Page 10 of Conall (The Sunburst Pack #3)

C ONALL LEANED AGAINST THE cold brick wall of the meeting room, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched Anders circling the woman who claimed to be Nadine Torrance.

His wolf paced beneath his skin, restless and agitated.

She was wrong. Everything about her was wrong.

Good enough to fool casual observation, sure. The black hair, the athletic build, even the way she held herself.

But her scent…

Christ, her scent was all chemicals and artifice. Nothing like the mountain snow and wild honey that had flooded his senses in that ravine.

Nothing like the woman whose mate bond pulsed beneath his skin, a throb he couldn’t silence.

Tell me again, Anders said, voice carrying that military precision that made even alphas pay attention. How exactly did Gregory Torrance die?

The impostor’s smile was cold.

Calculated.

Wrong.

The Stewart twins cornered him at the abandoned mine. Made it look like an accident, but I saw silver burns. Saw the claw marks.

Heat flooded Conall’s face.

Beside him, Quinton’s anger radiated through their connection, sharp and familiar. They’d faced accusations before but never like this.

Interesting story, Anders continued, circling closer. Care to explain how you witnessed this alleged murder but never reported it to any pack authority?

Pack authorities? They’re all connected. She pointed directly at Conall and Quinton. The corruption goes deeper than anyone realizes.

Enough. Malcolm’s growl rumbled through the room. He was using his alpha voice. Final. Anders, what’s your assessment?

This isn’t Nadine Torrance. Anders stopped pacing, his sharp gaze never leaving the woman. He turned to Conall. You encountered the woman. Tell me what you know.

Silence fell heavy as stone. Every eye in the room turned toward Conall. The mate bond thrummed insistently, reminding him of things he couldn’t share. Wouldn’t share.

How her scent had hit him like a physical blow.

How the bond had snapped into place with devastating clarity.

How she’d saved his life even while accusing him of murder.

This isn’t the woman I met. She’s also tall, athletic build. Black hair in a braid. Conall kept his voice level, professional. Moves like she’s had military training. Believes her father is dead and blames us for it.

Physical description matches. Anders’s eyes narrowed. What else?

What else? The way her eyes had flashed amber when she’d shifted partially. The silver scar below her navel that he’d cataloged without meaning to. The electric shock when their skin had touched.

The mate bond that had been driving him slowly insane for the last three days.

She’s skilled. Tactical awareness. Had some kind of counteragent for Chimera’s tranquilizers. He shrugged, aiming for casual. That’s about it.

Anders studied him with those penetrating eyes that saw through everything. Conall held his gaze, projecting calm he didn’t feel.

The scent was completely different though, he added. Mountain snow, high-altitude forests. This woman smells like chemicals and deception.

The impostor’s mask slipped. Just for a moment. A flash of irritation before she recovered. Of course they’d say that. They’re trying to discredit me.

No. Larissa stepped forward, her alpha authority filling the space. They’re telling the truth. Your scent signature is all wrong. Artificially altered.

I want her secured until we can determine who she’s working for, Malcolm decided. Anders, have Dana and Patrick escort her to the holding cell.

As the false Nadine was led away, her parting shot echoed through the hall: You’re protecting murderers. When the truth comes out, their blood will be on your hands.

The meeting dispersed slowly. Conall remained against the wall, processing.

Someone had wanted them to believe that woman was Nadine. Someone with resources. Planning.

But why?

Con. Anders approached. Walk with me.

Outside, the desert night air carried scents of sage and cooling sand, a stark contrast to the artificial scents of the woman they’d just confronted.

Quinton followed without being asked—where one twin went, the other followed. Always had.

Something’s bothering you about this whole situation, Anders observed. Not a question.

The timing feels wrong. Conall chose his words carefully. First the real Nadine shows up with accusations about pack traitors. Then we’re attacked by tactical teams. Now someone sends in a fake to frame us for her father’s murder—but with the exact same accusations as the real Nadine made.

Connected events, Anders agreed. Someone’s orchestrating this. The question is who, and what they hope to gain.

They walked in silence. Footsteps muffled by sand and scattered pebbles. The moon hung low on the horizon, casting everything in silver light that reminded Conall of—

Stop .

You planning to go looking for her? Anders asked suddenly.

