MoonFall by A.G. Wyatt Read Free Book Online Page B

unlike that cell it had a pair of bunks instead of one bed.
    The cell fell like dread across Noah’s mind. Any other time his heart would have been racing, but it was only just slowing down after the fight-or-flight-or-lie-here-getting-beaten moment with Sergeant Burns. It wasn’t that the cell seemed better by comparison, it was just that he had no reserves left to panic with.
    Burns had no way of knowing how he felt about enclosed spaces, but if she had she could hardly have planned this better. The corner cell let in even less light than his previous abode, and with only part of one wall not consumed with flat concrete there wasn’t much sign of space or open air. Even if he pressed his face against the bars, he’d still have a wall looming at him from the right, albeit one lined with cells instead of that crushingly flat gray.
    Though no-one was around the upper bunk clearly belonged to someone – the sheets were dishevelled and there was a tally of scratches on the wall above, like someone had learned about prisons in an old movie and wanted to make sure he was living the authentic 1940s experience. You couldn’t tell much about a fellow from his stained bed sheets and a bunch of scratches, but they didn’t make Blood Dog seem any more appealing than his name already had.
    Noah shifted an old magazine and lay back gratefully on the bottom bunk. He’d tried not to show it as Vostok led him back to the cell, but his head was spinning a little from the beating, and every inch of his body contributed to a single massive ache. He wanted to work out what was going on with this place, to piece together a plan to convince them he wasn’t one of these Dionites so they would let him out. But he was too damn tired and in too much pain to deal with any of it.
    He closed his eyes, shutting out the closeness of the bunk above him, the walls looming in from every direction, the terrible itch of panic being swallowed by exhaustion in the back of his brain, and let his mind wander off into sleep.

    When he woke, it was getting dark again. He’d have to be careful not to let this turn into a habit. Night was for sleeping, in prison or anywhere else, and the last thing his exhausted body needed was a screwed up sleep pattern.
    There was noise in the prison hall now, the clatter of footsteps and chatter of voices as dozens of men were returned to their cells. He could hear the rattling of keys in locks and the repeated jangle of chains, but none of the wild howling that had greeted him on his arrival. Maybe that had been a show for the guards, or a way to intimidate the new prisoner, or just a strange mood that seized these folks at night. Maybe it would be back as soon as he tried to sleep. Whatever it had been, it wasn’t part of this routine.
    Footsteps came closer and a guard appeared, unlocked Noah’s cell and then took a step back. He looked wary despite his body armor and the club on his belt. When Noah saw the prisoner being escorted, he understood why.
    Blood Dog. Noah assumed it was him because he was being ushered into the cell, and because of the big red Doberman tattooed on one cheek. He was a ridiculous and terrifying example of humanity. Vostok, the guard, was a big guy with a good couple of inches on Noah and muscles to match, but this guy would have loomed over even him. Like Sergeant Burns, he was covered in tattoos and wore a tank top to show them off, but there the similarity ended. Blood Dog must have weighed twice as much as Burns, being built like a wrestler who’d eaten fifteen cows and then hit the gym non-stop for a year. His scowl was infinitely more convincing than hers, plastered across a face that didn’t so much sit on top of his body as protrude out of it, a solid mass of muscle with little distinction between head, neck and the upward sweep of his shoulders.
    “What the fuck you looking at?” he growled as he stepped into the cell.
    A dozen answers leaped unbiddenly into Noah’s mind. Many of