Page 40 of Conall (The Sunburst Pack #3)

Q UINTON STOOD IN THE doorway of their empty apartment, staring at the coffee mugs still sitting side by side on the kitchen counter—evidence of the morning routine they’d maintained for years.

When was the last time we had that morning?

He couldn’t remember.

Sometime in the past week, their shared routines had been disrupted by Nadine’s presence, by the mate bond that was pulling Conall toward loyalties that had nothing to do with the brothers’ partnership.

The silence felt wrong without Conall’s presence.

His brother was somewhere east of pack territory. Moving fast, his desperation flooding their twin bond—weakened now but still present.

Hunting for a woman who’d apparently decided to face a deadly enemy alone rather than trust the people who’d sworn to protect her.

Stupid , Quinton thought, but the criticism felt hollow even to himself. After what they’d learned about Gregory Torrance—after the storage unit revelations and the evidence of systematic manipulation spanning years—maybe going alone seemed like the only option that didn’t endanger everyone else.

Still stupid. But understandable.

He moved through the apartment, touching objects that belonged to both of them but feeling increasingly certain that this shared life was coming to an end.

On Conall’s nightstand, a photograph caught his attention—a pack gathering on Sunburst Mesa, taken just a few weeks ago.

Sarah had insisted on printing it, saying every family needed physical memories to anchor them.

In the photo, Conall stood slightly apart from the main group but not isolated. Protective. Alert. The way he’d always positioned himself when they were children—ready to step between Quinton and any threat, ready to fight for what mattered most.

Except now, what mattered most wasn’t just his twin brother.

The realization settled in Quinton’s chest like cold stone. All their lives, they’d been enough for each other. Two halves of something larger than either could be alone.

But mate bonds were different. Potentially stronger even than their shared connection.

And since Nadine had shown up, Quinton had been trying to convince Conall to fight it.

The twin bond pulsed with distant pain—Conall’s growing desperation as he followed whatever trail Nadine had left, knowing it was leading him straight into a trap.

Quinton felt his brother’s certainty that she was walking into something designed to eliminate both of them, and his absolute inability to let her face it alone.

He’s going to get himself killed .

The thought galvanized Quinton in ways that days of resentment and jealousy hadn’t managed.

Whatever complicated emotions he had about Nadine’s place in their lives, whatever fears he carried about being replaced or forgotten—none of it mattered if Conall died trying to save someone who’d already decided martyrdom was preferable to asking for help.

But as he grabbed his gear from their shared armory, a different realization struck him.

She didn’t choose martyrdom .

She chose protection .

The distinction mattered. Nadine hadn’t run because she was suicidal or reckless.

She’d left because she understood something Quinton had been too blinded by jealousy to see—that Gregory would use Conall and Nadine’s connection against them.

Would turn their mate bond into a weapon to destroy everything they loved.

She’d closed the bond and left not to abandon Conall but to save him.

Just like I would have done for Conall .

Just like he would have done for me .

She loved Conall enough to walk away. To face certain death rather than let their connection endanger him.

The parallel barreled into him with devastating clarity. He’d been treating Nadine as an intruder, someone who threatened the foundation of his relationship with his twin. But her final choice revealed something that made his chest tight with emotions he couldn’t name.

He’d been treating the connection between Conall and Nadine as a threat to everything he’d built his identity around.

The unwelcome variable that was disrupting their established patterns, pulling Conall toward loyalties that competed with their twin bond. He’d seen her as an enemy to be defeated rather than a partner to be integrated.

But watching Conall prepare to die for her had changed something fundamental in his understanding.

This isn’t about choosing between us. It’s about adding to what we are .

The thought should have been threatening, should have triggered the same possessive fears that had been eating at him all along.

Instead, it brought something that felt almost like relief. The twin bond didn’t have to be weakened by Conall’s mate connection—it could be strengthened by it. Enhanced by the addition of someone who understood sacrifice, who would fight to protect what mattered most.

