Page 72 of Crimson Moon Falling

“I doubt Bison get up this way, and Yellowstone is over two million acres. There are also thousands of abandoned mines shafts scattered all over the Western States. How’ve you been able to hold off the FBCI?”

He grimaced. “They’re calling almost hourly, asking when they can send their own team in. Usually they’d just come in and take over, but with all the news coverage, they’re trying to be a little more circumspect.”

“It’s still under the NPS’s jurisdiction, and Viggo is still missing. I need to check something we missed the first time.”

Beau nodded, but the county sheriff intercepted us, his hand resting on his sidearm. He was young for his position, but had gray in his beard and a similar tired energy.

“I’ve received orders from the Wyoming Attorney General’s Office to secure this site. No one enters without clearance.”

I pulled out my badge. “We’re the ones who found the facility, and I’m still investigating a missing person.”

The sheriff glanced at Beau, who nodded. “Let her in.”

The tunnel still smelled like earth and hot springs. We retraced our steps, and I sent feelers out, searching for energy spots. I sensed leftover signatures from the guards we’d killed, and a few more faint traces, but when we reached the administrative office where Parker and I had found the maps, I found exactly what I came here for. The metal desk sat where we’d left it, the chair overturned, drawers hanging open.

Freda stepped into the corridor, positioning herself to see both approaches. Parker stayed in the doorway, arms crossed, watching me.

“I need a minute alone.”

Parker’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

“Five minutes. That’s all.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t concentrate with you breathing down my neck and glaring at me.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll be right outside, but leave the door open.”

“That’ll work.” When he stepped outside, I sent feelers out. My palms were damp. Spooling was tricky on a good day, and Spooling with an implant was borderline crazy.

“Okay, I need you to not fight me when the pain starts,” I whispered to the device. Maybe I was crazy, but I swore we’d started communicating through impressions, visualization, and maybe even words.

When I started probing the residual energy signatures in this room, I knew right away Wilson had been in this office. And it’d been recently. I pressed my bare palms against the desktop and closed my eyes.

The first signature I brushed felt old and faint, boredom and a vague dissatisfaction clinging to it. I moved to the next signature, which was more recent. It was Beau’s energy, so I moved on. The third signature had an oily, tainted residue to it, and a sense of superior boredom clung to it. I collected that signature and found the next one. The final signature had the same dark, oily feel, but this one was more intense. It felt like Wilson, but I couldn’t be sure until Drew ran it.

Carefully, I spooled the signature. The energy felt black, ordered, and ruthlessly efficient, which made it even scarier.

I slowly tugged at the thread and started winding it around the imaginary bobbin in my head. My implant pulsated, struggling to process the additional strand, and pain lanced through my head. I kept my palms flat on the desk, digging for more. It felt like Wilson had been here multiple times, standing at this desk, reviewing those maps, and giving orders right here.

Something warm trickled from my right nostril. A drop hit the desktop with a soft pat, then another. The pain behind my eyes surged to a white-hot spike, and my vision grayed at the edges as something wet slid from my right eyelid. I was pushing too hard, taking too much. The implant’s cold efficiency faltered as glutamate flooded my system, trying to keep me conscious and stable. Conall wasn’t here to anchor me, and I missed him almost as much as I had during the mate-bonding sickness.

“What the fuck, Riley!” Parker’s voice sounded distant. Hands gripped my shoulders, trying to pull me back from the desk.

“No. Please, give me one… more… second.”

“Enough,” Parker growled. I yanked the strand loose and tucked it away, the backlash sending me to my knees.

“You stupid, reckless—” He caught me and held me up. Freda stood beside him, looking sick.

“What happened?” she asked, her eyes darting around the room.

He turned me toward him, and his eyes went hard when he saw the blood. “Christ, your eye is bleeding this time. Stay with me.” Parker knew how bad the backlash could be.

Warm liquid dripped down my cheek and onto my favorite blue jacket. Freda swung her fanny pack around and dug out a first-aid bandage. The woman really was a Girl Scout. My headache had gone nuclear, pulsing behind my eyes in time with my heartbeat. The implant sent another wave of cold clarity through my system, trying to wall off the pain, but it was a losing battle.

Parker glanced at Freda. “Call Conall. Tell him to meet us back at the bungalow ASAP. And tell him to have Drew bring the fMRI machine.”