Page 107 of Crimson Moon Falling

Then I tracked down Parker and dragged him outside. “I need your help.”

Later that evening, Ash pulled up in front of the log bungalow that had become my second home in the Old Faithful historic district of Yellowstone.

Gunnar filled the doorway, his massive frame blocking the light. Mangus skirted around him and met me as soon as I slid out of the rental. His tail wagged enthusiastically, and a string of smoldering drool landed on my hiking boot.

“Hey, big guy. Did you miss me?” I scratched behind their ears, then winced when he brushed against an ankle.

“He moped by the door for two days straight,” Gunnar informed me. “Athena missed you too, but she has more dignity.”

The white hellhound walked to the edge of the porch and yawned. “She doesn’t look like she missed me.”

Gunnar glanced at Ash. “You’re kinda hard on your bodyguards. What is this, number four or five?”

Guilt swamped me. “You remember Ash from Roswell, right?”

“I remember him taking a few bullets for you.”

Ash stared at Gunnar. “You’re making Riley feel responsible. She has a savior complex and feels guilty when people she cares about get hurt.”

Gunnar winced. “Sorry. Yeah, she kind of does want to save everyone.” He turned to me. “It’s not your fault everyone gets hurt around you.”

Ash shook his head. “You’re making it worse.”

Gunnar shrugged and motioned for us to come inside. “Wouldn’t be the first time. I made some ‘don’t ask’ stew and biscuits if you’re hungry.”

I tilted my head. “What’s in–”

“It’s called ‘don’t ask’ for a reason,” Gunnar interrupted.

We stowed our luggage then sat down to eat. The stew smelled delicious but contained an unsettling number of different meats. The biscuits, however, were light and fluffy with a sprinkling of chives and cheese on top. Mangus flopped down beside me, and I picked out big chunks of meat from my stew and fed him.

A half-empty bottle of whiskey sat beside a stack of case files on the table. Gunnar grabbed a few coffee mugs, filled each with a finger of whiskey, and pushed one toward me.

“You look like shit,” Gunnar informed me, settling his bulk into the straining kitchen chair.

“Thanks.” I took a sip, wheezing through the burn.

Gunnar pointed to the files. “I’ve been thinking about this case while you were getting yourself kidnapped again.”

Ash picked up his coffee mug and pointed to my partner. “Stop poking at her, troll.”

Gunnar rolled his eyes. “Fiiine. One thing keeps coming back to me since our first day here.”

The implant hissed to life, cold and analytical. I slowly sipped the whiskey, letting it burn a path down my throat and dull the pain in my ankles.

“What?”

“Zaria. The witch. I’ve looked through her file several times, and she’s an anomaly. Why is she here? She grew up near Lake Bled in Slovenia, but she ends up on another continent. She also knew your dad before she even moved here.”

I cradled my mug in my hands. “And?”

“Maybe her ties to your father were more than just casual or coincidental. She also volunteered to help you with your implant.” He tapped a thick finger on the table. “We need to go through her place.”

“Is it still intact?”

“Yep. I talked to the county sheriff, and he said the wards on the house shocked the shit out of him and his deputy when they went to look at the place. They’re waiting until whatever protection spells Zaria has on it fades.”

When a witch died, their magic dissipated over time. Dani, my former landlord, had warded my old apartment building with a few nasty spells, but I knew she had to feed them her blood every so often.