Page 22 of Conall (The Sunburst Pack #3)

I N THE NEWSPAPER OFFICE’S converted intelligence hub, Conall reviewed the latest asset recovery reports. Three days had passed since Dr. William Chen’s arrival, and the geneticist’s presence had already shifted the entire dynamic of their investigation.

Chen stood at the central display wall, his brow furrowed in concentration as he studied the neural interface schematics.

Despite being in his mid- to late fifties, he moved with the quiet strength that marked him as a shifter, though his scent carried the clinical antiseptic of laboratory work rather than pack belonging.

The technology is more advanced than I initially developed, Chen said, his voice carrying the precision of someone who’d spent years choosing words with scientific accuracy. Whoever refined my original designs had resources I never possessed.

Nadine leaned against a workstation, arms crossed, her gaze tracking Chen’s every movement.

Three days of working together hadn’t softened her wariness—if anything, proximity to another former Chimera scientist seemed to sharpen her defensive instincts.

How much more advanced? she asked, her husky voice cutting through the morning stillness.

Years beyond my prototype. Chen highlighted sections of the interface schematic. Neural pathway integration, memory suppression protocols, behavioral modification subroutines—this represents a complete evolution of the technology.

Conall felt his wolf stir restlessly beneath his skin as Nadine shifted position, her scent drifting across the small space.

For him, three days of forced proximity, of trying to maintain professional distance while the mate bond trembled between them, was driving him slowly insane.

The question, Anders interjected from his position near the secure communications array, is whether we can use that evolution against them.

Use what against whom?

But then Conall caught the meaningful look Anders directed toward him and Nadine, clocked the slight emphasis on the word use .

The mate bond? Was Anders suggesting they leverage their connection for tactical advantage?

That’s not happening, Conall said flatly, before Anders could elaborate further.

Nadine’s head snapped toward him, eyebrows raised. What’s not happening?

Heat crawled up Conall’s neck. He’d reacted too quickly, revealed too much. Nothing. Anders was just—

I was observing, Anders said mildly, that some mate bonds create unique communication advantages.

Enhanced emotional awareness, instinctive coordination, shared sensory experiences under stress.

Some mates can even communicate full ideas, almost as if they’re communicating verbally. In an investigation like this—

No. Conall’s voice carried more force than he intended, drawing curious glances from across the room. Through the twin bond, he felt Quinton’s attention sharpen from where his brother worked at a terminal near the window.

Quinton had been struggling since Nadine’s arrival. Not openly—his brother was too professional for that—but Conall felt it through their connection.

The constant low-level tension, the way Quinton’s jaw tightened whenever Conall and Nadine worked closely together, the distance he maintained from both of them.

An entire lifetime of being each other’s primary connection, and now there was this—an unwanted bond with a woman who’d accused them of murder, who represented everything that threatened their world.

The bond doesn’t factor into our investigation, Conall continued, aware of how his voice sounded strained even to his own ears. We work with the intelligence we can verify, not— He gestured vaguely between himself and Nadine. Not whatever this is.

Nadine’s expression shifted to something unreadable. This being the mate bond you keep pretending doesn’t exist?

Direct. Confrontational. Everything he expected from her, and it still caught him off guard.

I’m not pretending anything, he said. I’m prioritizing mission objectives over biological impulses.

She barked out a harsh laugh. Right. Because acknowledging basic shifter biology would compromise your objectivity.

The mate bond responded to her challenge with heat that made his skin feel too tight. Even now, when she was deliberately provoking him, his wolf wanted nothing more than to close the distance between them.

Can we focus on the actual investigation? Quinton’s voice cut through the tension, carrying an edge of frustration. Dr. Chen was explaining how the neural interfaces work.

Quinton’s irritation traveled through their bond—not just at the mate bond complications, but at being relegated to observer status in an investigation that should have involved both twins equally.

Hell, twin bonds functioned much like mate bonds—and the Stewart brothers had years of practice using their bond.

