Page 163 of Conner's Luna

"We come to a mating party and miss the war,no?" Carmichael says to Papa as I run over with Velia right behind me. I stop abruptly when I hear Carmichael's words. Velia crashes into me, and I fall into the tiny, petite woman.

At the last second, I feel one arm sweep around my middle. I see a pair of startling white-blue eyes, then I'm set on my feet gently next to the blonde who must be AuntieCassie, tucked under her mate's other arm.

"Sorry, Auntie Cass!" Velia confirms my suspicions from behind me.

"You must be more careful,chiquita," Carmichael scolds me as if he's known me forever. "You are having a pup,sí?"

I'm deafened a second later as squealing splits the air. Even Carmichael winces at the volume of the noise. Arms wrap around me, more than one pair from more than one direction. Soft, soothing sweetness fills my soul and I soak it up.

"Don't smother her!" a voice calls out.

"I'm Cassie! Congratulations! Have you decided what sort of party you're having? Miranda, we need to plan a party!"

The LoboGris must be used to this. A minute after I'm set upon by the gorgeous, pregnant blond fairy that is somehow blood-related to my big, brooding man, I'm sitting in the center of the grand dining room surrounded by chatter and party-planning books.

It's fun, and Conner's family is wonderful, but I keep hearing the word 'war' echo in my head, and my eyes can't help but notice all of the LoboGris men patrolling the edges of the house, inside and out, their faces locked in grim watchfulness. Farther away, in the dark woods, I see wolves. The pack that is 70% male is 100% lethal. I look at Conner's AuntieCassie cooing over at least three babies and toddlers and amend my calculations... 99% lethal.

It isn't long before I'm tapped on my shoulder. Turning, I see Uncle Mattie, his face serious. "Bailey, can you come with me?"

I nod and excuse myself. Walking down the hall, I enter a room behind Uncle Mattie and feel my stomach drop a little. There's also a little nudge of relief at the sight of Dr. Honekier's files, laid out neatly on every surface. Party planning isn't my thing. This is what I'm good at.

"OK," I rub my hands together. "Do we have the program set up somewhere? Where's my MacBook? Let's start digging."

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41 - Alexander Wilkinson

Bailey

"This goes so far beyond Dr. Honekier..." I say in a faint voice. "The dead girls were being used for dissections. That's entirely unnecessary for pregnancy and births. It wasn't about fertility," I tell Sarj in a hoarse voice, "but I don't knowwhatand I don't know who is behind it all."

I need sleep, but all I was able to manage was a quick, fifteen-minute nap before all of the anxiety and thoughts spinning in my head woke me back up. There are too many variables, too many questions and, to be honest, too many answers. Unfortunately, each answer simply leads to twenty more questions, and so the cycle has continued.

"Try to sleep again, Luna Bailey," an older, quiet man, Gerald, says with a smile. He reminds me of Dad. He's whip-smart and protective, which is comforting. He and Dad have even been talking a bit as they wander through the room.

The room all of Dr. Honekier's files were taken to is expandable. You can't tell at first, the partition wall blends so seamlessly with the trim and finishing of the other walls, but when whiteboards and more evidence were brought in two men moved the wall out of the way effortlessly.

At first, I thought I was hallucinating when the wall-papered panels began to move to reveal more space that, while it has a harmonious decorating scheme, isn't identical. The clashing vibe threw me off and now the room seems small again. At least a dozen people are moving about, and in and out. Several more tables were brought in. One lone corner of the room I've dubbed the 'murder corner,' because of the array of pictures from the crime scenes that they thoughtfully turned away from me. I call my little spot 'nerd hub' because I'm almost dead center in the activity. Purposefully, I imagine, because I'm easier to protect in the middle of the room.

The wealth of information is nearly overwhelming. RedMoon's fertility testing was just the tip of the iceberg. Several packs invested in Alpha Alex's MateLess program, where a MateLess wolf could send their DNA profile in for a match with possible mates. RedMoon, as far as I can tell, was simply ramping up the intensity, with plans of actual 'superpups.'

Sarj snickered when I showed him the notes hidden deep in coded files all over Honekier's lab results. "They've never met my big brother," was all he said.

Tears prick my eyes. I'm so exhausted. I'm scared. I want Conner to be here next to me and not going out to a war I don't understand.

I look at the blurry figure of Gerard, one of the pack's investigators. He's been sticking close to my side, worry clear on his face.

"Here, Dad," someone hands him a steaming cup of coffee. I follow the hand holding the to-go cup, then the arm, all the way up to a pair of familiar grey eyes.

It's the girl from the party. She's practically emaciated and ill with something. That's odd for wolves, isn't it? Nearly every wolf I've encountered has been healthy; not even a cold among them.

"What if..." I breathe out. "Someone is dying and they're looking for a cure? You said... you said that one of the females was pregnant? Stem cells of infants. The biologic fountain of youth."

"Two of the victims were pregnant," Gerald responds. There is a flurry of activity behind me, but I'm too tired to look. Hopefully, everything is OK and I'm not about to be eaten by zombies.

"I think it's time you rested, young lady," Dad says sternly.

Like the other zombies, I shamble down the corridor to wherever Dad and I are being led. The bedroom is opulent without being extravagant. I only catch a glimpse of an ornate wainscot and a ceiling painted dark blue before I'm sinking into the thickest comforter I've ever felt in my life.

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