Page 72 of Broken Forced Mate
Oh my God. They’re not just hunting me for intelligence or leverage. They want to use my psychic abilities as a living component in their weapons system.
Two technicians continue working on the massive cannon, installing what looks like a focusing array designed to channel psychic energy. I memorize weapon specifications, power sources, ammunition types, everything I can observe without revealing my presence.
But I still haven’t found Mordaunt himself, and that’s the most critical intelligence our forces need.
I move deeper into the complex, following instincts toward whatever represents the heart of their operation. Corridors become more heavily guarded. Security systems multiply. Electronic locks require increasingly sophisticated manipulation.
Finally, I reach a blast door that resists all my attempts to breach it. The lock uses magical components that don’t respond to psychic manipulation. But ventilation systems still offer access to whatever lies beyond. I shift back to human, and the Amanzite around my neck glows at it materializes clothes around my naked body.
I climb through air ducts until I find a grate overlooking a command center that dwarfs anything I’ve seen before. The space stretches three stories high, filled with equipment. Tactical displays show real-time positions across multiple territories. Communication arrays connect to bases throughout the region. At the center, surrounded by subordinates and equipment, stands the man I’ve been hunting.
Thane Mordaunt.
He’s younger than I expected, perhaps fifty, with the bearing of someone accustomed to absolute authority. But it’shis presence that dominates the space—a psychic signature so strong it makes my abilities recoil instinctively.
He’s not just an alpha wolf. He’s a caster powerful enough to coordinate magical weapons across vast distances, and his psychic strength exceeds anything I’ve encountered.
“Final countdown begins at dawn,” he announces to the assembled officers. “All strike teams report ready status.”
“Magical artillery charged and positioned at designated coordinates,” one subordinate responds.
“Infiltration teams confirm defensive positions compromised.”
"Casualty projections?" Mordaunt asks.
"Initial strike should eliminate seventy percent of defensive capabilities. Follow-up waves will target civilian populations to break resistance."
"Acceptable losses on our side?"
A younger officer steps forward with a tablet. "Commander, the forward units you're proposing for the first wave. They're mostly new recruits. The disgruntled pack members we pulled from the eastern territories. They haven't completed full combat training yet."
Mordaunt doesn't even glance at the officer. "That's precisely why they go first. Test Grayhide's defensive capabilities with expendable assets. Save our veteran forces for the primary objectives."
The casual dismissal of his own fighters makes my wolf snarl silently. Through my psychic abilities, I sense the young officer's horror—quickly suppressed—and the resigned acceptance from others in the room. This isn't the first time Mordaunt has thrown recruits into danger.
"But sir, these are people who came to us seeking—"
"Seeking what? Purpose? They'll serve their purpose by revealing enemy positions." Mordaunt finally looks at the officer, and his psychic presence radiates cold indifference. "Their sacrifice ensures our success. That's more value than they provided to their previous packs. Now. Casualty projections?”
“Initial strike should eliminate seventy percent of defensive capabilities. Follow-up waves will target civilian populations to break resistance.”
“And our special weapon demonstration?”
“The omega will be captured during the initial assault. Her abilities, combined with our magical arsenal and the Amanzite we acquire, will demonstrate our power to any remaining resistance.”
Mordaunt continues briefing his forces, revealing attack timing, target priorities, weapon capabilities our defenders need to know about.
The casual way they discuss mass murder makes my wolf instincts rage. But I force myself to memorize every detail, every specification, every timeline our forces need to survive.
But as I shift back to wolf and prepare to withdraw with this intelligence, my psychic abilities detect something that changes everything about my mission parameters.
There’s another prisoner here. Someone being held in the lower levels whose emotional signature feels familiar—not resigned or broken like a long-term captive, but actively maintaining mental resistance.
Following the sensation through building infrastructure, I work my way down to what must be a detention area designed specifically for holding shifters. The cells use magicalcontainment systems that would prevent transformation and escape.
Through ventilation grates, I see holding cells arranged in a secure wing. Most are empty, but one holds a figure I recognize from pack meetings. Not a border scout—one of our intelligence specialists who disappeared during a diplomatic mission weeks ago.
She’s alive but injured. From the looks of it, they’ve been interrogating her. The poor shewolf is bloodied and beaten.
