Page 26 of Conall (The Sunburst Pack #3)

Q UINTON HAD PACED THEIR apartment above the bakery, the familiar scent of fresh bread from below doing nothing to calm the restless energy that had been building all evening.

Three hours past when he said he’d be home.

The twin bond carried nothing but silence—not the comfortable quiet of shared focus, but the deliberate blank that meant Conall was actively shielding their connection. That alone set Quinton’s teeth on edge. They’d never hidden things from each other. Never needed to.

Until her.

Quinton stopped pacing and stared out the window toward the Old Packhouse, its adobe walls barely visible in the desert darkness. Somewhere in those archives, his twin was working alongside Nadine Torrance, the woman who’d spent months hunting them for a murder they didn’t commit.

The woman who’d somehow convinced everyone—including Conall—that she deserved trust instead of suspicion.

A fucking mate bond. That was what was driving this madness.

Quinton had seen it in his brother’s eyes, felt it bleeding through their twin connection despite Conall’s attempts to suppress it.

The way Conall’s attention sharpened whenever Nadine entered a room.

The protective instincts that flared when anyone questioned her motives.

The growing distance between the twins as Conall oriented himself toward this new connection.

Quinton felt like he was watching his other half slip away one interaction at a time.

He said he’d be back by nine.

Quinton grabbed his jacket from the back of the couch. If Conall was so absorbed in his research that he’d forgotten about time—then maybe he needed a reminder about priorities.

The walk to the Old Packhouse took twenty minutes through Sunburst’s quiet streets.

Most pack members were home with their families at this hour, the town settled into the peaceful rhythm of evening routines.

Only the security lighting remained active, casting long shadows across the buildings that had housed their pack for generations.

Quinton let himself into the archives building using his enforcer access codes.

The main archive room was dark, but light spilled from beneath the door of the specialized records room where he assumed they’d been examining Vincent-era medical files.

Voices carried through the old building’s walls—Conall’s familiar baritone and Nadine’s distinctive rasp.

Working late. Nothing suspicious about that, given the scope of their investigation.

So why did the twin bond feel so unsettled?

Quinton approached the records room quietly, expecting to pick up fragments of conversation with his wolf’s enhanced hearing.

Nothing.

He reached for the door handle, intending to announce his presence with a casual offer to help with the late-night research.

Professional. Brotherly. A perfectly reasonable excuse for checking on them.

The door swung open silently, and Quinton froze in the doorway.

Conall had Nadine backed against the wall, and they were kissing each other with an abandon that made something hard and cold lodge in Quinton’s chest.

This wasn’t just attraction. This wasn’t even just the mate bond.

This was Conall choosing her over everything else. Over pack loyalty. Over the investigation that demanded objectivity. Over the twin bond that had defined both their lives since birth.

Quinton must have made some sound—a breath, a shift of weight—because Conall suddenly stiffened and pulled away from Nadine. When his twin turned toward the doorway, the expression on his face shifted from passion to shock to something that looked like guilt.

Quin, Conall said, but Quinton was already turning away.

He couldn’t watch this.

Couldn’t stand there and witness his brother’s complete abandonment of everything they’d sworn to protect.

Sorry, Quinton managed despite the chaos in his chest. Didn’t mean to interrupt. Malcolm’s looking for you both—wants an update on the archive research.

A lie. Malcolm had gone home hours ago.

But it gave him an excuse to leave, to put distance between himself and the sight of his twin kissing their enemy.

Quinton walked away on legs that felt disconnected from his body, the twin bond carrying Conall’s confusion and regret like salt in an open wound.

Behind him, voices murmured—Conall calling his name, Nadine saying something in that throaty voice that had apparently bewitched his brother completely.

He didn’t stop. Couldn’t trust himself to maintain control if Conall tried to explain, to justify, to make excuses for what Quinton had just witnessed.

Quinton positioned himself near the main door, needing the activity of standing guard to channel the restless energy threatening to tear him apart.

Nadine emerged first, her professional mask firmly in place despite the slight flush in her cheeks and the obvious dishevelment of her usually severe braid.

