Pursuing My Rejected Luna by Cara Anderson novel Chapter 199

Chapter 199

Jaxon

“Turn his head to the side and hold him still for me.” Nicolai barks and I immediately follow his orders.

Perhaps later I’ll examine later why I so readily bend to his will like a she-wolf under the influence of an Alpha bark. But for now, my focus is too absorbed by the menacing look of the flaying knife in Nicolai’s hand to think too much about it.

The man screams and flails at the sight of the knife and it takes all my strength to hold him in place as Nicolai makes a show of slowly edging closer. Ice spreads through my veins as I realize what he’s about to do but I manage to keep my expression blank.

I will not pretend I find it easy. I’ve become someone who is honest about what things cost. This price is heavy- costing me some version of who I thought I was, some comfortable idea about the limits of what I’d do.

I stay anyway.

“Last chance to talk,” Nicolai growls, “before I skin you alive.”

The prisoner pants through gritted teeth, a repetitive grunting sound, but he still doesn’t speak. So fast I barely register the move, Nicolai slices a strip of flesh from the tender line of the man’s neck. The inhuman sound he makes does have bile rising in the back of my throat but I swallow it down.

Nicolai doesn’t speak, just leans back to peer at the man with flat, dead eyes that should concern me but don’t. He waits patiently, giving the man time to calm enough to fully register the fact that he is about to suffer more of the same if he doesn’t give up what he knows. I focus on breathing through my mouth as the nauseating iron-scent of blood permeates the room.

“No?” Nicolai cocks his head to the side, frowning like a disappointed father at the man. “Okay. Your choice.”

He takes another slice from the man’s neck, another move so fast I almost miss it. Again and again the process repeats. Slice, scream, repeat. Until his neck is reduced to nothing by friable, exposed meaty flesh and blood.

A wise man would talk. This man is very, very, dumb. He squirms and thrashes, futilely pulling at his restraints, but he doesn’t talk.

“Unzip his pants and pull out his limp dick.” Nicolai orders without so much as a glance in my direction.

I stand there frozen, my mouth hanging open as I try to make sense of his words. Until he turns back from the cart with the cigar cutter in his hand and his intent becomes painfully clear. I’m pretty sure my own cock shrivels and tries to hide at the thought.

“Do it or get out! You are wasting time Skye might not have and I won’t risk her life any longer than I have to because of your hesitation.” Nicolai scolds.

“Fuck,” I curse but move to do as he asked.

Our guest whimpers as I pull out his flaccid cock and hold it steady as NIcolai shoves it over the soft tip. “Please!” He begs. “I can’t! He’ll kill me.”

“You’re already dead.” Nicolai states flatly. “The only option left to you is to tell us what we need to know now and leave this world quickly, with your manhood intact. Or continue to refuse me and I will keep you alive for days, maybe weeks, taking you apart piece by piece until there is nothing left of you to identify.”

Nicolai squeezes the cigar cutter slightly, a ring of blood forming around the man’s abused cockhead, to

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emphasize his point.

okay! Okay!” He sobs. “I’ll tell you what you want to know. Just please… don’t.”

Nicolai releases the pressure from the cigar cutter and waits until his breathing slows. But his calculating gaze never leaves his face. Something like renewed resolve steels in the man’s eyes and Woolf doesn’t hesitate, snipping the mushroorn tip of his cock clean off.

He watches dispassionately as blood pours from the tip and his guttural cries fill the room, simply sliding the cutter further down his shaft. But he never makes another cut. The man talks.

He talks for eleven minutes, his words spilling out between hyperventilating sobs. He describes the layout of the facility where they’re holding our mate. Guard rotations. Entry points. The specific room they’d put her in.

Most importantly, he shares how long they planned to hold her before moving her to Savin’s secondary location which is significantly further east and from which retrieving her would be significantly harder.

We have six hours before they move her. Six hours to gather our team and put together a plan. All while my imagination tortures me with thoughts of what Skye might be suffering.

Nicolai nods to Mikhail. The man is removed. I don’t ask what happens to him after. I don’t need to.

Nicolai spreads the map on the table. We look at it from every angle. The distance we have to cover, the best route to take without alerting them to our approach, any terrain that might slow us down.

We plan every detail down to the letter. which entry points to use. How to slip past the guards during their shift rotation. The window is tight, but we have a plan.

“Six hours,” Nicolai repeats, looking at Mikhail who reenters the room, wiping blood from his hands. “Can we do it?”

He looks at the map. At the notes Nicolai scribbled on a pad. Then back at Nicolai.

“Yes,” His answer is short but sure.

Time seems to lose all meaning after that, everyone rushing to put the details of our plan into place. I rush with them, but my mind is somewhere else.

I think about the man being escorted out of the room, having told us everything we needed to know, and who is most certainly no longer breathing. I think about the life I’ve chosen to build. About Skye, somewhere in that facility, suffering through who knows what while going into heat and waiting for us to come for her because she

must know we will.

And I refuse to let her down.

I mean it the way I mean everything to do with her now. Completely and absolutely, wholly without question.

“Load up!” NIcolai shouts over the commotion of men preparing for their mission.

He’s riding shotgun in the vehicle MIkhail is driving. Dimitri and I climb in the back seat, while others do the same in their respective vehicles, a cacophony of slamming car doors preceding the rumble of revving engines.

We move.

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