:
…they’ll kill me if I talk…they’ll kill us both…
I stared at Brody, the truth of his fear pummelling into me. He wasn’t just scared—he was terrified.
“I can protect you,” I said, loosening my grip slightly. “Official police protection. You’d be safe.”
He laughed, a hollow sound that held no humour. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Help me understand.” I shuffled back, giving him more space. “Start with Dev. Did you hurt him?”
“No! I swear, we never laid a hand on him. That wasn’t our job.”
“What was your job, then?”
Brody’s thoughts tumbled forward before he could stop them:
Meridian…names…reporting back…
“You work for Meridian?” I asked.
His eyes widened. “Get out of my head!”
“I’m barely in it,” I said. “But you’re practically shouting certain thoughts. Meridian Medical Research Centre—what’s your connection?”
He slumped against the wall, the fight draining from him. “We never met anyone from Meridian directly. Just some guy who used a fake name. Always met us in different locations, never at the actual facility.”
“What did they want from you?”
“Information.” Brody rubbed his face. “Bradley and I, we’re lone wolves. No pack. They wanted us to identify others like us—packless wolves, especially newcomers to London, ones sleeping rough.”