But the coalphas had specifically requested Conall and Nadine work with Chen, leaving Quinton to coordinate intelligence analysis with Anders.

Of course, Chen said smoothly, either oblivious to the undercurrents or choosing to ignore them. The key insight is that these new interfaces don’t just suppress memories—they create new ones. False narratives designed to guide behavior in specific directions.

Nadine straightened, attention fully focused now. Gregory’s hatred of the Sunburst Pack? His stories about saving shifter cubs?

Potentially, yes. If your father had an interface implanted during his time with Vincent’s regime, his perceptions could have been systematically altered over years.

Chen pulled up a new schematic showing neural pathway modifications.

The subject would experience genuine emotions—real anger, authentic grief, sincere conviction—but directed toward manufactured targets.

The implications hit Conall all at once. Gregory Torrance’s alliance with Vincent, his daughter’s hunt for revenge—all of it potentially orchestrated by an enemy they still hadn’t identified.

How do we detect existing interfaces? he asked.

Dr. Weiss has been developing scanning protocols based on my original designs, Chen replied. But the evolved technology is more sophisticated. Some interfaces might be completely undetectable until activated.

Meaning anyone really could be compromised, Nadine said.

Anyone, Chen confirmed.

The room fell silent as everyone processed that reality. Pack members they’d known for years, alphas they trusted with their lives, fellow enforcers they’d fought beside—any of them could be sleeper agents waiting for activation.

We need to scan everyone, Anders decided. Starting with leadership and working down through the pack hierarchy.

Conall found himself nodding in agreement, though the thought of subjecting every pack member to neural interface scanning felt like a violation of the trust that held their community together.

Robert Mitchell looked up from the communications console where he’d been monitoring interpack message traffic, his expression troubled. Anders, we might have a problem with the intelligence sharing protocols.

What kind of problem? Anders asked, moving to examine the displays over Robert’s shoulder.

Conall drifted closer, his curiosity piqued by the concern in Robert’s voice.

Delayed responses from key territories. The Blackthorn Pack was supposed to confirm receipt of our asset identification protocols six hours ago—nothing.

Cross Timbers never responded to our follow-up requests for their internal security assessments.

Robert highlighted several message threads on his screen.

And the Stardust Pack’s communications have continued to be inconsistent.

Dylan Montoya’s pack , Conall thought automatically, then pushed away Quinton’s earlier teasing about the alpha’s supposed interest in him.

Inconsistent how?

Their responses are either immediate or severely delayed, with no middle ground. Either Dylan Montoya is personally handling communications—which would be unusual for an alpha with her responsibilities—or someone is filtering messages before they reach her.

Anders frowned, studying the communication logs. Could be operational security. If they suspect internal compromise, they might be limiting message distribution.

That’s what concerns me, Robert said, pulling up additional data that made Conall’s stomach clench with unease.

Look at the message routing patterns. Some of our intelligence about Gregory’s network—the asset identification protocols, the psychological profiles—it’s being acknowledged by packs that haven’t officially received it yet.

How is that possible? Conall wondered, watching the data flow across Robert’s screen with growing alarm.

Meaning someone’s sharing information through unofficial channels.

Or our communications are being monitored and distributed to unauthorized recipients.

Robert’s voice carried genuine worry that seemed to resonate with Conall’s own growing paranoia.

I’ve been thinking we might need to implement additional security measures.

Compartmentalized distribution, rotating encryption keys, maybe even moving to personal courier delivery for the most sensitive intelligence.

Anders considered this. That would slow our coordination significantly.

Better slow than compromised, Robert replied, and Conall found himself appreciating the man’s practical approach to security.

And there’s another option—I could establish direct contact with security personnel in each pack.

Personal relationships, individuals I’ve worked with over the years.

Sometimes sensitive information flows better through trusted personal channels than official diplomatic routes.

That makes sense , Conall thought. Official channels can be intercepted .

You have those kinds of contacts?