Page 6 of Where Lightning Strikes Twice
One thing is certain: I will return to that border area. I must understand this strange connection before it becomes a vulnerability Viktor can exploit. The Storm Eagle leader cannot afford weakness—especially not one involving a ground-dweller.
As night fully claims the sky, I make my decision. Tomorrow, I’ll lead another scouting mission to the border settlements. For the clan’s security, I tell myself. For strategic intelligence gathering.
But deep in my eagle heart, I know the truth. I’m returning for her—the human female whose mere existence has somehow disrupted everything I thought I knew about my place in this world.
I turn from the balcony, troubled by questions I can’t answer and desires I don’t understand. For the first time in thirteen years of leadership, I face an enemy I can’t fight with claws or lightning.
Myself.
3
ELENA
Iwipe sweat from my forehead as I finish hanging the last of the surgical lights in our makeshift field hospital. Three days of backbreaking work have transformed an abandoned warehouse at the edge of the northern settlement into a functional medical facility. Not ideal by Haven’s Heart standards, but better than treating the wounded in tents.
“Dr.Ashford, where should I set up the blood analysis equipment?” Dr.Chen calls from across the room, his arms full of delicate testing apparatus.
“Against the east wall,” I respond, pointing to the cleanest corner we’ve managed to create. “We need to keep it away from the main treatment areas. And make sure to triple-check the calibration—frontier power fluctuations could compromise our results.”
He nods and moves to follow my instructions. I’ve worked with Chen for years in Haven’s Heart research division, and his presence here is one of the few comforts in this chaotic assignment. The Council didn’t just send me to the frontier; they dispatched a small team of medical personnel—all with specific expertise in shifter biology.
Our assignment was clear: establish a permanent medical presence near the mountain settlements and gather intelligence on the Storm Eagles through treating their victims. What the Council didn’t say but clearly implied: find weaknesses we can exploit when diplomacy inevitably fails.
I check my tablet, reviewing our inventory of supplies. The replacement convoy should arrive tomorrow, assuming it doesn’t meet the same fate as the last three. My mouth tightens as I recall the precision of those attacks—surgical in their execution, devastating in their impact.
“Dr.Ashford?” A voice interrupts my thoughts. I turn to find Captain Reed, our military liaison, standing at attention. His crisp uniform looks absurdly formal amid our hastily assembled medical bay.
“Yes, Captain?” I try to keep the fatigue out of my voice. Reed represents everything that frustrates me about this assignment—the military’s fixation on threat assessment rather than humanitarian aid.
“Settlement Commander Walsh requests your presence at the morning briefing. He wants your medical team’s preliminary findings on the Storm Eagle attack patterns.”
I suppress a sigh. “Tell the Commander I’ll be there, but I need to finish setting up our critical care units first. These people need medical attention more than the Commander needs another report.”
Reed’s expression hardens. “Dr.Ashford, with all due respect, your presence at the settlement isn’t merely medical. The Council expects your full cooperation with security protocols.”
“And they’ll have it,” I reply, keeping my voice level. “After I ensure my patients won’t die while I’m attending meetings.”
A standoff follows, one I’ve become accustomed to since arriving at the frontier. The military wants intelligence; I wantto heal the wounded. Both of us have our orders, but my Hippocratic oath takes precedence over Council politics.
Reed finally relents. “The briefing is at 0800. Don’t be late.” He turns on his heel and strides from the warehouse, back straight as a rod.
“Making friends as usual, I see,” Dr.Chen remarks dryly, returning to my side.
“You know me. Always the diplomat.” I manage a tired smile. “How’s the equipment looking?”
“Operational, if not optimal. The portable genetic sequencer is particularly temperamental—keeps giving error codes when running shifter samples.”
This catches my attention. “What kind of errors?”
“Classification inconsistencies. The database doesn’t recognize some of the genetic markers we’re finding in the raid victims.”
My scientific curiosity immediately sparks. “Show me.”
Chen leads me to his workstation, where several blood samples are lined up for processing. He pulls up the results on his tablet, and I lean in to examine the data.
“These markers shouldn’t exist,” I murmur, scrolling through the anomalous sequences. “They’re similar to ancient lineage patterns we’ve only seen in pre-barrier historical samples.”
“That’s what I thought,” Chen agrees. “But these are from ordinary settlers who were injured in yesterday’s raid. How would they have Storm Eagle genetic material in their bloodstream?”
