Chapter 29 Project Moonlight #2
I wandered toward a battered filing cabinet tucked in the corner, its surface marred by scratches and years of neglect.
The drawers resisted my pull, their hinges creaking in protest, but one finally surrendered with a sharp screech.
Inside, a chaotic assortment of folders lay stacked, each labeled with cryptic codes: jumbled strings of numbers, letters, and a few names scrawled in parentheses.
Aiden had shifted to a nearby cabinet, his fingers gliding over the faded labels until one seemed to spark his interest. He tugged at a folder, his brow knitting together as he read the contents. “Josie…” he said, his voice laced with caution, raising the folder for me to see.
Anderson, Josephine Mae.
Cold slid through me, sharp and immediate.
My name, my full name, stared back at me like a ghost from the past. I stepped closer, my hands trembling as I reached for the folder, the brittle paper crumbling slightly under my touch.
As I pulled it free, a wave of dread washed over me, constricting my chest further.
The cover bore a stark stamp in red, the ink unnervingly vivid against the yellowed paper: PROJECT MOONLIGHT.
The letters danced in my mind, a sinister melody that pulled me deeper into a haze. I swayed, the world tilting beneath me, and only Aiden’s firm grip on my arm anchored me.
“You okay?” His voice was a low murmur, laced with concern.
I nodded, though the tremor in my hands betrayed me. Aiden’s gaze flicked to the stairs, then back to me, his brow furrowing. “Josie, we shouldn’t be here long. Whatever this was… It’s not as abandoned as it looks.”
But I was already opening the file.
Inside the folder lay a chaotic array of pages, each emblazoned with stark medical insignias and cryptic codes.
Diagrams of blood cells sprawled across the paper, their intricate structures meticulously detailed.
Notes outlined lunar response thresholds, while typed reports dissected gene sequencing and behavioral responses to the moon’s cycles.
The term “intergenerational viability” echoed ominously throughout, but one phrase leapt out at me in bold, black ink: Source Infusion Trials.
Aiden’s gaze darted over the pages, his brow furrowing as he absorbed the information.
“These… were performed on pregnant women,” he said, his voice steady yet heavy with dread.
My heart raced, each beat reverberating in my ears as I flipped to the next sheet. Dates and charts leaped out at me, one date circled in red like a warning beacon. A sharp intake of breath caught in my throat; the timeline matched perfectly with the months I had carried Mateo.
At the bottom of the stack, a single page caught my eye. It wasn’t typed but scrawled in hurried handwriting.
The words sent chills down my spine:
Subject is promising.
Subject exhibiting stable hybrid viability.
Offspring presents dual-lineage markers: wolf shifter and human.
Recommend continued observation.
The room tilted. I couldn’t move. The words blurred in front of me. If this were true… then Mateo’s very existence wasn’t an accident after the most horrible night of my life. I clutched the page, trying to process whatever it meant.
Aiden’s jaw tightened. “Josie, we need to take this. And we need to leave. Now.”
My hands shook as I closed the folder, the edges digging into my palms. For the first time, I wasn’t sure how much of my motherhood was a blessing born in the shadow of something monstrous, but a blessing all the same, and how much had been engineered in some sterile, hidden room.
I tucked the page into my bag, the crinkling of the paper barely audible over the thunderous rhythm of my heartbeat. Just as I turned to Aiden, a chilling sound sliced through the stillness: a door creaked open somewhere above us, followed by the unmistakable thud of footsteps.
Aiden’s eyes locked onto mine, a storm of urgency swirling within their depths. His jaw clenched, and the air between us crackled with unspoken understanding. Without uttering a single word, he shifted slightly, his body tense and ready, urging me to follow him.
We raced toward the basement door at the back, the heavy wood creaking as we pushed it open.
A flood of late-morning sunlight poured in.
The warm rays washed over my skin, a stark contrast to the cold dread that had gripped me moments before.
For a fleeting heartbeat, hope flickered within me; maybe we would escape this place unscathed.
From the periphery, shadows unfurled like dark smoke, creeping from the edge of the property.
Three figures emerged first, then four, and soon they multiplied, merging into a menacing throng.