That’s not an enemy. That’s family .

The revelation shifted something fundamental in his understanding. This wasn’t about replacement or competition. It was about expansion—about their connection growing to include someone else who would make the same sacrifices they would for each other.

Someone who already had.

Quinton loaded his vest with methodical precision, movements efficient despite the chaos in his emotions. Whatever fears he’d carried about losing his brother, whatever resentment he’d harbored about changing dynamics—none of it mattered now.

Conall was walking into a trap designed by someone who’d spent years perfecting the art of elimination, and he was doing it alone because the woman he loved had tried to protect him by severing their connection.

Not on my watch .

T HE DRIVE EAST TOOK him through familiar territory that looked alien in the growing darkness.

Quinton had patrolled these borders countless times, knew every landmark and potential danger spot. But tonight, the landscape felt charged with threat, as if the very air carried the scent of approaching violence.

By following their bond, he tracked Conall’s position with increasing precision.

His brother was moving toward the abandoned Aventura mine—a place outside pack territory that had featured in too many intelligence reports lately.

Neutral ground where exiles gathered, where information was traded, where shifters went when they wanted to disappear.

Or when they wanted to eliminate loose ends.

Of course Gregory would choose there. Perfect location for an ambush, far enough from pack territory that backup would be delayed, isolated enough that witnesses wouldn’t be a concern.

The tactical situation was a nightmare. Unknown number of hostiles, prepared positions, home field advantage for the enemy. Everything Quinton had been trained never to walk into.

But Conall was walking into it anyway because the mate bond was driving him toward choices that defied logic and training alike.

No. The mate bond isn’t the problem , Quinton thought as his vehicle ate up miles of highway. My reaction to it is .

The twin bond flared as Conall’s emotions spiked—recognition, probably, that he was approaching the target location. Through their connection, Quinton felt his brother’s grim determination, his acceptance that he was probably walking into his own death.

Not if I have anything to say about it .

Quinton pushed his vehicle harder, eating up the remaining distance with reckless speed. The advantage of arriving before the trap could be fully sprung was worth the risk of a high-speed accident.

Conall’s growing proximity to whatever Gregory had prepared—and the dawning awareness that someone was following him—echoed through the twin bond as Quinton drew closer.

Don’t you dare tell me to go back , Quinton projected through their connection, knowing his brother would recognize his approach through their shared awareness.

The response came back immediately—surprise, followed by concern, followed by something that felt almost like relief. Conall had been dreading this confrontation, had been steeling himself to face it alone despite every instinct screaming for backup.

You hate her , Conall sent to him.

I hate losing you. There’s a difference .

The admission cost Quinton everything—all his carefully maintained emotional distance, the protective walls he’d built around the most important relationship in his life. But it was true, and Conall deserved to hear it.

You’re not losing me , came the reply, carrying absolute certainty.

I know. Because we’re going to get her back .

When Quinton reached the access road, Conall’s vehicle was already parked behind a rocky outcropping. The abandoned facility squatted against the horizon like a concrete cancer, its harsh angles cutting through the predawn darkness.

He found his brother crouched behind a cluster of sagebrush, studying the layout through binoculars. The sight of Conall—focused, determined, but alone—made something clench in Quinton’s chest.

When was the last time we went into a dangerous situation without each other?

Never, he realized. Not once in their adult lives had either twin faced serious danger without the other at his back.

Took you long enough, Conall said quietly, not looking away from his surveillance but radiating relief through their bond.

Traffic, Quinton replied, settling beside him with the comfortable efficiency of countless shared operations. What are we looking at?

Three buildings, multiple defensive positions, at least six hostile signatures. Conall handed him the binoculars. Nadine’s inside the main structure—I can sense her through the mate bond, but it’s muted. Probably unconscious.

Quinton studied the situation, automatically cataloging threats and opportunities. The facility was a fortress, designed to channel attackers into predetermined kill zones while providing maximum cover for defenders.

This is a trap, he observed.

Obviously.