Page 11 of Ranger’s Oath (Lone Star Wolf Rangers #5)

GAGE

T he mist still clings to the field when I pace the tree line on four paws, nose lifted, ears tuned.

Sadie’s howl still echoes in my head, proud and raw, a sound that won’t let me go.

My wolf is already free, muscles taut and restless as I stalk the shadows.

She’s run for the first time, claimed the night as her own, and I’ve kept my distance only by sheer force of will.

Every instinct in me screams to close the space between us, to guard her flank, but discipline keeps me on patrol instead of at her side.

I lope deeper into the shadows, keeping to the outer perimeter. The night is quiet on the surface, but I’ve hunted long enough to know quiet often hides teeth. My paws press silently into the dirt, claws sinking in as I circle wide, each step deliberate, ears swiveling for the faintest sound.

A faint crackle in the soil pulls me toward the base of a tree. I slow, ears pricked, nostrils flaring. The grass is bent wrong, pressed flat where someone stood too long.

Half-buried in the damp earth lies a cigarette butt, the end still faintly glowing before the dew snuffs it out. I lower my muzzle, breathing in the acrid tang until it stings.

Too fresh. Whoever stood here reeked of sweat and foreign spice, nothing like my pack. The scent trails back toward the road, light but clear, a phantom presence lingering in the air. From this spot they had a perfect vantage point into the pasture, straight to her.

A barn owl hoots from deeper in the trees, startled into silence by whatever lingered here before me. Even the crickets have gone quiet, the night holding its breath around the intrusion.

My lips peel back in a silent snarl, fur bristling as the truth sharpens. They were close enough to hear her voice, close enough to watch her run. Proof enough the bastards know she’s alive.

The lights from the house spill across the yard when I return.

Cassidy is already ushering Sadie inside, a blanket clutched around her shoulders.

Her cheeks are flushed, her breath still uneven from the run, eyes wide with exhilaration and something more.

The blanket slides off one shoulder, pale skin catching in the lamplight, and her damp hair clings to her temples.

She looks like living flame, wild and radiant in a way that makes my chest ache.

My wolf snaps to attention, the recognition pounding through me with brutal clarity. Mate.

I shift, dragging on my clothing while keeping a watchful eye over my mate and her sister.

I hold myself rigid, forcing every trace of heat from my features until only cold stone remains.

She can’t see the truth raging in me, not now.

Not until every inch of ground beneath her feet is secured and I know without doubt that she’s safe.

Cassidy’s gaze locks with mine over Sadie’s head. In her eyes I see gratitude, but it’s layered with a sharp edge of warning, a silent reminder that her sister’s safety is not negotiable and I’d better not screw this up.

Sadie peeks around her sister’s shoulder and finds me.

Our gazes lock, and for one dangerous beat, everything else fades.

She tilts her chin, defiant even now. My chest tightens.

The pull between us is savage, and it takes every ounce of discipline not to cross the distance and haul her into my arms.

“See something out there?” Cassidy asks, voice even.

“Tracks. Fresh ones,” I answer. “We’ve got company sniffing around.”

Sadie’s lips part, and I catch the flash of fear before she masks it with a quip. “Great. So much for my victory lap.”

I suppress the beginnings of a smile. Even rattled, she shows her edge. “You ran well.” The words come out rougher than I intend, but true all the same.

Her eyes flare, heat sparking in them. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

Cassidy shakes her head, amusement in her eyes despite the tension. “Both of you need sleep. Tomorrow, we regroup.”

She ushers Sadie toward her room, leaving me rooted in the entryway, the warmth she leaves behind lingering like a brand, tightening around my chest until I can hardly breathe.

I linger at the window long after the house goes quiet, every shadow outside sharpening my focus.

The memory of the cigarette butt, the way Sadie looked at me, the snarl coiled in my chest—they knot together until breathing feels like a fight.

My wolf knows what this means. Fate has already spoken, and no discipline will silence it.

She belongs to me. Whether she realizes it yet or not.

The groan of a floorboard jerks me from my thoughts.

I pivot and find Sadie at the edge of the shadows, barefoot, the blanket slipping loose around her shoulders.

Her hair spills down in damp waves from the mist, her eyes cutting sharp even through the veil of exhaustion.

The lamplight glows against her skin, the blanket framing the curve of her collarbone, and for a beat I forget the danger outside.

She is fragile and fierce all at once, and my wolf roars to claim both.

“You planning to brood all night, Ranger?” she asks, one brow arched. “Because I should probably charge rent if you’re going to haunt the window.”

The corner of my mouth threatens to lift, but I rein it in. “Go to bed, Sadie.”

“Can’t sleep.” She pads closer, the blanket slipping enough to bare one shoulder.

My wolf lunges against the cage of my control at the glimpse of bare skin, hunger ripping through me so sharp it almost doubles me.

Every nerve burns to close the distance, to taste her heat, but I grind it back and force my body still.

“Too much adrenaline. And you look like you swallowed nails. So talk.”

“Not much to say. Someone’s been watching. They know you’re alive.”

She flinches, but covers it with sass. “Perfect. That’ll look great in my next society column. Heiress turned wolf, stalked by armed men with bad habits and worse cologne.”

Despite myself, a low chuckle escapes. “You joke, but this is serious.”

She stops just short of me, tilts her head. “Everything’s serious with you. Ever relax?”

“No.”

Her laugh is soft, genuine. “Figures.”

