Page 15 of Conall (The Sunburst Pack #3)

T HE CELL DOOR OPENED with a groan of protesting metal, and three guards stepped inside. Professional. Armed.

Underestimating them completely.

Nadine’s silver wound throbbed as she shifted position, but she pushed the pain aside. Weakness got you killed. Got your father killed. Got your mate —

No . Not her mate.

Time to go, the lead guard said, his voice carrying the casual authority of someone who’d done this too many times before. Boss wants to see you both.

Something passed between Conall and Nadine— not the mate bond , she told herself, just awareness. Two predators recognizing opportunity .

He gave the slightest nod.

Ready .

The guards had made their first mistake by entering the cell together. Their second by assuming she and Conall were still too drugged to function fully. Their third by not accounting for what two desperate shifters could do in close quarters.

Nadine moved first. Her injured leg screamed in protest, but years of training overrode the pain. She drove her elbow into the lead guard’s solar plexus, stealing his breath, then pivoted to grab his weapon as he doubled over.

Conall flowed into motion beside her like they’d choreographed this dance a thousand times. Which they hadn’t, of course. Which made the seamless coordination between them…unsettling.

He took the second guard with brutal efficiency—a precise strike to the throat followed by a knee to the ribs that sent the man crashing into the nearest concrete wall.

The third guard reached for his radio. She put him down before he could make a sound, the stolen weapon’s weight familiar in her hands despite everything.

Three guards. Fifteen seconds. Over.

Efficient, Conall murmured, breathing only slightly elevated.

There was approval in his voice that made something warm unfurl in her chest before she ruthlessly shoved it down.

Don’t read into it. She checked the guards’ weapons and equipment. Standard tactical gear, but the uniforms were unmarked. Private contractors, like she’d thought. This doesn’t make us partners.

Of course not. But there was something in his tone—amusement? Understanding?—that made her want to look at him.

She didn’t.

The corridor beyond their cell stretched in both directions, lit by harsh fluorescent strips that flickered intermittently.

Which way? Conall asked quietly.

She closed her eyes, working on extending her senses.

There was something off about this place.

The scents were wrong—too much dust, not enough human activity.

The air tasted stale, recycled. Like this place had been mothballed for years and only recently activated.

Not actively used but maintained just enough to function when needed.

Almost abandoned .

Left, she decided, following the faint current of fresher air that might lead to an exit. And stay quiet. Sound carries in places like this.

They moved through the corridors like ghosts, Conall matching her pace despite her slight limp. The mate bond hovered between them, a constant awareness she kept trying to ignore. It whispered things she didn’t want to hear: Safe. Together. Right .

Wrong . Everything about this was wrong.

But his presence at her back felt steady. Protective.

Like he’d put himself between her and danger without thinking about it.

Stop , she ordered herself. He might be playing a long game. Earning your trust so you’ll let your guard down .

Except he’d already had chances to hurt her. In the ravine. In the cell.

Hell, he could have left her for those operatives instead of trying to warn her to run.

The contradiction gnawed at her as they navigated the maze of corridors. Empty rooms lined either side—offices, storage areas, what might have been laboratories once. All coated in a fine layer of dust that spoke of disuse.

This place hasn’t been active in years, Conall said, his voice barely a whisper.

She nodded, noting the same details. Outdated equipment. Faded safety notices. The kind of institutional decay that took time to accumulate. They’re using it as a temporary holding facility. The question is, for what?

Or for whom, he added grimly.

They found the first body in what used to be a break room.

Human. Male. He’d been dead for hours, not days, from a single gunshot to the back of the head, execution style. The blood hadn’t even dried completely.

Her stomach clenched. Recent. Very recent.

Conall crouched beside the body, careful not to disturb the scene.

Stop analyzing him , she told herself. Focus on survival .

But she couldn’t help watching the way he examined the victim with genuine gravity.

No satisfaction. No coldness. Just the grim efficiency of someone who’d seen death before but hadn’t grown callous to it.

His movements were clinical, professional.

Not the actions of someone comfortable with violence for its own sake.

No identification. But look at this. He indicated the man’s hands—soft, uncalloused. Desk worker, not field operative. Civilian, maybe. Or support staff.

Someone who knew too much, she concluded. Which means we’re not just prisoners. We’re loose ends.

Their gazes met across the dead man, and for a moment the mate bond flared so strong it nearly stole her breath.

In his eyes she saw the same realization that was crystallizing in her mind: Whoever had arranged their capture planned to kill them when they were done with whatever they needed them for.

We need to move, he said, voice tight with urgency.

She stood. The silver wound had stopped bleeding, but it was far from healed. She could manage for now, but extended combat or running would be problematic.

Conall noticed her slight wince.

Of course he did .

The mate bond probably broadcast her every sensation to him like a twisted radio frequency.

How bad? he asked quietly.

I’m fine.

His expression said he didn’t believe her, but he didn’t push. Smart. She wasn’t ready to show vulnerability to him.

They found two more bodies before they located the exit. Both executed the same way. Both obviously support staff rather than trained operatives.

Someone was cleaning house, eliminating witnesses.

The exit led to a loading dock. Beyond that, the desert landscape stretched under a star-scattered sky. Freedom, if they could reach it without being spotted.

There. Conall pointed to tire tracks in the dusty ground. Recent enough to still be clearly defined. They’ll have vehicles somewhere nearby. Probably with guards.

How do you want to play this? The question slipped out before she could stop it, sounding too much like she was asking for his opinion. Like she considered him an equal partner in this escape.

Which she didn’t. Obviously.

His surprise at being consulted was subtle but there. Depends. How’s your leg holding up?

She wanted to lie. Wanted to project strength and independence. But practical survival trumped pride, and if he was planning to betray her, better to know now than when they were in the middle of another firefight.

