Page 30 of Crimson Moon Falling

She nodded slowly. “It’s not a static condition.”

“How do I fight it?”

Dr. Wharton gazed at the implant scan on the screen. “Several approaches might help. First, don’t self-isolate. Social connections trigger oxytocin release, which strengthens emotional neural pathways.”

“I’ve noticed that contact with certain people seems to lessen the effects.” I glanced at Conall.

She nodded emphatically. “The mate bond triggers powerful neurochemical responses. Intimacy wouldn’t hurt. I also suggest deliberately seeking experiences that evoke strong or positive emotions. The implant seems designed to dampen emotional processing, but extreme stimuli might counterbalance it.”

Conall’s lips tightened. “It’s progressing quickly.”

“I recommend engaging in activities purely for emotional response—music, art, games, even controlled danger. The brain always seeks homeostasis. Right now, the implant is disturbing that balance, and your brain is adjusting along the easiest path, which is following the implant’s instruction.” She glanced nervously at Conall. “Agent Blackthorne, you graduated with dual degrees in the biological sciences, and you’re intelligent. The implant is enhancing that. Maybe it’s not all bad.”

She was wrong. Everything related to Marlowe and the implant embedding itself into my brain stem was “all bad.” I refused to lose myself to the frigid, emotionless world it was dragging me into. I couldn’t live like that.

“If I am able to make these adjustments, how long will this take?”

“Months, possibly years of conscious effort. And I can’t promise complete success.” Her gaze softened slightly. “But any progress would be meaningful.”

I nodded. “Thank you for your candor.”

The doctor set down her tablet. “I’d like to continue studying your case, and maybe I can help some of the other victims too.” Her energy vibrated with genuine concern, but also excitement.

“I’ll consider it.”

“Fair enough. I’ll prepare a detailed protocol for you.”

Conall’s gaze caught mine, and he squeezed my hand, anchoring me to his warmth. The device was already calculating the probability of success. With consistent stimulus, success rate approximately forty-three percent.

When we walked in here, I had almost no hope, so I’d take it. As we walked out of the exam, Conall’s energy felt determined and almost happy.

“When we get back to the Pack house, let’s start implementing her prescription.” His voice was low and gravelly. “Starting with a nice long fuck in a hot shower.”

A surprised laugh came out of me. “You’re going to like this regimen, aren’t you?”

“You just became my favorite project.”

We rounded the corner toward the reception area when a woman emerged from another examination room. Her hair hung limply around her pale face. Recognition hit me.

“McKenna?”

Her head snapped up, eyes wary before recognition dawned. “Riley? You’re here too?”

The nurse beside her tensed. “Ms. Price is heading in for her exam.”

McKenna was the kidnapping victim from my last case, and we’d both ended up in that horrible facility in Roswell. Her gaze darted to Conall. Dark circles ringed her eyes, and her clothes hung loosely. She hadn’t been sleeping or eating well.

Suspicion rose in me. “Did Langston come after you too?”

She nodded slowly, and I closed the distance between us, something shifting inside me. Turbulent energy surrounded McKenna. Grief, fear, and shame. The last one punched me in the gut.

“Are they making you undergo more tests?”

She nodded, running a trembling hand through her hair. “And an interview. Director Langston said it was standard protocol after... after what happened.” Her voice dropped lower. “They want to know if I’m ‘compromised.’ That’s the word he kept using.”

“Who’s with you?”

“No one. Riley, something’s going on. I’m a shifter, but I’m also a Strategist.” She glanced around furtively.