The sound threads through me, hot and insistent, wrapping tight until my pulse trips.

My wolf slams against the confines of my restraint, recognizing her not only as pack but as the one who sets every nerve on fire.

Heat pools low, dangerous, and I brace my stance, shoulders tight and jaw locked in order to stop myself from closing the space and taking what I crave.

My chest aches from the effort, my body screaming to move even as I root myself to the floor.

“You’re staring,” she says, voice lower now.

“You’re in my space.”

Her lips curve. “Maybe I like your space.”

The blanket slips further. I drag my gaze away before I do something I can’t take back. “Get some rest. Tomorrow isn’t going to be easy.”

She studies me for a long beat, then nods. “Fine. But don’t think you’re the only one on edge. I know danger when it’s circling.”

I incline my head once, a soldier’s acknowledgment. “Then trust me to handle it.”

She grins faintly. “Bossy.”

“Protective.”

Her eyes flash at that, and the air between us thickens until I can almost feel her pulse against my own.

The wolf inside me snarls, driving heat through my veins, urging me to close the distance.

My muscles lock instead, every fiber straining as I step back, breaking the pull before it drags us both under.

Sadie turns away, but not before I catch the flicker of a smile tugging at her mouth. She knows what she does to me, and she’s not above using it. That alone should terrify me more than the men watching from the shadows.

Later, after she disappears down the hall, I step outside again, restless.

The night stretches long, heavy with the scent of salt from the Gulf.

Every creak of the trees feels amplified.

I patrol the grounds again, circling back to where I found the cigarette.

This time, I catch something more: a scrap of paper wedged between the roots.

I tug it free, squint at the scrawled numbers.

Coordinates. My jaw tightens. They’re not just watching.

They’re planning. The possibilities race through my head—safe houses, landing sites, exit routes.

I memorize the numbers, already building counters in my mind.

When I come back in, Sadie is waiting in the kitchen, perched on the counter with a mug between her hands.

Her blanket’s gone, replaced with an oversized sweatshirt that comes down to her knees.

The fabric drowns her frame, baring her legs, and I feel the punch of attraction like a fist. She looks too damn comfortable in my space, like she belongs here.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she says, answering my unspoken question. “And your coffee’s stronger than mine.”

“You raided my stash.”

She lifts a shoulder. “Perks of being under house arrest.”

“You’re not under arrest.”

Her brow arches. “Really? Because it feels a lot like it. Guard dogs; well, wolves. Locked doors, and a grumpy Ranger breathing down my neck.”

“Would you rather I left you unprotected?”

She takes a slow sip from the mug, eyes glinting with mischief over the rim, as though daring me. “Depends. Just how inventive can you get with protective custody?”

I expect more teasing, but instead her expression sharpens. “You think protection is just walls and patrols. That is part of it, yes, but you are missing what I know.”

I fold my arms, waiting.

“In Galveston venues, you do not just watch doors,” she says.

“You watch flow. How the staff moves, how the guests arrive, where the choke points will form. A kitchen corridor can bottleneck a hundred donors faster than any locked gate. A service elevator is more useful than a dozen cameras if you know which floor it opens to. You call it security. I call it event ops. Different language, same outcome.”

She sets the mug aside and leans forward, voice low but certain.

“If you want me to survive, you should use what I see. I can predict when a room will thin out or when a line of sight will open before you can. I know which VIP expects a private egress, and I know which staffer will look the wrong way because the schedule changed.”

Her words catch me off guard. She is not just sparring for control. She is mapping risk in her own way, reading people and spaces the way I read terrain.

“You are saying you can anticipate vulnerabilities I might miss,” I say.

She nods once, firm. “Exactly. My world is flow. Yours is tactics. Put them together and maybe I live through this.”

The wolf inside me stirs, grudgingly impressed. My instinct is to shut her down, but discipline pulls me another way. “Fine. You feed me that intel. I will decide how it folds into the plan.”

Her grin curves sharply. “Progress. I will take it.”

The wolf inside rumbles, stirred by meanings in her words I have no business chasing. My voice drops, rough with warning. “Don’t test me.”

Her laugh is husky this time, lingering between us. “Touchy.”

I slam my palms down on the counter beside her thighs, the sound sharp in the quiet kitchen.

Heat radiates off her, seeping into me until my restraint frays.

My jaw grinds, anger mixing with a hunger I can’t shake, the two feeding each other until my voice comes out rough. “You need to take this seriously.”

She leans in, fearless. “And you need to stop looking at me like you’re starving.”

The air crackles. My wolf surges, clawing for release. I want to taste her, claim her, but I tear myself back at the last second, breath ragged. “Bed. Now.”

She hops off the counter with a grin that promises trouble. “Whatever you say, Ranger.”

Hours later, I’m outside again, patrol complete, the horizon paling with dawn.

The Gulf air is cool and sharp, dew slicking the grass as I move along the fence line.

The house behind me is silent, but inside those walls her defiance, her laugh, and the way she looked at me, loop through my head with punishing clarity.

Every remembered glance gnaws deeper, clawing until my chest feels raw.

She’s in me now, threaded through bone and sinew, and no amount of discipline will dislodge her.

Beyond the fence line, a figure lurks in the shadows, watching the house with a predator’s patience.

Eyes catch the faintest spill of dawn, glinting cold.

The body is still, too deliberate to be animal, too calculating to be anything but human.

I feel the weight of that stare before I even see the shape, and it chills every inch of me.