Page 50 of Conall (The Sunburst Pack #3)

T WO DAYS OF COORDINATING pack communications had given Quinton enough time to recognize the patterns everyone else was missing.

The Stardust Pack’s responses to their intelligence briefings arrived either too late or too detailed, suggesting someone was filtering information before it reached Alpha Dylan Montoya.

Cross-references between their asset lists and Stardust’s personnel records showed gaps where there should have been matches.

Most telling, the pack’s security protocols had been modified in ways that made no tactical sense—unless someone wanted to create vulnerabilities while appearing to strengthen defenses.

All of which meant his mission to Colorado was more urgent than Malcolm and Larissa had originally realized.

Quinton guided his truck through the winding mountain roads that led to Stardust territory, pine forests gradually replacing desert scrubland as elevation climbed toward the San Juan Mountains.

The drive gave him time to review Nadine’s intelligence packets—detailed analyses of Chimera’s infiltration methods, psychological profiles of compromised assets, strategic recommendations for identifying sleeper agents who might not even know they’d been programmed, all read aloud to him by a computerized voice through the media system.

The briefing materials supported the disturbing picture Nadine had painted for them initially.

As she’d said, Gregory Torrance had been methodical about placing assets in positions where they could gather intelligence, influence decisions, and create instability when activated.

Pack communications specialists, medical personnel, security advisers—all perfect positions for someone looking to undermine democratic leadership while appearing to serve pack interests.

Someone exactly like Eliot Reeves, Dylan Montoya’s second-in-command.

Quinton had never met the man, but his psychological profile fit Gregory’s preferred recruitment patterns perfectly. Military background, frustrated by civilian pack politics, convinced that strong leadership required authoritarian control.

Exactly the kind of ideological vulnerability that made neural interface programming unnecessary—some people wanted to believe they were serving a greater cause even when that cause involved betraying their own communities.

The Stardust Pack compound emerged from the forest like something from a wilderness magazine—log and stone buildings that seemed to grow naturally from the mountainous terrain.

Defensive positions were subtle but well planned, taking advantage of natural cover while maintaining clear sight lines across the valley approaches.

Good thinking, though Quinton noted several modifications to the perimeter that created blind spots rather than eliminating them.

Someone’s been making changes without considering the security implications .

He parked near the town hall and gathered his briefing materials, already mentally preparing for the delicate conversation ahead.

Dylan Montoya had been alpha for three years, taking over from her father after his death in a climbing accident. Strong leader by all accounts, but potentially too trusting of her inner circle—a vulnerability Gregory would have exploited.

The mate bond hit him like a freight train.

Pure recognition flooded his system, electric awareness that made his wolf surge forward with desperate hunger.

Every cell in his body suddenly knew, with absolute certainty, that somewhere nearby was the person meant to complete him. The briefing materials scattered across dusty ground as Quinton doubled over, gasping from an intensity he’d never imagined, never realized he might want to experience.

Now, though, every cell of his being shouted, Yes!

The response was automatic, instinctive.

At least until his intellect kicked in.

But not here. Not now. Not yet .

He had a mission to complete, intelligence to deliver, a pack to help protect from infiltration. Personal complications were the last thing—

Conall?

The voice cut through his internal chaos, tones that resonated directly through the newly formed bond. Quinton straightened, his enhanced senses immediately locating the source of both the voice and the overwhelming recognition.

She stood in the city hall’s doorway, and his first coherent thought was that Anders had undersold her in his briefings.

Dylan Montoya was striking in ways photographs couldn’t capture—tall and curvy, dark hair catching copper highlights in mountain sunlight, matching brown-and-copper eyes that seemed to hold depths he could explore for years.

I wasn’t sure you’d come, she continued, moving toward him with fluid steps that made his wolf pace restlessly. After the communications blackout, after everything that’s happened with the other packs—I was afraid Sunburst had decided we weren’t worth the risk.

The way she looked at him made the bond throb with her emotions. Joy, relief, something deeper that might have been love—all directed at him.

Or rather, at…

Oh, hell. She thinks I’m Conall .

