Page 17 of Broken Forced Mate
Which means he’s dangerous.
The lights inside the guest house come on as evening settles over the territory. Through binoculars, I can seemovement in both rooms. Bastian’s silhouette moves past his window, while Raegan’s room remains curtained.
She always did value privacy.
Sometimes I wonder if Jerrod Blacklock’s approach wasn’t simpler. Rule through fear, crush opposition before it develops, never let anyone close enough to betray you. Oren’s attempt at building something better has left us all vulnerable to exactly this kind of infiltration.
But that’s unfair. Oren’s leadership has brought prosperity and stability to both packs. The Amanzite discovery alone has changed everything for our people.
Which is probably why Thornridge wants to take it away from us.
The intel reports paint a clear picture. Thornridge has been recruiting from displaced pack members across the region for months. Former pack wolves who’ve lost their territories to conflicts, ambitious betas who feel overlooked by traditional pack hierarchies, and omegas who believe the old ways have failed them.
The profile Jay sends me on Nathan Lineman fits perfectly. Young, charismatic, educated enough to pass for diplomatic material. The kind of operative who could infiltrate a university, identify valuable targets, and spend months building the perfect cover identity.
Raegan never stood a chance, all because I drove her away.
I scope the guest house again through binoculars. Bastian’s room is dark, but there’s movement behind his curtains. Restless pacing, maybe.
The man is definitely not sleeping.
My phone goes off with another intelligence update. Lineman has connections to mercenary groups operating in the eastern territories. He specialized in long-term infiltration and would embed himself in target communities for months, building relationships and gathering information before striking. His longest recorded operation lasted eight months in the northern territories before he disappeared with critical resource data.
Six months at Llewelyn University fits his pattern to a T.
Raegan’s window finally goes dark. She’ll read for a few minutes before actually sleeping—long enough for me to get into position and wait for the right moment.
I gather my equipment and head for the truck. The maintenance shed sits on the far side of the property, hidden by desert terrain and storage buildings. No direct sightlines from the guest house or main residence.
The drive takes twelve minutes, keeping headlights off and engine noise to a minimum. Desert night swallows sound quickly, but Bastian’s training might make him sensitive to unusual activity.
I park behind the equipment barn and check my gear one final time. Zip ties, cloth, and emergency medical supplies in case something goes wrong. The knife at my belt is for cutting restraints, not for use against Raegan, but the weight of it reminds me how far I’ve fallen from protector to predator.
The approach to the guest house takes another five minutes of careful movement through scrub brush and rocky terrain. Night vision goggles turn the landscape into green-tinted clarity, showing every obstacle and approach angle.
Desert wildlife scatters as I move. Jackrabbits bound away from my path, while coyotes watch from safe distancesbefore melting back into darkness. They know predatory movement when they see it.
Tonight, I’m the apex predator.
Bastian’s window remains dark and is now still. Either he’s asleep or he’s moved to a different position inside the room.
I reach the utility ladder and test its stability. The metal rungs hold my weight without creaking, though a year of desert weather has left them rough with corrosion.
Raegan’s window sits directly above, curtains drawn but with a thin strip of darkness where the fabric doesn’t quite meet. No interior illumination; she’s finally gone to sleep.
Or she’s lying in darkness, thinking about today’s confrontation and wondering what the hell she’s gotten herself into.
The thought of her doubting herself, questioning the engagement because of my accusations, should make me feel guilty. Instead, it gives me hope. If she’s already having second thoughts, maybe what I’m about to do will save her from more than just physical danger.
Maybe it will save her from making the worst mistake of her life.
The window above grows larger as I approach, and I can see the faint outline of furniture through the gap in the curtains.
Her room. Her sanctuary in her brother’s territory. The place where she should feel safest in the world, at least for the night.
And I’m about to violate it completely.
At the window level, I pause and listen. No sounds from inside—no movement, no restless turning, no phoneconversations with friends back in Llewelyn. Just the deep silence of someone finally asleep after an exhausting day.
