Page 4 of Broken Forced Mate
Through my binoculars, I watch as one of them marks a tree with strange symbols. The older marks look weathered, but the fresh cuts he's making now show pale wood where bark has been stripped away. They’re mapping the territory, making note of landmarks, and my wolf bristles with territorial aggression.
The symbols themselves are unfamiliar. They aren’t the standard territorial markers used by established packs in the area. These look almost runic, with angular lines and curves that follow no pattern I recognize. Each mark is carved deep enough to last through multiple seasons.
The morning breeze carries their scents to me, and there are too many different signatures mixed together. This isn’t just a family out on a hike. It’s something more organized. More dangerous.
My mind drifts to the woman who’s been gone for three years now. Raegan Blacklock, with her bleached blonde hair that catches the morning sun like spun gold. Those hazel eyes that could change from warm amber to cool green depending on her mood. She stands average height, maybe even a little on the shorter side, but she always carried herself like someone much taller, with perfect posture, like the shifter royalty she is.
Her skin is pale with a dusting of freckles across her nose that she used to complain about, but I found endearing. She has full, pouty lips and a crease on each corner of her mouth, like she’s always on the verge of smiling at some private joke.
The way she moved was poetry in motion. Graceful but purposeful, never wasting energy on unnecessary flourishes. When she walked into a room, conversations would pause. Not because she demanded attention, but because she commanded it naturally through presence alone.
I remember the blue dress she wore that last night in the garden. How it hugged her curves perfectly, showing off her hourglass figure. The way the fabric moved when she walked, drawing my eyes to the long lines of her legs.
She was beautiful. Still is, probably. Three years away won’t have changed that.
The shame of my family’s disgrace burns fresh in my memory whenever I think of her—my father’s cowardice when challenged by a rival alpha, leading to both my parents’ deaths and the loss of my birthright as a potential pack leader. How could I have claimed an alpha’s sister when my own bloodlinewas tainted by such failure? When I had no standing or honor to offer her?
My father was strong once. Respected within the pack hierarchy, trusted with important responsibilities. But when Alpha Roderick challenged his position, demanding satisfaction for some perceived slight, my father backed down. Refused to fight. Showed his throat in submission to a man half his age.
The shame killed him long before the rival alpha’s claws did. My mother died trying to protect him, even though she swore she hated him, and I was left with nothing but the knowledge that coward’s blood runs in my veins.
She deserves better than the son of a coward. Better than someone who couldn’t even protect his own family when it mattered most.
A radio crackles to life beside me. “Wyn, you copy?”
I key the mic. “Go ahead, Jay.”
“Got a visual on two more about half a mile southeast of your position. They’re carrying surveying equipment.”
Jay Hill joined the intelligence unit six months ago, recruited from the Ambersky pack when we started expanding our surveillance. He’s good at his job, methodical and patient, with keen eyes that don’t miss details. His background in military intelligence makes him invaluable for operations like this.
“Copy that. I’ve got three here marking trees. How many does that make total?”
“At least eight in the past week,” comes another voice over the radio. Theo, stationed on the western ridge. “And that’s just what we’ve spotted. Could be more.”
Theodore Kellner has been with the Grayhide pack for fifteen years, long enough to remember when territorial disputes turned violent. He’s seen what happens when negotiations fail and the packs resort to force. The worry lines around his eyes tell me he’s thinking the same thing I am.
Eight confirmed members of an unknown pack, all conducting what looks like territorial reconnaissance. The implications make my stomach turn. No pack sends that many scouts unless they’re planning something big.
I refocus my binoculars on the three below. The tallest one, a broad-shouldered man with dark hair, seems to be directing the others. He points toward different sections of the border, and they nod before spreading out to mark more trees.
The way he positions himself to maintain visual contact with his companions while watching for threats shows military or paramilitary training.
“They’re definitely mapping,” I report into the radio. “Systematic coverage of the eastern approach.”
“Same here,” Theo responds. “Western border shows fresh marks, too. These aren’t random travelers.”
The leader below pulls out what looks like a satellite phone. Old technology, but reliable in areas where cell towers are sparse. He speaks briefly, though his words are too distant for me to catch even with enhanced wolf hearing, then pockets the device and gestures for his companions to move deeper into our territory.
My wolf wants to act now, to drive these intruders away from land that doesn’t belong to them. But gathering intelligence requires patience. We need to know what we’re dealing with before we make any moves.
“Wyn,” Jay’s voice crackles through the radio. “The two I’m tracking just crossed the territory line. They’re heading toward the old mining road.”
The mining road leads directly to the pack hall. To the heart of Grayhide territory. My blood runs cold.
I key the mic. “All units, we’re pulling back. Do not engage. Repeat, do not engage.”
“Roger that,” comes Theo’s response.
