Page 78 of Crimson Moon Falling

Gunnar set down the file. “What about surveillance?”

“Nothing on the trail cams, or at the gas stations in Afton or Alpine. The visitor center footage from the day before he disappeared shows him buying a protein bar and talking with a ranger.” I rubbed my eyes, feeling the implant hum at the base of my skull, a steady, cold beat. “He walked out and vanished into thin air.”

Discouragement settled over me, heavy and suffocating. My father had vanished in an eerily similar way, and helplessness and frustration ate at me.

Months, then years, of training, then searching for clues about my father’s disappearance, with no answers and nothing to show for it, taught me that life was not fair, powerful people got away with almost everything, and you didn’t always find closure. Lord, I was becoming as cynical as Parker.

As frustration mounted, my implant shifted like a gear engaging, and cold clarity washed through me. It began processing. Not the data itself, but the patterns within it.

I opened my laptop again and went back through his purchases. Gunnar was right that Viggo lived a simple life. He bought fish oil pills and protein shakes online regularly.

Until last month, when he paused his purchases.

I started looking through the few apps on his phone when my phone buzzed on the table. My fists tightened as I looked at the screen. It was the same unknown number that had sent me photos yesterday.

Casually, I picked up my phone and made sure Gunnar couldn’t see the screen. There was only one photo of the blond woman from the previous set. She was alone, wearing a different outfit. This time, she wore a snug, short red pencil skirt and a low-cut, sleeveless cream silk blouse. The woman was walking into Conall’s hotel room, her elegant profile showing off thick blond hair pulled back in a sleek knot and a warm, sensual smile. Someone had a nice camera to capture all that in the hotel hallway light.

There was no kiss or embrace. Just a beautiful woman entering my mate’s hotel room. I set the phone face down.

Gunnar glanced up. “What’s wrong?” Mangus lay sprawled out on the kitchen floor beside me. He whined softly.

“Nothing. Just tired.” He grunted and went back to reviewing Viggo’s accounts while my heart ached. The woman’s energy wasn’t visible in a photo, but her power and confidence were easy to recognize. She was a wolf shifter.

I remembered what Madison told me about her own father having at least two mates. Granted, the man had been a complete bastard, but the practice wasn’t unheard of. What about lovers? Did Alphas routinely take lovers outside their mate bonds, and I just hadn’t been informed it was going to happen?

My knowledge of wolf shifters was embarrassingly limited for someone mated to an Alpha, and I had no illusions about why Conall chose me. I was a powerful Cog who could Spool. Love and trust would come later. Or so I thought.

We’d never discussed rules, exclusivity, or even a human marriage contract or a prenuptial. The bond between us was real. I felt it even now, a distant hum against my sternum. But we’d never defined what it meant to a wolf shifter with a Cog mate who couldn’t shift and run with him under a full moon.

I thought back to the old photos I’d seen online of Conall with other women before I met him. I told myself it was in his past, and it didn’t matter.

Then we’d spent months apart, suffering through the Canis mate-bond sickness. Conall hadn’t spoken to me, and he’d forced an interdiction on his Pack against anyone contacting me. Getting these photos felt like someone had ripped open every jagged scar, and I sat here, bleeding inside.

I didn’t want to make the same mistakes. I couldn’t go through that kind of pain again.

Gunnar looked up when I stood. “I need to talk to Conall. I’ll be back.”

He nodded, and I walked into my bedroom, closed the door, and called him. It rang four times and went to voicemail. His deep voice asked me to leave a message. Instead, I texted him.

Riley: Call me when you can. I need to talk to you

Later that evening, after we cleaned up the dinner dishes, I pulled out my phone for what felt like the hundredth time to see if Conall had called or texted me back.

Nothing.

My mind flashed back to those painful months when he’d blocked me right after the Canis mate-binding ceremony. Maybe I was still hurting or too proud, but I wouldn’t reach out again. We wouldn’t be talking until he contacted me.

No matter how long it took.

Chapter 24

Conall

Conall rubbed his temples as he tried to rein in his fraying temper. Across the table, Malachi Hagan pointed a weathered finger at the polling data on his computer, his Texas drawl at odds with his serious words.

Ash sat to Conall’s left, his braid loose over one shoulder, his dark eyes following the conversation with quiet patience. Conall envied Ash’s ability to find tranquility, even in the middle of these godforsaken Pack Council meetings. Because right now he wanted to rip Christopherson’s head off.

Malachi swiped to a new screen, showing a recent poll. “The public isn’t sure what to believe. General Wilson’s competence ratings took a ten-point hit after the Yellowstone story broke, but his trustworthiness numbers have barely moved.” He shook his head. “People still see the uniform and the medals, and they wanna believe in him. It doesn’t hurt that he’s got the looks and voice that could sell ice to polar bears.”