Page 47 of Cold Moon

27

Dante

When I went to the farm the next day, I felt better that Skye was in the clinic. If anything happened to him, if he had another relapse, there was someone around who knew what they were doing. My growling wolf said I ought to be there, looking after Skye, seeing him safe. But if my panic at the movie theater had proven anything, it was that in a real-life crisis, I wasn’t much good.

Even if I didn’t ruin everything I touched, the best thing I’d done in that theater had been to call in Alpha Grove. I hoped, over time, I could get better, figure some of it out on my own, but... but maybe it was okay for me to lean into my strengths and let Linden and Skye see to theirs.

There was plenty of work at the farm for me to throw myself into to avoid worrying too much about the things I’d done wrong, particularly when there wasn’t anyone there trying to make me feel like I had screwed up.

Strangely enough, that wasn’t because I was alone. Ridge had taken the day off farm work to join in in the makeshift barn laboratory. He said it was no problem, since there wasn’t as much to do with the changing season. Ford could look after the animals and show Mr. Mena the ropes.

Really, I thought it was more likely that Ridge wanted to see this through as much as anyone. It was his theory we were testing, and he wanted to make sure he wasn’t wrong, hadn’t dragged the pack toward a conflict with a major corporation for nothing.

When it came down to it, Ridge had more laboratory experience than I did. We worked easily together, both quiet, both focused on our own tasks.

We isolated the chemical solution present on both Sterling produce and in the water bottles. It meant hours spent titrating, boiling flasks on hot plates, testing properties. When Ridge left for lunch, he came back with snack cakes and boxes of granola and dry breakfast cereal. Even baby formula.

It was in all of it. Everything we tested, and by the following afternoon, Ridge’s shoulders were beginning to sag.

I stared blankly at all the food laid out on the worktable between us. “How—why? Why would anyone bother to do this?”

Ridge was only a couple years older than me, but when I looked into his face, he seemed aged from just that morning. “I don’t know. I can’t—When we first saw them spraying it on the fields, I thought it was a pesticide. It’s almost like chlorpyrifos, but it’s not. That’d affect humans. It’s so...specific.”

He dug out his phone, and I peered over his shoulder to see him looking up the CEO of the Sterling Corporation, Jedediah Sterling. Like most multimillionaires, he had his own Wikipedia page, complete with his birthdate, approximate net worth, and familial connections that were a matter of public record. He had a wife, a son and a daughter, a handful of grandchildren. But there was nothing there to signify some latent hatred of werewolves.

I wanted to think this was all a huge mistake, but there wasn’t a good excuse for this kind of prolonged illness, caused by a particular agent, that only affected werewolves. If it were an accident, it wouldn’t be in the bottled water. It had to be purposeful.

Ridge shook his head, slipped his phone into his pocket, and set his shoulders back. “Well, we need to know how it affects werewolves, why it’s just us, and just omegas at that. You’re into biology, right? Do you know what’s different about werewolf and human physiology—what’s different about omegas?”

“I can.. . try and figure it out.” I knew a little—as much as any werewolf with a year of a biology degree and a higher-than-average curiosity about what made alphas tick might know, anyway. But the pack needed this, and it was time for me to prove my worth. There was nothing to do but bridge any gap between my knowledge and real understanding. Maybe with what we’d learned, Linden would know where to go from here.

He gave a short nod. “Good. That’s... It’s plants, for me. Some husbandry, but when it comes to people, werewolves, that’s beyond what I know.”

“Yeah, well, they need you here. And the alpha brought me in for this. I can talk to him in the morning. He’ll.. . know more than I do.”

Ridge’s lips twitched. “For sure. Seems to know a lot, our Alpha Grove.” His hands settled on his hips. “You want a ride back to town?”

I sucked in my cheeks, thinking about Skye still stuck in his bed, how easily he’d been sent there by an innocuous bottle of water.

With a sigh, I shook my head. “I think I’ll stay here. Do some more research. Double check there’s nothing we’re missing.”

Ridge nodded. “I’ll leave my laptop with you then. You have my number if you find anything.”

“I do.”

I knew I should’ve gone home with him, needed rest, but with my brain whirling so fast, there was no way I could just let this go. There was something in our physiology that made us susceptible, that made sure Sterling was pretty damn comfortable exposing human consumers to this poison that’d decimated omegas.

If only it’d come for alphas, it wouldn’t have seemed so damn insidious. It wasn’t that all omegas were perfect angels, but I was sure werewolf packs would be better off with fewer alphas. We weren’t all good. Hell, I was still struggling to accept the handful of decent alphas in the Grove pack, and they seemed like aliens come to make me question my assumptions, rather than the norm for alpha wolves across the country.

It would’ve been better for this shit to take out alphas. What would packs be missing out on then? A bit of leadership, sure, but also a lot of violence. I couldn’t believe a knot was worth all that much, even if some people liked the feel of one.

But that was it—if I could’ve taken Skye’s illness from him and felt it myself, I would’ve. He didn’t deserve all that, to struggle and be in pain and—

And I knew he’d give me the world’s biggest frown if I’d said a foolish thing like that to him, but I couldn’t help feeling that he deserved better and... and I deserved whatever I got. Not a damn thing about this was fair.

That really hit home when I walked out of the old barn as the sun was sinking below the tree line to see Ford there, elbows on the fence of the goat yard, glaring off at the sky.

He’d barely spoken to me around the farm, but Ridge said not to worry about it—Ford just didn’t like talking.

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