Moonfall | Book Two

CHAPTER 2

Sneaking out of the castle he called home his entire life was not an easy feat. Although it being the middle of the night gave Michael an advantage, being the only remaining son of the Alpha made it nearly impossible for him to go anywhere undetected.

But he had to try.

After a quick rummage through a pile of scattered clothes on the floor, he was dressed in black pants and black tunic jacket, paired with boots he found at the foot of his bed. He then made his way to his bedside table, opened the top drawer and retrieved a key. He fisted it, the cold sting indicative of just how long the small piece of brass had been banished away in the dark. And it would have remained so had he not needed the very thing that called upon the key to serve its purpose.

Michael moved to the large six-door wooden wardrobe on the other side of the room. Other than clothes, five of the doors held nothing of importance. The sixth, however, had remained locked at all times. Had it not been for his dream, he certainly would not have found himself unlocking that door and pulling out the dirty secret he kept hidden away: a bag stuffed with a red cloak, stained with his blood.

He had not laid eyes on nor touched it in over a year—since the first time he returned from the Woodlands without any memories—and he was hesitant to do so again. It brought forth questions he could not find answers to. Answers he had been too afraid to find. But mixed in along with his fear was his curiosity, and it was now demanding he take action and search for those answers.

He slung the bag over his shoulder and made a break for his bedchamber door. As quietly as he could, Michael exited his room and shut the door behind him. The dimly lit corridor which housed only his room was a double-edged sword. It eliminated the risk of running into anybody, yet increased the chances of his escape being heard as any sign of movement would point directly at him. Careful not to walk too loudly or too quickly, it took Michael longer than it should have to near the end of the short corridor. But his carefulness proved useless once he rounded the corner and saw six guards—three on each side and equally distanced—posted from the start of the longer corridor to the middle of it.

He stopped. It looked like his escape was not going to be as easy as he had thought. However, he tightened his grip on the bag and continued on with the plan.

One step into the corridor was all it took for all heads to turn in his direction. Before Michael could take a second, the guard closest to his right moved from his position and walked up to him.

"We are under orders to keep you from leaving. Please return to your room."

Michael rolled his eyes. Under orders? Was he a child that needed permission to leave?

He closed the space between them and stared down at the guard, who would not—could not—meet his eyes. "Step aside." Michael kept his voice low, but there was no denying the seriousness in his tone.

However, the guard did not move.

Michael looked up at the others. "I said step aside," he repeated as he brushed past the guard. His action seemed to have signalled the other five to take action because they immediately moved to the center of the corridor and formed a line to block off his path.

Again, he stopped, but only because he had no choice. Michael opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off when a voice came from down the corridor.

"As you can see, they do not take orders from you."

Once their eyes locked, Michael watched his father's beta, Damien, walk past the guards to stand directly in front of him. There were not many occasions in which their paths would cross, and the reason for that was simple: Michael did not like the tall, dark haired brute of a man. He never had and was absolutely certain he never would.