Prologue #2
The second guard stumbled backward, fumbling for something on his belt.
“Run!” Dev grabbed my hand.
More footsteps thundered from multiple directions. Police sirens wailed in the distance, getting closer.
We sprinted down the corridor, footsteps echoing off walls. Three more security guards burst around the corner ahead, their uniforms matching the ones we’d left behind. My lungs burned as we skidded to a halt—dead end. A blank wall mocked us, with only a set of double doors to our left.
I slammed my shoulder into them. Pain shot through my arm as the doors refused to budge. The metal reinforcement gleamed under the emergency lights, taunting me.
“Freeze! Hands where we can see them!” One guard raised his radio. “Police are en route.”
More heartbeats entered the building downstairs. Among them, a familiar scent hit my nose—crisp cotton, black pepper, lemongrass. This close to the full moon, I could also detect the subtle underlying current of static electricity, marking him as Gifted.
Theodore Maxwell.
Relief flooded through me. Thank fuck. Killigrew Street’s police connection would get us out of this mess. For once, I was glad he was telepathic.
Heavy footsteps approached. Maxwell appeared behind the guards, suit slightly rumpled. The bright lights highlighted dark circles under his eyes, even through his glasses.
Theo! Help us! I screamed the thought as loud as I could, imagining neon letters flashing in my brain. We’re here on a case. Dev found evidence of missing shifters.
Maxwell’s dark eyes widened when they landed on me, genuine shock flashing across his face before he schooled his expression. His left hand twitched toward his temple—he was listening.
There’s a list. Names. Codes. Something bad’s happening here. But you can’t take us to the station. It’s a full moon. You have to—
“Sir?” One of the uniformed officers turned to Maxwell. “These aren’t our suspects.”
“No,” Maxwell said, jaw tight, eyes never leaving mine. “I don’t believe this is connected to our operation, after all.”
“But they’ve still broken in and assaulted security personnel,” a different voice interjected.
“Yes,” Maxwell said. “They have.”
For one breathless moment, Maxwell’s expression shifted—something unreadable flashing across his features.
He glanced at the window where moonlight spilled through, then back to my face.
I could almost see the calculation happening behind those dark eyes: duty versus consequence, law versus supernatural reality.
His fingers flexed at his sides. Then his shoulders squared, decision made.
My stomach dropped through the floor as he pulled out his handcuffs. “DI Maxwell, Metropolitan Police. You’re both under arrest for breaking and entering, assault on security personnel, and”—his gaze flicked to the unconscious guard—“grievous bodily harm.”
No. No, no, no. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.
Dev’s fingers squeezed mine, his palm sweaty against my skin. The moon pulsed again, making each of my bones tremble.
“Theodore!” The name burst from my lips before I could stop myself. Shit. Probably shouldn’t have revealed we knew each other. That was not going to help.
“DI Maxwell, you know this suspect?” asked another officer.
Maxwell’s face went carefully blank. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“Theo, please,” I whispered as he grabbed my wrists. “You can’t lock us up—”
“You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence—” The cuffs clicked shut. Cold metal bit into my skin.
“Not tonight!” Panic clawed up my throat. “The moon—I won’t be able to fight the change!”
“You’re going to have to.”
“Please! Just call Seb!”
His fingers squeezed my arm. I caught the slight tremor in his jaw, the way his eyes flickered to the window where moonlight streamed through.
But he kept moving, steering me toward the stairs, before marching us outside.
They guided us to two different cars. Through the window, I watched them push Dev’s head down as he ducked into the back seat.
The full moon hung above us, impossibly bright, promising violence.
“Please,” I begged Maxwell, one last time, but to no avail. The guy barely even looked at me. Didn’t give a shit what he was doing to me.
My father’s face flashed through my mind—an image of him standing underneath the apple tree near the manor house, regarding me from afar.
The very last time I’d seen him alive before the police gunned him down.
And here I was, being hauled away by another cop.
But this one was supposed to be on my side.
I slumped against the cold leather as Maxwell shut the door. Metal mesh separated me from the front seats. The engine roared to life. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, watching London blur past. The handcuffs scraped into my wrists, the silver-plated metal making my skin crawl.
Maxwell’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. For a split second, something like guilt flickered across his face. Good. Let him feel guilty. Let him understand exactly what he was doing to me.
My wolf clawed at my insides, howling for release. The shift wasn’t just a want—it was a biological imperative. Like trying to hold your breath underwater. Eventually, your body would force you to surface whether you wanted to or not.
And I had hours to go before moonset. Hours, locked in a cell, fighting with all my might against the shift.
The fluorescent streetlights strobed across my face, each flash making my head pound harder. Every cell in my body screamed for transformation. Even my eyesight kept shifting between human and wolf’s vision, the world alternating between sharp focus and blurred colours.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to concentrate on breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Just like Kit taught me. But my brother wasn’t here. Wasn’t here to save me this time.
And when he next saw me, he’d probably strangle me to death.
Another wave of moon-fever crashed through me. My spine arched involuntarily, a whimper escaping my throat as the shift rippled under my skin like lightning searching for ground.
Again, Maxwell met my gaze in the mirror, his eyes flicking between me and the officer in the passenger seat. It was only a matter of time before they noticed my increasingly violent spasms. I could only pray they presumed I was in drug withdrawal, or something.
This is torture. Pure torture. Torture, and a betrayal that would leave scars deeper than any physical wound. Fighting the shift for an entire night would be like trying to stop my heart from beating through sheer willpower alone. And he knew it. The bastard knew what this would do to me.
Fuck you, traitor, I snarled at him in my mind, channelling every bit of my rage into the words.
This was going to be a long, long night.