Page 27 of Conall (The Sunburst Pack #3)

Quinton tried again. Fuck, Con, isn’t that exactly what you’re researching right now? Chimera has access to neural interface technology, behavioral modification protocols. What if she’s an asset? What if everything you’re feeling is artificial?

The suggestion hit like a bomb detonating between them. Through their connection, Quinton felt Conall’s world tilt sideways as he considered the horrifying possibility that his most fundamental instincts had been compromised.

No, Conall said, but uncertainty bled through the denial. The bond feels real. It is real.

How would you know? You’ve never had a mate bond before.

None of us have. Quinton pressed his advantage, hating himself for the weapon he was wielding but desperate enough to use it anyway.

What if Chimera can manufacture that connection?

What if she’s not just an asset but the perfect asset—designed specifically to compromise pack enforcers through artificial mate bonds?

Conall went very still, the twin bond carrying cascades of doubt and horrified realization. The possibility that everything he was feeling might be false, that his growing attachment to Nadine could be the result of neural manipulation rather than biological destiny.

That’s… Conall’s voice cracked slightly. That’s impossible.

Is it? We’ve seen what they can do with memory suppression, behavioral modification.

We’ve already found evidence of systematic infiltration going back decades—I assume you found even more today.

Quinton moved closer, pressing his advantage while his brother’s defenses were down. What’s one more tool in their arsenal?

The silence stretched between them as Conall’s growing uncertainty, the way doubt was undermining everything he thought he knew about his feelings for Nadine, leaked through the twin bond to Quinton.

It should have felt like victory.

Should have brought relief that his brother was finally questioning the connection that threatened to tear them apart.

Instead, it felt like cruelty.

But necessary cruelty. Someone had to protect Conall from making choices that would destroy everything they’d built together.

You warned me about this, Conall said finally, his voice hollow. About not falling for her act. I should have listened.

The words confirmed that Quinton’s concerns were justified, that his brother was finally seeing sense.

And yet they made something cold and sick settle in his stomach.

Con, I—

You were right. Conall’s laugh held no humor. Jesus, I can’t believe how completely I bought into it. The perfect victim, the mysterious enemy, the convenient attraction that just happened to develop at exactly the right moment to compromise my judgment.

Through the twin bond, Quinton felt his brother’s emotions shift from uncertainty to something harder, more bitter. Self-recrimination mixed with anger—at Nadine for deceiving him, at himself for being so easily manipulated.

At Quinton for being right.

Maybe you should talk to Dr. Chen, Quinton suggested. Have him run scans, see if you have any evidence of neural interface technology.

Yeah. Conall nodded, but something in his expression remained distant. Yeah, I’ll do that.

The conversation should have ended there. Problem identified, solution proposed, twins reunited against a common threat. The natural order was restored.

But the undercurrents running through the Stewart brothers’ twin bond suggested nothing had been resolved.

Conall’s hurt ran deeper than artificial manipulation, touched places Quinton suspected even sophisticated technology couldn’t reach.

And Quinton’s own emotions remained tangled—relief mixed with guilt, satisfaction undermined by the growing certainty that he’d just destroyed something that might have been genuine.

You never minded my girlfriends before, Conall said suddenly, the observation cutting through Quinton’s internal conflict.

The comment caught him off guard. What?

All the women I’ve dated over the years. Jessica Kripke, Vivian Blackwood from the Ruby Ridge Pack, that human girl from Albuquerque—you never had a problem with any of them.

Quinton felt heat crawl up his neck. Because none of them wanted to kill us both.

Is that really why? Or is it because none of them threatened to come between us?

The question hit closer to home than Quinton wanted to admit.

His indifference to Conall’s previous romantic relationships had been rooted in the understanding that none of those women could compete with the twin bond that defined both their lives.

But a mate bond was different. Permanent. Potentially stronger than even their shared connection.

This isn’t about jealousy, Quinton said, but the words sounded hollow even to his own ears.

Isn’t it? Conall stepped closer, and Quinton could see the pain in his brother’s expression—not just from the possibility that his feelings had been manufactured, but from the growing realization that Quinton’s motivations might not be purely protective.

Because it feels like you’re more concerned with keeping me isolated than keeping me safe.

The words were so close to what Nadine had said moments before.

That’s not true, Quinton insisted.

Then why does the thought of me having a mate terrify you so much?

The question cut straight to the heart of Quinton’s fears, voicing what he’d been unwilling to acknowledge even to himself.

The terror that Conall would find someone who could provide what the twin bond couldn’t.

The certainty that any mate worthy of his brother would demand emotional territory Quinton had always occupied.

Because mates leave, he said finally, the words torn from some deep place he’d never examined too closely. They choose other priorities, other loyalties. They take pieces of you that you can’t get back.

Conall went very still. Is that what you think would happen?

I think mate bonds consume everything else.

I think you’d disappear into that connection until there was nothing left of the person I’ve known my entire life.

The admission felt like bleeding out in public, raw and vulnerable.

I could lose my brother, only to see him become some mate’s secondary consideration.

It wouldn’t be like that, Conall said quietly.

Wouldn’t it? Quinton met his brother’s gaze directly.

Anyway, maybe we’ve been too insular, too dependent on each other.

Or maybe we’ve been exactly what we needed to be. Quinton’s inner wolf paced restlessly, agitated by the threat to everything that had always defined him. Partners. Brothers. Two halves of something larger than either of us alone.

And if the mate bond is real?

The question cut straight through Quinton’s arguments, forcing him to confront the possibility he’d been avoiding.

What if Nadine wasn’t an asset, wasn’t manipulating Conall through artificial means?

What if the connection between them was genuine—and Quinton was trying to destroy something precious out of jealousy and fear?

I don’t know, he said.

Because you don’t want it to be real.

The accusation carried more truth than Quinton was comfortable acknowledging. He didn’t want the mate bond to be genuine, didn’t want his brother to find the kind of connection that could compete with their twin bond.

It made him selfish. Possessive. Everything he’d always prided himself on not being.

I want you to be safe, he said instead. I want you to make choices based on clear thinking rather than biological compulsion.

And if clear thinking leads me to the same conclusion?

Then I guess we’ll find out what matters more—brotherhood or biology.

Conall’s shock at the ultimatum Quinton had just delivered jangled through their bond, leaving it vibrating between them with the unspoken word.

Choose .

The pack and their shared history, or the mate bond that threatened to reshape everything.

That’s not fair, Conall said.

None of this is fair. Quinton turned toward the exit, suddenly unable to bear his brother’s disappointed gaze. But it’s the choice you’re making, whether you want to acknowledge it or not.

He left his brother standing in the empty meeting hall, Conall’s hurt and confusion weighing down their twin bond.

But with each step away from the Old Packhouse, Quinton felt the connection that had defined his entire life growing thinner, more strained.

By the time he reached their apartment, their bond felt like a thread stretched to its breaking point.

And Quinton wasn’t sure either of them had the strength to keep it from snapping completely.