The realization should have prompted immediate correction.

Professional courtesy demanded acknowledgment of the mistake.

Instead, Quinton found himself paralyzed at the thought—a mate bond insisting this woman belonged to him, directed at someone who believed he was his twin brother.

Dylan stopped just outside personal space, her expression cycling through relief and something deeper as she studied his face. You look tired. That drive from Sunburst is brutal when you’re carrying news this sensitive.

Her emotional state blazed through their connection with startling clarity—stress from weeks of crisis management, exhaustion from maintaining alpha authority while dealing with threats she didn’t fully understand.

And underneath it all, genuine affection for the man she believed had come to help her pack through this crisis.

Affection for Conall.

Tell her the truth. Explain the mistake .

But the words wouldn’t come. Not when the bond sang with recognition of home, of partnership, of everything he’d never known he wanted. Not when her relief at seeing him—seeing who she thought he was—carried such genuine warmth.

Dylan, he said, testing her name and finding it fit perfectly despite the circumstances. We need to talk. About Chimera, about the assets Gregory placed in your pack.

Of course. She gestured toward the building. I’ve been waiting for a full briefing since your message. The preliminary intelligence suggested multiple compromised pack members, but the details—

Well, well. Look who finally decided to show up.

Quinton turned to find a man approaching from the training grounds—middle-aged, stocky build, moving with aggressive confidence that immediately set Quinton’s wolf on edge.

The newcomer’s scent carried dominance, assertion, and hostility, markers suggesting someone accustomed to getting his way through intimidation.

Eliot Reeves. The psychological profile had been accurate.

Eliot, Dylan said, her voice shifting to deliberate neutrality. I wasn’t expecting you until the evening briefing.

Eliot’s gaze fixed on Quinton with uncomfortable intensity, studying him like a potential threat. Didn’t want to miss the famous Sunburst guardian’s presentation. Some of us have questions about this intelligence you’ve been sharing.

The challenge was subtle but unmistakable. Dylan’s tension spiked—not surprise, but familiar frustration with an ongoing conflict she’d been managing.

A second-in-command questioning the alpha’s judgment. Undermining her authority while maintaining plausible deniability.

Questions? Dylan’s voice carried an alpha’s authority, but she was clearly tired of fighting this particular battle.

Questions about relying so heavily on outside intelligence, Eliot replied, never breaking eye contact with Quinton. About allowing other packs to dictate our security protocols. About whether we’re being manipulated by people who might not have our best interests at heart.

The accusation was carefully crafted—reasonable concerns about pack independence wrapped around what felt like personal hostility. But there was something else in Eliot’s manner that made Quinton’s instincts sharpen.

He knows something. Or thinks he does .

The Chimera threat is real, Dylan said firmly. The evidence Malcolm and Larissa shared—

Evidence that could have been fabricated to serve Sunburst’s agenda, Eliot interrupted, stepping closer with deliberate aggression. Evidence conveniently provided after months of deteriorating communications between our packs.

Dylan’s growing frustration with Eliot’s persistent undermining pulsed through their connection. But so did her uncertainty about how to handle a subordinate who challenged her authority while maintaining just enough pack loyalty to avoid open rebellion.

What are you suggesting? Quinton asked Dylan’s second-in-command, keeping his voice level despite his wolf’s bristling response to Eliot’s confrontational stance.

I’m suggesting, Eliot said, that the Stewart twins have been playing a longer game than anyone realized. That maybe the real threat to pack security isn’t some shadowy organization but the people claiming to protect us from it.

The accusation hit almost as hard as the mate bond had—not just because of its implications, but because of how Eliot delivered it. With absolute conviction, as if he possessed information justifying his suspicions.

Just like Nadine had.

That’s enough, Dylan said, alpha command bleeding into her voice. Conall risked his life to gather this intelligence. I won’t tolerate baseless accusations—

Baseless? Eliot laughed sharply. Dylan, you’ve been so focused on external threats that you’ve missed what’s happening right under your nose. The communications disruptions, the strategic intelligence leaks, the way certain information reaches the wrong people at exactly the wrong time.