The question struck Conall hard, but he found himself trying to avoid answering. Why would I do that?

Because you’ve been distracted since the encounter. Because you keep scanning the eastern borders like you’re searching for something specific. He stopped walking, turned to face Conall directly. Because you recognized that woman was fake the moment you saw her.

Heat crawled up Conall’s neck. Professional assessment. Nothing more.

Uh-huh. Anders didn’t look convinced. Just remember, sometimes the connections that challenge us most are the ones we need to understand.

With that, he headed back toward the meeting hall. Left Conall and Quinton alone under the desert stars.

What was that about? Quinton asked.

Conall started walking again. He needed movement to think. Anders thinks I should actively hunt down a woman who wants us dead for crimes we didn’t commit.

Is that what you want to do?

The question stopped Conall cold. Because the answer—the honest answer—terrified him.

Yes.

God help him, yes.

I want answers, he said instead.

Quinton studied him in the moonlight, their identical features reflecting back at him like a mirror. There’s something you’re not telling me.

They’d never kept secrets. Not real ones. The twin bond between them had always been built on absolute trust. Complete transparency.

But how could Conall explain that he’d been mated to their potential enemy? How could he admit that every cell in his body craved connection with a woman who saw him as a murderer?

She’s… Conall struggled for words. There was something about her. In the ravine. A connection.

What kind of connection?

She’s my mate.

The words dropped into the desert silence like stones into still water. Quinton went completely motionless. His shock radiated from him.

Your what?

You heard me.

That’s impossible. Quinton started pacing, agitation clear in every line of his body. She wants us dead, Con. She thinks we murdered her father.

I know.

The mate bond doesn’t activate between enemies. It connects compatible souls, people meant to—

I know! The words came out harsher than Conall intended. You think I wanted this? You think I asked to be bound to someone who hates everything I am?

Quinton stopped pacing, his expression shifting from shock to something like fear. How bad is it?

It’s… Conall ran both hands through his hair, frustrated beyond words. It’s like having another heartbeat. I can sense her direction, her general emotional state. The physical attraction is…

He trailed off, unable to admit how his body responded to even thinking about her.

This is a disaster, Quinton said flatly.

Tell me something I don’t know.

What are you going to do about it?

And there it was—the question Conall had been avoiding.

The mate bond wasn’t something that could be ignored indefinitely. It would grow stronger. More insistent. Until the pull became unbearable for both parties.

I don’t know, he admitted. Maybe nothing. Maybe it’ll fade if I don’t acknowledge it.

That’s not how mate bonds work. Quinton’s voice carried absolute certainty. They don’t fade. They consume.

They can be denied.

Quinton’s mouth twisted. Not easily.

A chill ran down Conall’s spine despite the warm night air. Then what do you suggest?

Find her. Confront this head-on. Either prove she’s wrong about us, or… He didn’t finish the sentence.

Or what?

Nothing. But his expression said otherwise.

They headed back toward the packhouse, their shared silence heavy with unspoken concerns. Quinton was right about one thing—the mate bond wouldn’t simply disappear. It had been days. Instead of weakening, it had grown stronger.

More insistent.

More impossible to ignore.

Back in their apartment, Conall tried to focus on normal activities. Shower. Food. Review security reports.

But his mind kept wandering to phantom sensations—the memory of her scent, the shock when their eyes had met, the way she’d moved like liquid shadow across the desert terrain.

You’re doing it again, Quinton observed from the kitchen.

Doing what?

That glazed look. Like you’re listening to something I can’t hear.

The mate bond responded. For a moment Conall swore he caught her scent on the night breeze drifting through their open window. Mountain snow. Wild honey. The faintest trace of something uniquely, dangerously her .

His wolf lifted its head with sudden alertness.

She’s close, Conall whispered.

What?

Nadine. She’s nearby. He moved to the window, scanning the darkness beyond Sunburst’s main buildings. I can sense her.

That’s impossible. Security would have detected—

Not in the main territory. Conall grabbed his jacket, already moving toward the door. Outside the perimeter. Watching.

Con, don’t. Quinton blocked his path, face tight with concern. This is exactly what she wants. To draw you out, away from pack protection.

Maybe. The mate bond thrummed insistently, pulling him eastward like a physical force. Or maybe it’s time to get some real answers.

This is insane. She tried to kill you once already.