Page 67 of Crimson Moon Falling

Christopherson’s expression settled into something measured and political. “I’m not denying this is significant, but without chain of custody on the evidence and proper authentication—”

“Who in god’s green hell gives a rat’s ass about chain of custody?” Malachi Hagan interrupted.

Ingrid scoffed. “You need to step aside, Christopherson. Your son is twice the Alpha you are, and he can’t be bought. Although several of my female Betas have thoroughly enjoyed having him in our territory while he avoids you.” She winked at him as Alexander’s face flushed.

“The evidence holds up.” Conall cut them off. “My Pack’s Strategist is running the serial numbers as we speak. The shipping manifests match ApGen purchase orders, and the military personnel were carrying DOD identification. This is corruption and treason at the highest level, and they’re coming for us next.”

Thompson’s massive fist came down on the table again. “They can take their legislation and shove it where the sun don’t shine. I vote no.”

“Building labs under our noses, the brazen fuckers,” Ingrid Glazer hissed, her pale eyes gone wolf-gold.

Alpha Christopherson’s mouth twisted in disgust. “They’re contaminating and tainting shifters, turning our people into—” He stopped himself, but the implication hung in the air.

Contaminated. Tainted. The words settled in Conall’s chest like something cold and sharp. He thought of Riley and the way her energy crackled along his skin when she was angry or aroused, bright and alive. Her generosity and reluctant kindness. Putting herself in danger to help others. He pictured her helping Ash with a glitch in his shields, even though she should have been studying. And her mercy toward Anna.

His wolf snarled, pressing against his ribs, wanting his mate. Conall pushed him back with an effort that made his temples throb.

“My mate is a Cognizant,” he snarled, his power and wrath punching through the room. “And I’m a Tracker.” He glanced at Sawyer, who was also a Cog Strategist. Everyone fell silent. “So if you don’t want me to challenge you today, you’ll keep your bigotry to yourself.” He stared right at Alexander as he spoke. “It’s not the outcome. It’s the torture and kidnapping, the stripping of free will. It’s the fact that they’re doing this without consent.”

Christopherson met his gaze, but it was a struggle. “Of course. My apologies, and no offense to your mate. I hear she’s lovely. But the principle stands. What they’re doing—” He shook his head. “It’s perversion.”

“With all due respect,” Malachi drawled, his Texas cadence deceptively mild, “It doesn’t matter if they’re turning our people into Cogs or Olympic athletes. They’re doing it without consent.”

“And building an army of powerful operative soldiers. For what exactly, I wonder?” Glazer added. Conall wondered too.

Malachi pushed back from the table and stood. The movement drew every eye in the room. He was the oldest Alpha present, and highly respected.

“I reckon I’ve heard enough. I move that the Pack Council formally and unanimously oppose the mandatory shifter registration legislation before the Senate.” His voice lost most of its folksy drawl and hardened like granite. “I further move that we coordinate our public opposition through a joint Council Statement, citing evidence of federal overreach, violations of shifter sovereignty, and the criminal conspiracy outlined today. I will also challenge any Alpha who votes against this motion, as they are not here to protect the shifters this Council serves.”

“I second,” Ingrid answered.

“All in favor,” Sawyer added.

Hands went up around the table. Christopherson’s went up last, his expression unreadable. He held Conall’s gaze for a beat, then looked away.

Malachi nodded. “Motion carried unanimously. I’ll have my Beta draft it up. Be back here this afternoon to sign it.” It should have been a victory, but it felt like they were going to war.

The meeting dissolved into the logistics of drafting the statement and coordinating with legal teams. Conall let the others handle the details.

Alexander Christopherson had called Cogs contaminated and tainted. Conall looked around and wondered what his introverted, blunt, wicked-smart mate would think of that. His chest ached because not long ago, he hadn’t cared much about Cogs who weren’t shifters.

The Alphas started dispersing, and several Betas filtered into the room. Elena stepped in to speak with Alexander and glanced over at him with a benign smile. Conall watched them go, something cold settling in his gut.

Sawyer stood next to him. The grief was still there, etched into the lines around his eyes. “Have you heard any updates?”

Conall nodded. “Drew texted right before the meeting started. They got most everything out. The lab equipment, photos, shipping manifests.”

Sawyer nodded. “Madison contacted four major outlets and two investigative journalists who’ve been digging into Apex for years.” He studied Conall for a moment. “Your wolf’s close.”

“Someday I might have to kill that bastard.”

“Christopherson’s son might save us the effort. That makes you and me tainted and contaminated since we’re both Cogs too.” Sawyer’s expression didn’t change.

“You’re not pissed off.”

Sawyer gave an elegant, careless shrug. “I’ve known him for years. He was good friends with Cyrus, so that should tell you what kind of Alpha he is. The idea of being turned into a Cog probably offends him on a fundamental level. Pride is a powerful motivator.”

“I might ask Ash to sage this room, and I need a long shower,” Conall muttered.