Page 48 of Crimson Moon Falling

Gunnar was quiet for a long moment, his thick fingers tapping a slow rhythm on the blanket. Then he looked up at me, his expression shifting into something almost amused.

“In all my years as an ISB investigator, I’ve had two cases go sideways.” He held up two beefy fingers. “Can you guess which ones they are?”

“I’d rather not.”

“The last two cases. Both with you.”

My shoulders hunched. “I’m sure it’s a coincidence.” The implant seemed to stir. Damn it, that was weird.

“Is it?”

I crossed my arms. “You’re the one in the hospital bed, not me. I think the common denominator is you.”

He huffed, then winced and pressed a hand to his bandaged shoulder. “Shit, don’t make me laugh.” He lay back and studied me for a moment, his dark, beady eyes shrewd. “That thing in your head. It’s evolving, isn’t it?”

I didn’t answer right away. “Some days are better than others. Conall’s Pack and the hellhounds help. But yes, it’s evolving.”

“They can’t take it out,” he confirmed.

“No.”

He nodded once. “However this ends, and whatever we find out there, you fight to stay yourself. Not the closed-off, robot version who came back from Roswell, but the real you. The one who gives me the side-eye and teases me about my cats.” His voice dropped, gruff and earnest. “I don’t want another partner. Breaking you in was bad enough.”

I nodded jerkily and rose to gather the coffee cups and trash. He was still pale. “Get better. I also need my partner back. I’m not going to call Fergus on this one. I think it’s better not to involve him at this point.”

Gunnar nodded. “Try not to get shot, stabbed, or kidnapped again before I get out of here.”

“You’re the one in the hospital bed.” As I left the hospital, I pulled out my phone and dialed Parker’s number.

It was time to get him involved.

Chapter 14

Conall

“If you need anything during your stay with us, don’t hesitate to ring me,” the hotel concierge murmured in his slight British accent. He wore a black vest and a bow tie, reminding Conall of a proper English butler.

The gilded suite at The Willard Hotel in Washington, D.C., smelled like lemon furniture polish and expensive cologne. Lobbyists, billionaires, and deal brokers came here to negotiate government contracts and favors behind closed doors, over expensive meals, premium liquor, and high-end flesh.

“We’re good for now, Hudson,” Sawyer Castillo murmured, slipping the man a large bill. “Let us know if you hear anything.”

Hudson bowed elegantly to the Alpha of the Southwestern States Pack and closed the suite door behind him. Conall stood at the window, watching the city. Only one day in D.C., and his wolf paced inside him impatiently. Sawyer lounged in a clawfoot armchair in a custom-made designer suit, twirling a whiskey in a crystal-cut glass. Ash sat on the silk couch in his cargo pants and flannel shirt, looking at ease in the stuffy, pretentious hotel suite.

Conall rubbed his face. “Whatever the hell it takes, we need to stop this mandatory shifter registration law. They’re using the Roswell and Austin facilities to rage-bait and scare the public into supporting it.”

Sawyer shook his head. “It’s disturbing how thoroughly the Central Federal Government can twist the truth until it’s completely unrecognizable. The Normal population vastly outnumbers the supernaturals, yet the Feds use us as the enemy to unify their base.”

Ash nodded. “It’s not difficult when you have some supernaturals, like Skinwalkers, who are predisposed to prey on humans. But they paint us all with the same brush.”

“They’re claiming the operatives coming out of the Roswell and Austin facilities are shifters, so the Packs must be responsible,” Conall muttered. “At least half of the Alphas on the Pack Council are either too scared or too compromised to fight back.”

Sawyer pinched the bridge of his nose. “After my own father sold out his Pack children to be tested and tortured, nothing surprises me anymore.”

Conall walked over and sat. “I heard the Northeastern Pack is already drafting a Compliance Statement.”

Sawyer shook his head in disgust. “The Northeastern Alpha has always been suspect. Alexander Christopherson’s Pack earns most of its considerable wealth from defense contracts. Nothing like a little conflict of interest.” He threw back the rest of his whiskey. “My god, I never thought I’d see this day. Mandatory registration tests for every shifter in North America, not just the Cogs. Every single one of us, lining up to get tested and cataloged like animals in a fucking lab.”

Conall leaned over and poured himself a glass of whiskey. “We all like knowing who the high-level Cogs are in our territories.” Guilt slid through him when he thought of how he and Riley first met. “Now I understand why Riley and other Cogs are so enraged and terrified about having to test. Jesus, the Feds made it a felony if they didn’t.”