Page 32 of Conall (The Sunburst Pack #3)

A S THEY LAY TANGLED together for long moments afterward, heartbeats gradually slowing, Nadine allowed herself to relax into the kind of peace she’d rarely felt before.

What are you thinking? he asked.

That this complicates everything, she admitted.

Or simplifies it. Some things are meant to be, Nadine.

Her expression softened. I’ve been alone for so long.

You’re not alone anymore. That’s what the mate bond means.

The peace didn’t last though. When Nadine woke to find herself wrapped around Conall like she belonged there, contentment gave way to her habitual wariness, and her old fears began to surface.

Vulnerability had always been Nadine’s enemy, and in the gray predawn hours, her defenses rebuilt themselves with ruthless efficiency.

What had felt like surrender now felt like exposure.

What had felt like destiny in the darkness seemed suspiciously convenient in the harsh light of day.

Panic set in, and once Conall woke, Nadine was talking before he’d barely opened his eyes. What are the odds that I’d find my ‘perfect match’ in the exact pack I was sent to investigate? The math doesn’t work unless someone’s pulling strings.

What? Conall blinked away sleep.

What if none of this is real? What if we’re just responding to artificial stimuli designed to make us think we’re bonded? Nadine shook her head. No. This happened too fast. People don’t fall for each other this quickly unless something’s manipulating the process.

This is real, Conall said, sitting up to face her directly. His expression hardened. What you felt, what we shared—it’s real. The mate bond doesn’t lie, Nadine.

Can’t it? She wrapped her arms around her knees. Chimera has neural interface technology. Behavioral modification protocols. How do I know this isn’t just another form of domination?

The possibility hung between them like a loaded weapon—that their entire relationship might be artificial, another tool in Chimera’s arsenal.

Because, Conall said with absolute conviction, I know what artificial feels like. I’ve seen neural manipulation. This isn’t that.

How can you be sure?

Because artificial doesn’t fight back. You spent weeks trying to resist this bond. If it was programmed, you wouldn’t have been able to fight it. He reached for her hand. Manufactured connections don’t come with the kind of conscious choice we both had to make.

The logic was sound, but doubt had taken root in Nadine’s mind, poisoning the contentment she’d felt in his arms.

I don’t even know who I really am anymore. How can I trust feelings that might not even be mine?

Shh. Conall wrapped his arms around her. Focus on the bond. How does it feel right now?

Nadine blinked. The bond is stronger now, she said. After what we just shared, it’s…intense.

It flickered between them like a constant electrical current, carrying awareness of his every emotion.

I know. His thumb brushed across her knuckles. I can feel it too. Your fear, your confusion, your need to run.

The casual intimacy of shared consciousness should have been invasive. Instead, it felt natural—which terrified her more than anything else.

Still…

This is exactly what I was afraid of, she said, standing abruptly. Losing myself in something I can’t control or verify. We need to step back before we make decisions we can’t undo.

Conall watched her pace. You’re not losing yourself. You’re finding a part of yourself you never knew existed.

Or I’m being consumed by biological imperatives that override rational thought. She found her clothes and began dressing with mechanical efficiency. Compromised judgment. Divided loyalties. The kind of emotional entanglement that gets people killed.

Nadine. His voice carried authority, but softer. Look at me.

She turned to face him. The sight of him—golden skin marked by her teeth, dark hair mussed—made the bond pulse with renewed hunger.

But she could feel his emotions bleeding through the connection. His hurt at her withdrawal. His growing certainty that she was going to run.

I’m not going anywhere, she said, recognizing his fear. I’m not running. I just… I need to think. Need to process what this means without the distraction of…

She gestured vaguely at his body, at the rumpled bed.

Without the distraction of actually feeling good for once in your life, he finished.

The observation stung because it was true. For an hour, she’d allowed herself to simply exist in the moment. And it had been terrifying in its perfection.

I’m not built for this, she said quietly. For the kind of trust that mate bonds require.

But you did let it matter. Conall rose from the bed, moving to stand before her without crowding her space. In the storage unit, when you realized what Gregory really was. You could have used that information to hurt me. Instead, you chose to share it honestly.

