Page 9 of Conall (The Sunburst Pack #3)

N ADINE WOKE TO NEAR darkness, the root cellar illuminated only by a thin shaft of light from the ventilation duct. Her body felt wrung out, hollow, but her mind was clear for the first time in days.

She probed the wound cautiously, moving into the light to examine it.

Still angry and raw, but the silver-blue lines had receded. The worst had passed. She would live.

Whether that was victory or just postponement of inevitable defeat remained to be seen.

She ate the last of her rations, washed down with carefully rationed water. Her supplies had dwindled to dangerous levels.

She needed to restock, to hunt.

To continue her mission.

Standing proved easier than expected. Her leg held her weight with only a minimal throb of protest. Shifter healing—delayed by silver but not defeated.

She climbed the root cellar steps, emerging into the cabin’s ruined interior.

Afternoon sunlight streamed through holes in the roof, illuminating decades of abandonment.

Nature had begun to reclaim the structure—desert plants pushing through floorboards, pack rats nesting in corners, lizards sunning themselves on crumbling windowsills.

She stood in the doorway, testing the air with her enhanced senses.

No humans nearby. No shifters either. Just desert life going about its timeless routines.

And beneath it all, that persistent tug westward. The mate bond, a little stronger now that she was healing, pulled at her like a physical tether.

She was in no condition to confront anyone directly. Her leg would hold her weight but wouldn’t support combat. Her strength was at maybe 50 percent of normal.

The silver had done its damage.

She had two options: withdraw to recuperate fully or adapt her approach.

Adaptation, definitely .

Surveillance. Intelligence gathering. The skills her father had taught her since childhood.

Know your enemy before you strike .

Her decision made, Nadine set about preparing.

First, hunting—her wolf form could manage that much, even injured. A jackrabbit or desert hare would restore her strength faster than trail rations.

Then reconnaissance.

The Sunburst Pack’s territory spread to the west, their patrol patterns likely altered after her encounter with Conall.

She needed to map the changes, find the blind spots.

And above all, she needed information about their connection to Gregory Torrance’s death. Proof that would stand before a pack council if it came to that.

By nightfall, Nadine had taken down two rabbits and replenished her water from a natural spring half a mile south of the cabin.

The protein helped clear the last of the fever fog from her mind, sharpening her focus, but the exertion had tired her more than she cared to admit, her injured leg protesting each step back to the root cellar.

Tomorrow, she would begin her surveillance of Sunburst territory.

Tonight, she needed rest.

But the mate bond tugged insistently, holding sleep at bay. Her wolf, growing stronger as the silver poison faded, whined at the separation from Conall.

You’re not in charge here , she told the animal side of herself. I am .

But it wasn’t hatred that rose up from her subconscious.

It was curiosity.

Why him? Why now?

The universe offered no answers, only the steady pulse of connection to a man she was determined to prove her enemy.

T HE NEXT MORNING , N ADINE perched in a juniper tree on a ridge overlooking Sunburst Pack territory. From this vantage point, she could observe the eastern approach to the pack’s main compound without being detected.

Her leg still ached, but the sharp pain had subsided to a dull throb. The wound itself was healing—slowly but healing nonetheless. Another week and she might be back to fighting form.

Through high-powered binoculars, she watched the comings and goings of pack members. Security patrols had indeed increased, moving in tighter patterns with more frequent check-ins. They were on alert.

Good. They should be scared.

By midmorning, she’d identified three patrol teams. The first two moved with military precision—Anders’s influence, no doubt.

The third team caught her attention.

The Stewart twins. Even at this distance, they were unmistakable.

Identical height and build, moving in that peculiar tandem that spoke of lifelong connection. They patrolled the eastern perimeter, precisely where she’d encountered Conall days earlier.

Hunting her.

Her wolf trembled, responding to his proximity despite the distance between them. The animal wanted to run to him, to complete the bond, to surrender to biology and instinct.

Not happening.

Nadine shifted position, easing the pressure on her injured leg.

The twins split up, each taking a different segment of the perimeter. An error. They were stronger together.

Or perhaps a deliberate strategy to cover more ground?

Either way, it gave her an opportunity to observe Conall alone.

She adjusted the binoculars, focusing on his solitary figure. Even from here, something seemed off about his movements. A subtle hesitation, an uncharacteristic uncertainty compared to the confident stride she’d witnessed in the ravine.

Was he injured from the tranquilizer dart? Or was it something else?

