Page 56 of Broken Forced Mate
“That’s enough,” Oren warns, using the alpha tone that usually makes me back down.
Not today.
“Everyone in this room is making decisions about what I can and can’t handle based on what I am to them, not what I’m capable of.” I stand, bracing my hands on the table. “Sister. Political asset. Omega to be protected. When do any of you plan to see me as someone who might actually contribute to winning this war?”
“When you stop acting like a reckless child,” Wyn finally speaks, and his voice is cold enough to make me flinch.
Although I shouldn’t be shocked that he’d back my brother. He always has.
I gather my notes and maps. “Fine. Have it your way. Plan your mission with incomplete intelligence and hope for the best.”
I’m almost to the door when I hear Matriarch Lydia’s voice sounding from the interior doorway.
“Wait,” she calls out. “The girl makes valid points.”
Every head turns toward the Llewelyn operative.
“Psychic abilities provide tactical advantages conventional reconnaissance cannot,” she continues, limping closer to the table. “In Llewelyn territory, we use psychics for exactly these purposes. The intelligence they provide has saved countless lives.”
“This isn’t Llewelyn territory,” Dorian counters.
“No, but the enemy tactics are similar to ones we’ve faced before.” The Llewelyn moves to the maps and points to several marked positions. “Thornridge uses infiltration. Standard surveillance will miss the scope of their preparation. You need someone on the inside.”
“You’re suggesting we risk civilian assets based on theoretical advantages?” my brother asks, skepticism clear in his voice.
“We need to use every tool available to us instead of letting outdated protective instincts and gender roles compromise effectiveness. The enemy doesn’t care about your emotional attachments to team members. They care about winning.”
The room erupts in argument again, but this time, I have an ally. Matriarch Lydia catches my eye and nods. The gesturefeels like validation after hours of being dismissed by people who should know better.
“My psychic training included tactical applications,” I add, seizing the moment of support. “Threat assessment, emotional manipulation detection, identifying compromised assets. These aren’t theoretical skills; they’re practical tools for exactly this type of operation.”
“Practical tools that could get you killed if you encounter something beyond your current abilities,” Wyn argues. “Your powers aren’t complete yet. What happens when you need them most and they fail you?”
His opposition is ironic, considering my abilities are limited precisely because the emotional connection between us remains surface-level.
“Then I’ll rely on conventional training like everyone else,” I reply. “But I’ll also provide capabilities no one else on this team has.”
“Enough.” Oren’s voice cuts through the growing chaos. “We’ll compromise. Small reconnaissance team, minimal exposure, with both conventional and psychic assets.”
“I’m going,” I state before anyone can object.
“You’re staying here where you’re safe,” Wyn counters without missing a beat.
“Safe and useless. Meanwhile, people die because we didn’t have complete intelligence.”
“Better that than you dying because we took unnecessary risks.”
The possessive edge in his voice makes my wolf bristle with both attraction and irritation. He’s protecting me, yes, but he’s also controlling me in the process. The mate bond sparksbetween us, carrying his genuine fear for my safety alongside my frustration at being sidelined.
“It’s not your choice to make,” I tell him.
“Like hell it isn’t. You’re my mate.”
The declaration sends shocked silence through the room, and all eyes turn to us.
“Your mate,” I repeat slowly, letting the word carry all my frustration, “not your property. And certainly not your pet omega who needs to be kept locked away while the big, strong alphas handle everything dangerous.”
Oren pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is not the time or place for marital disputes.”