The memory made her chest tight. She had chosen him in that moment, had trusted him with her pain despite every logical reason to maintain distance.

That was different.

Was it? Or was it exactly the same thing you’re afraid of now? Choosing connection over self-protection?

The question cut too close to the truth.

This is too much too fast, she said. We don’t know each other well enough for this level of intensity.

We know enough. His voice carried quiet conviction. We know we work well together. We know we trust each other in dangerous situations.

Physical chemistry isn’t enough to build a permanent bond on.

Then what is?

The question hovered between them. What did it take to build something lasting? Shared values, mutual respect, deep understanding that came from surviving a crisis together?

All of which they had, she realized.

I don’t know, she admitted. I’ve never tried to build anything permanent with anyone.

Neither have I. Vulnerability replaced his control. But I want to try. With you.

The simple declaration made her wolf whine with longing, made every defense feel suddenly fragile. He wasn’t asking for forever—just the chance to find out what they could build together.

The investigation, she said, grasping for solid ground. Gregory’s murder, Chimera’s operations, the threat to other packs. We can’t afford to be distracted by personal complications.

You’re right. His agreement surprised her. The investigation has to be our priority. Lives are at stake.

Relief flooded through her, complicated by something that felt almost like disappointment.

So we agree, she said. We finish what we started. Find Gregory’s real killers, stop Chimera’s plans. And then…

And then we figure out what we are, he finished. When we’re not running from operatives or processing devastating revelations.

The plan was logical, sensible. So why did it feel like cowardice?

The bond is going to make that difficult, she pointed out. Maintaining professional distance when we can feel each other’s emotions.

Then we learn to work with it instead of against it. Conall began gathering his clothes. Use the enhanced coordination to our advantage.

You make it sound simple.

Nothing about this is simple. Conall got out of bed, pulling on his clothes from the night before. But complicated isn’t the same as impossible.

Where are you going? Nadine asked.

I’m getting ready to go check out the storage unit. Conall raised his eyebrows. Are you coming with me?

Now?

Are you going to be able to go back to sleep if we don’t go now?

Nadine snorted and swung her legs over the side of the bed. No. You’re right. Let’s go.

I just texted Anders to let him know where we’re headed. He paused. He’ll want us to take backup.

For all the good it did yesterday, Nadine muttered.

Exactly. Roswell’s only two hours away. We can get there right as they open. If Anders wants to send a team, they can catch up with us.

L ESS THAN THREE HOURS later, Nadine stood in front of Gregory’s unit, her throat tight with worry over what they’d find. The lock yielded to Nadine’s picks in seconds.

Even before they opened any of the boxes stacked almost to the ceiling, the contents of the unit made her blood run cold.

A painting of Vincent Foley, along with the shirt the former alpha wore in it displayed like a trophy. Photographs from Vincent’s reign. Training manuals for interrogation techniques.

This isn’t storage, she breathed. This is a shrine.

Conall examined documents. Asset placement reports. Behavioral modification protocols. This goes back decades.

The folder marked Omicron Protocol made her hands shake. Inside were detailed plans for simultaneous activation of neural interfaces across dozens of packs.

Gregory found this information too, she said. He discovered Chimera’s endgame.

The final piece came in a handwritten note, Gregory’s script familiar but shaky:

If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead.

You should know Chimera isn’t simply infiltrating packs—they’re planning simultaneous activation of all assets. They want control over shifters, but first they need to get rid of all of us who know about them.

I’ve been playing both sides for years. Let Chimera think I was their asset while building my own network. But the new Sunburst leadership threatens to expose my operations before I can execute my plans.

They must be eliminated. All of them.

My daughter will be the perfect weapon—her skills, her motivation, her need for justice. By now, the Stewart twins should be dead by your hand. Good. Continue the work. Take out the rest of the leadership—Malcolm, Larissa, Anders. They’re all threats to everything I’ve built.

The rot goes deeper than you think. Don’t trust anyone who knew about Vincent’s special medical programs.

Sometimes you have to work with monsters to destroy them.

But which monsters serve which masters?

Even I’m not always certain anymore.

—G

Nadine sank into a folding chair, the note trembling in her hands.