The mate bond thrummed as if in answer, reminding her that the connection affected both parties.

Was he fighting it too? Resisting the pull that had ambushed them both?

For a moment, sympathy flickered through her hatred. To be bound to someone you considered an enemy…

Yeah, she knew exactly how that felt.

Then she remembered her father. The blood. The tracks leading back to Sunburst territory.

Her sympathy evaporated like morning dew under the desert sun.

Conall paused at the exact spot where they’d confronted each other days earlier. He crouched, studying the ground where evidence of their encounter remained despite wind and weather. He lifted his head, scenting the air.

Could he sense her watching? Did the mate bond give him that awareness?

As if in answer, he turned slowly, his gaze sweeping the ridge where she hid. For one heart-stopping moment, she thought he looked directly at her position. Then he moved on, continuing his patrol.

Nadine released the breath she was holding.

For the rest of the afternoon, she maintained her surveillance, changing positions regularly to avoid detection.

The pattern became clear: The Sunburst Pack had increased security, particularly along their eastern border. They were scanning for both Nadine and the tactical team that had attacked them.

Interesting that they considered both threats.

On the second day of her watch, she spotted something that made her blood run cold.

A tall, lithe woman with black hair pulled back in a severe braid—a mirror image of herself—approaching the Sunburst Pack’s main compound from the north.

The woman carried herself with the same watchful tension that Nadine recognized from her own reflection.

But it wasn’t Nadine.

Someone was impersonating her. And doing it well enough to fool casual observation.

She tracked the impostor through her binoculars, watching as the woman was intercepted by a patrol—not the twins, thankfully, but two other wolves she didn’t recognize. After a brief conversation, the patrol escorted the woman toward the main compound.

They were bringing her in.

They think it’s me .

Cold fury replaced her initial shock.

Someone had anticipated her moves, had created a countermeasure specifically designed to confuse the situation.

The team from the ravine? Perhaps. They’d clearly known who she was, and had targeted both her and Conall with precision.

But why send in a doppelg?nger?

What was the strategic objective?

Nadine chewed her lower lip, her mind racing through possibilities.

Intelligence gathering. Infiltration. Disruption of my investigation .

All valid goals. All potentially devastating to her mission.

She needed to get closer, to learn what this impostor was saying to the Sunburst leadership. But moving into the main compound’s vicinity with her still-healing injury would be suicidally reckless.

Nadine retreated to her root cellar to consider her options.

Now she faced not just the Sunburst Pack and her unwanted mate bond but an unknown player with resources sophisticated enough to field a convincing double.

As she paced the small space, her mind circled back to her father’s final communications.

Had he known about these other players? Had he tried to warn her?

The memories were tinged with grief, making any objective analysis difficult.

She forced herself to focus on facts, not emotions.

Fact: Gregory Torrance had been Vincent’s right hand.

Fact: After Vincent’s death and the change in Sunburst leadership, Gregory had been exiled, not killed.

Fact: Weeks ago, she’d found evidence of his death—blood, signs of struggle, his personal effects abandoned.

Fact: The tracks had led back toward Sunburst territory.

But there were gaps in this narrative. Why would the new leadership exile Gregory only to hunt him down later? What threat did he pose from exile that warranted assassination?

And why did Conall seem genuinely surprised by her accusation?

Her wolf believed his innocence. But wolves were creatures of instinct, not logic. They could be deceived.

Still, doubts had taken root in her previously unwavering conviction.

Unwelcome doubts—but persistent.

What if there was another player in this game? Someone who wanted her to believe the Sunburst Pack—specifically the Stewart twins—had killed her father?

The impostor’s appearance suggested as much.

Nadine sat on the bottom step of the root cellar, absently rubbing her wounded leg. The silver pain had receded to a dull ache, the healing beginning to progress at a more typical shifter rate.

Think, Nadine. Think beyond what you’ve been led to believe .

A new plan formed. She couldn’t approach Sunburst, New Mexico, not with the pack’s security on high alert and an impostor already in play. But there were other sources of information.

The old ghost town of Caledonia lay less than twenty miles northeast—a gathering place for shifters who existed outside pack structures. Exiles. Loners. Information brokers. Her father had maintained contacts there even during his time as Vincent’s enforcer.

Always have escape routes and independent sources, he’d taught her. Pack politics change, but information is eternal currency.

She would go to Caledonia, first thing in the morning, and see what the neutral ground held.

Perhaps, if she was lucky, she’d even find allies who had known her father during his exile.