Their silhouettes flickered in the sunlight, sharp and angular, as if carved from the very darkness that enveloped them.
I could feel my pulse quicken, each thud echoing in my ears like a warning drum. There was no mistaking the intent behind their movements: predatory, deliberate, and closing in fast.
Aiden positioned himself between me and the encroaching figures, his stance unwavering, muscles coiled, ready to unleash their power.
“Get out of here,” he urged, his voice a low rumble that carried an intensity beyond mere words, resonating something more than human.
The first attacker lunged, and Aiden moved.
His body blurred, bones reshaping with a crack like snapping timber. Fur exploded over skin, muscles bulging and stretching into something impossibly fast and lethal.
In the space of a heartbeat, a massive wolf stood where he’d been, dark coffee-colored fur rippling over a frame built for violence. The same rich shade as his hair. His golden eyes locked on the intruders, molten and burning with a predator’s promise.
His claws shredded the dirt floor as he launched forward, a blur of muscle and teeth. The first man barely had time to scream before Aiden slammed into him mid-stride with bone-breaking force, sending him sprawling into the weeds like a ragdoll.
A second attacker swung a crowbar, but Aiden’s jaws clamped down on it with a metallic crunch before ripping it from his hands. He swiped once with a paw the size of a dinner plate, claws raking deep into the man’s chest. Blood bloomed instantly, and he went down, gasping.
I pressed my back against the cold, rough wall, my heart thundering in my chest, each beat a frantic reminder of the chaos unfolding before me.
I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the scene; Aiden moved with an elegance that belied the brutality of his actions, as if he had been forged for this very moment.
The air crackled with energy, the scent of sweat and blood mingling with the earthy aroma of disturbed soil, creating a heady atmosphere that both terrified and captivated me.
From inside the door we just escaped, more footsteps echoed.
Reinforcements.
I clutched the bag to my chest and ran for the car, ducking low as another figure came at me from the side. I swung the heavy strap like a weapon, catching him in the ribs hard enough to make him stumble. The papers inside crinkled and shifted, but I didn’t dare loosen my grip.
Behind me, snarls and shouts tangled with the harsh glare of daylight. Aiden tore through two more, scattering them like leaves. I reached the SUV, fumbling with the keys, my hands slick with sweat.
Aiden burst from the tall grass, streaked with dirt and blood, shifting mid-stride back to human. He wrenched open the driver’s door, took the keys from my hands, and threw the engine into gear.
We didn’t speak as we sped down the rural road.
My heart pounded in my throat, adrenaline making my fingers ache from gripping the bag so tightly.
Only when the weathered wooden structure of the clinic faded into the distance, its peeling paint and sagging roof barely visible in the rearview mirror, did I exhale, ragged and shaky.
Aiden’s knuckles were white on the wheel, his jaw set. “Next time,” he said, voice low and edged with a growl, “we hunt first.”
I just nodded, because I wasn’t sure if my voice would come out steady or if I’d start screaming instead.
We didn’t speak for a long minute, not even as the tires spat gravel and we barreled down the buckling blacktop.
Aiden’s knuckles blanched around the wheel, tendons flexing with every minor correction.
He drove like a man possessed, eyes locked on the undulating horizon, as if the act of not looking at me was the only thing holding the world together.
I sat rigid in the passenger seat, afraid that if I even blinked, the fever dream of the last hour would catch up to me and drag me under.
The air in the SUV was dense, each breath thick with the coppery tang of blood and the chemical ghost of that place.
My hands still gripped the battered bag where the folder was.
I forced my eyes open, wide and dry, refusing to let the tears come.
The road stretched out ahead of us. Heat shimmered off the asphalt, blurring the tree line into a wavering hallucination. For a heartbeat, I wondered if we’d ever really left the basement.
I pressed my forehead to the cool glass, but my thoughts wouldn’t slow.
I thought of the folder in my lap: the medical forms, the charts marked with lunar phases and hormone spikes, the cold, efficient handwriting that reduced me to “Subject 1011-A.” I thought of the words “Source infusion trial,” and the date circled in red, the same week I’d known, with a certainty that transcended logic or biology, that Mateo was alive inside me.
What had they done to me?
What had they done to him?