Page 48 of Broken Forced Mate
My hands shake as I channel energy through the crystal formation, and the entire thing explodes into dust.
“Again,” Veva commands from across the training room. Her arms are crossed as she watches me destroy my third focusing stone this morning.
“I can’t control it.” My voice is hoarse from three hours of failed attempts to harness abilities I never asked for. “Every time I try to project energy, it goes nuclear.”
Ash appears at my elbow with a glass of water and another crystal. “You’re trying too hard. The power responds to emotion, not force.”
“My emotions want to blow things up right now.”
“Because you’re terrified,” she notes. “Fear makes everything unstable.”
She’s not wrong. Ever since the attack on Wyn two days ago, I’ve been consumed by a panic I can’t shake. An image of him dying in that canyon plays on repeat in my mind, and each time I see it, my newfound abilities spike beyond my control.
We continue training for another hour before I finally reach my limit. My legs shake from exhaustion, and the psychic feedback from extended power use makes my skull throb.
“That’s enough for today,” Veva declares. “Push too hard and you’ll burn yourself out.”
After they leave, I spend the afternoon researching historical precedents in the books Matriarch Lydia brought me. The patterns are there, clear as daylight once you know what to look for. Territory after territory falling to thesame systematic approach—infiltration, intelligence gathering, economic disruption, then overwhelming force.
The MO is always to target bloodline abilities first. Psychics, casters, anyone with supernatural gifts that could be used against them or weaponized for their benefit.
Thornridge has found a method that works, and they’re using it.
By evening, my head is pounding from hours of reading, but the intelligence picture is clearer. Thornridge moves during periods of internal conflict—pack leadership disputes, economic instability, natural disasters that divide attention and resources. Like an Amanzite discovery that makes us targets for every opportunistic force in the region.
I need some aspirin from the medical bay, but when I pass the armory, I hear the sound of metal against metal. Someone’s inside, working with the weapons cache.
The keypad beeps as I enter my access code. Wyn is standing at the main workbench with his back to me, checking rifle mechanisms.
“What are you doing up so late?” I ask.
He doesn’t turn around. “Equipment maintenance. These rifles haven’t been properly serviced in weeks.”
“Isn’t it your day off? You should be resting. You’ve had a long few days.”
“We don’t have time for me to rest.”
I cross the room and grab his wrist, forcing him to look at me. “You were nearly killed two days ago. You need to breathe, Wyn.”
He pulls free from my grip. “Tomorrow’s patrol requires functional weapons.”
“Tomorrow’s patrol can use weapons maintained by someone who isn’t grappling with his own mortality.”
For the first time since I entered, he really looks at me. “You think I want to be out there? You think I enjoy getting shot at by professional killers?”
“Then why—”
“Because every day we delay gives them more time to position for the final assault. Our people are depending on intelligence that only comes from active reconnaissance, and taking a day off while enemies surround our territory isn’t an option.”
The honest pain in his voice catches me off guard. I can see the exhaustion in the lines around his eyes, the way his shoulders carry weight that goes beyond physical injury.
“You could have died,” I whisper.
“But I didn’t.”
“That’s not the point.” My voice cracks despite my attempts to stay strong. “What if something had happened? What if you’d bled out in some canyon where nobody could find you?”
“Would that have mattered to you?” The question comes out so quiet, I almost miss it. “If I had died?”