She paused when she saw Quinton, assessing his expression with uncomfortable accuracy.

Your brother is a good man, she said quietly, the words unexpected enough to catch him off guard.

Quinton’s inner wolf bristled at her words. I know what my brother is.

Do you? Her tone suggested she doubted it. Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re more concerned with protecting your territory than protecting him.

You don’t know anything about us.

I know enough. Nadine adjusted the strap of her bag, preparing to leave. I know that mate bonds don’t follow convenient timelines or political considerations. And I know that fighting them only makes everyone miserable.

Is that what you’re doing? Making him miserable?

She paused, considering the question with more seriousness than he’d expected. I’m trying not to. But sometimes the right choice and the easy choice aren’t the same thing.

Before Quinton could respond, she was moving toward the exit, her footsteps echoing in the empty building. At the door, she turned back one last time.

He’s lucky to have someone who cares so much, she said. Don’t let your jealousy make you forget that.

Then she was gone, leaving Quinton alone with his churning thoughts and the growing certainty that his worst fears were being realized.

The mate bond was winning.

And Quinton was powerless to stop it.

Conall appeared in the main room, his dark hair disheveled and his expression guarded.

He and Quinton stared at each other across the empty space, the twin bond crackling with Conall’s guilt, his confusion, his desperate need to explain what couldn’t be explained.

How long? Quinton asked, his voice rough with emotions he couldn’t quite name.

How long what?

How long have you been lying to me? The question came loaded with days of growing suspicion and the fresh wound of witnessing that kiss.

Conall flinched. I haven’t been lying—

Bullshit. Quinton stalked toward his twin, his wolf’s agitation making it impossible to stand still.

You’ve been different since that first encounter in the ravine.

Distracted. Secretive. And I’ve been making excuses for you because I didn’t want to believe my own brother was choosing a stranger over family.

That’s not what’s happening.

Isn’t it? Quinton reached the bottom of the stairs, close enough now to see the defensive tension in his brother’s posture.

You don’t have to work so closely with her. There are other ways to investigate, other approaches that don’t require— Quinton gestured vaguely. Whatever’s happening between you two.

It’s just an assignment, Quin.

Is it? Quinton’s dark eyes searched his face. Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re choosing her over everything else. Over the pack. Over us.

That’s not true.

Isn’t it? When’s the last time we talked—really talked—without her shadow between us? Despite himself, Quinton’s anxiety tightened his voice. When’s the last time you came to me first with a problem instead of looking to her for answers?

Jeez, Quin, it’s only been a week.

A week that’s changed everything.

Conall’s jaw tightened. Nadine isn’t the enemy. I know you want her to be, but—

I want her to be? Quinton’s laugh was jagged. I want my brother back. The one who used to trust me enough to share what was really going on in his head.

You want me to ignore my mate bond.

The words hung between them like a blade, finally giving shape to the thing they’d been dancing around for days. The biological imperative that was reshaping Conall’s priorities, pulling him toward choices that defied logic and loyalty alike.

I want you to remember who you were before she showed up, Quinton said quietly. I want you to remember that we’ve never needed anyone else.

Something flickered across Conall’s face—regret, maybe, or recognition of the truth Quinton was voicing. They had always been enough for each other. Complete. Whole.

Until now.

This isn’t about need, Conall said, but his voice lacked conviction.

Then what is it about? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re willing to throw away everything we’ve built for a woman who’s been hunting us for murder.

She was manipulated. Her father’s death, her investigation—it was all orchestrated to point her toward us.

Maybe. Or maybe that’s just what she wants you to believe.

Quinton stepped closer, desperate to break through whatever spell Nadine had woven around his brother.

Think about it. She shows up with accusations, then conveniently gets captured alongside you.

She saves your life, shares just enough intelligence to seem trustworthy, plays the wounded victim perfectly.

And now you’re so convinced of her innocence that you’re kissing her in archive rooms.

Conall’s expression hardened. You think she’s playing me.

I think mate bonds can be faked. Or at least simulated well enough to fool someone who wants to believe.

Conall’s shock, followed almost immediately by his rejection of the possibility, slammed through their bond.