It’ll hold, she said. But I’m not at full capacity.

He nodded, processing this information without judgment. Then we go quiet. Avoid engagement if possible. Get to transportation and get clear before they realize we’re gone.

Sensible. Professional. Exactly what she would have decided.

That doesn’t mean anything , she reminded herself. Good tactics are good tactics. Doesn’t prove he’s innocent .

But doubt continued to creep in around the edges of her certainty. She’d fully believed the Stewart twins had killed her father, and now she was working with one of them to stay alive.

And he was competent. Protective.

Nothing like the cold-blooded killer she’d built up in her mind.

They slipped out of the facility, moving from cover to cover across the desert landscape.

They found three vehicles parked a quarter-mile from the facility. Two guards, smoking cigarettes and talking in low voices, guarded the Jeeps. Bored. Inattentive.

Fatal mistakes in their line of work .

She and Conall exchanged a look, no words needed. She took the one on the left; he took the right. Simultaneous strikes. Quick and quiet.

The guards dropped without a sound.

Keys, she murmured, checking the first vehicle. Locked. The second was open, keys in the ignition like a gift from the universe.

Lucky, Conall said.

Or another trap. But she slid into the driver’s seat anyway. The engine turned over with a quiet purr. She checked—it had a full tank of gas. Too convenient.

Does it matter? He settled into the passenger seat, and she caught his scent, along with the exhaustion underlying it.

She ignored it all, focused on driving.

Where are we going? she asked as they pulled away from the facility, headlights cutting through desert darkness.

Sunburst territory. My pack can—

No. The refusal was automatic. I’m not walking into the middle of your stronghold.

Nadine. Her name on his lips sent electricity down her spine. Damn mate bond. You’re injured. You need medical attention. And whoever arranged this—they’re not going to stop hunting us.

I can take care of myself.

I know you can. The quiet certainty in his voice surprised her. But you don’t have to.

Something about the way he said it made her chest tight. Like he was offering more than just assistance. Like he was offering partnership. Protection. The kind of support her father used to provide to her before—

Before the Sunburst Pack killed him .

The thought should have restored her focus, reminded her why trusting Conall was dangerous.

Instead, she found herself remembering the genuine confusion in his eyes when she’d accused him of murder.

Why should I trust you? she asked quietly.

He was quiet for a long moment, and she could feel him choosing his words carefully.

Because someone went to a lot of trouble to make you think I killed your father, he said finally. Someone who had resources to arrange professional surveillance, tactical teams, even a body double. That’s not random. That’s orchestrated.

The impostor. She’d almost forgotten about her in the chaos of capture and escape. Someone who looked enough like her to fool casual observation, at least from a distance. Someone with access to information about her father’s death.

The woman pretending to be me, she mused. What was she doing?

Apparently exactly what you were here to do—accuse me and Quinton of Gregory’s murder.

But why?

No clue. She knew details about Gregory’s death though. Specific details. Conall paused. Details that could have come from whoever actually killed him.

If Conall was right—if someone else had killed her father and set up the Stewart twins to take the blame—then she’d been hunting the wrong targets.

And her father’s real killer was still out there.

The thought made her hands clench on the steering wheel hard enough to hurt.

Even if that’s true, she said, it doesn’t explain why you came looking for me tonight. Why you left your pack, your territory, everything safe and familiar, to track down someone you thought wanted you dead.

Silence stretched between them, loaded with everything he wasn’t saying. She could feel the mate bond sparking, an electric awareness that made every breath feel charged with possibility.

You know why, he said finally, voice rough.

That’s not an answer, she whispered.

It’s the only answer that matters.

Her chest tightened. Because he was right, and she hated that he was right.

The mate bond was the reason she’d protected him in that ravine.

The reason she’d led those operatives away instead of letting them take him.

The reason some part of her had suspected, even while she was accusing him of murder, that he was telling the truth.

But she wasn’t ready to admit that. Not to him. Not to herself.

The lights of Sunburst appeared on the horizon. Seeing them should have made her tense, prepared for battle. Instead, there was something almost welcoming about them. Like coming home after a long journey.

Not home , she reminded herself firmly. Enemy territory .

But her traitorous heart didn’t seem to care about the distinction.

My pack can protect you, Conall said quietly as they approached the outskirts of town. Give you medical attention. A safe place to recover. Resources to help figure out who’s really behind your father’s death.

And what’s the price? she asked, because there was always a price. Always a catch.

No price. He paused. Just give us a chance to prove we’re not your enemies.

Us .

The word shouldn’t have stung, but it did.

A reminder that accepting his help meant facing his twin, his pack, his entire world. A reminder that whatever connection existed between them, she would always be the outsider.

The silver wound throbbed as if to remind her how limited her options really were.

Conall was right. She needed medical attention. Needed time to heal. Needed resources she didn’t currently have.

And despite everything, some part of her trusted him.

Temporary alliance, she said finally. Until I’m healed, and we figure out who’s really behind this.

Temporary alliance, he agreed, but there was something in his voice that suggested he didn’t believe it would stay that way.

Neither did she, if she was being honest.

No matter how hard they both fought it, no matter how much they told themselves this was just cooperation, the connection grew stronger with every shared glance, every moment of working together, every small act of protection and trust.

She could tell herself she was going to Sunburst territory to recover and investigate, to find the truth about her father’s death and bring his real killers to justice.

But deep down, in a place she wasn’t ready to acknowledge, she knew she was going because Conall had asked her to.

Because something about the way he’d offered protection without conditions, partnership without price, made her want to believe that not everyone who carried the Sunburst name was her enemy.

Even if admitting that felt like betraying her father’s memory.

Even if it terrified her more than any paramilitary team or mysterious facility ever could.