Page 25 of Ranger’s Oath (Lone Star Wolf Rangers #5)

SADIE

T he words ' Then we hit them first' are still ringing in my ears when Rush snaps the map shut. The room feels electric, like thunder has just rolled through and we are humming with the leftover charge. Gage’s hand is laced with mine, his grip iron, his eyes fierce. The mark on my neck pulses like a drumbeat, steady and alive. There’s no going back now.

We need to move fast. The war room fills with chatter, plans spilling across the table.

Kari’s name comes up—her home, her family, the one safe fallback they have for the civilians.

Sutton and Maggie are already there. Rush and Deacon insist it’s where Cassidy and I should go.

Out of harm’s way, tucked into safety while the Rangers clean up the mess.

Cassidy stiffens beside me, crossing her arms tight over her chest. “Not happening. I’m not running from this.”

Rush shoots her a look. “Cassidy”

She cuts him off, her voice steel. “Don’t Cassidy me. If you think I’m going to sit around knitting while you storm a port, you’ve forgotten who you’re talking to.”

I smother a grin. That’s my girl. My sister. I slide closer, planting myself firmly at her side. “I second that motion. Besides, Kari’s house is crowded.”

Rush lifts his head, unimpressed. “This isn’t a debate.”

“Funny,” I counter, “because it feels exactly like one.”

Gage steps forward, towering, voice low and commanding. “Sadie.” Just my name, a warning wrapped in gravel. My belly does a traitorous flip, but I don’t back down. Not this time.

“You really think locking us away while you all play soldier is going to work?” I meet his gaze head-on. “You should know better by now.”

He clenches his jaw, that muscle ticking. “It’s not about fairness. It’s about survival.”

“Then let us help you survive,” I fire back. “We’re not porcelain. Cassidy and I can handle ourselves.”

Cassidy grins, clearly enjoying the show. “Translation: you can try and stop us, but you'll fail.”

Rush mutters a curse under his breath, but Gage just stares, like he’s weighing how much of a fight he really wants tonight. Finally, he grinds out, “You stay here. That’s final.”

“Of course,” I say sweetly, batting my lashes. Cassidy echoes me with mock innocence. Not one of them buys it.

The Rangers roll out an hour later, trucks rumbling down the drive, red taillights streaking through the dark like glowing embers. Gage kissed me before he left, rough and lingering, like he already knew I was lying through my teeth, which I most definitely was.

His warning was low and dangerous, his mouth hard against mine, and I gave him the same soft promise I’d given before.

He didn’t believe it, not really, but he let me go.

The dust from their convoy hasn’t even settled, the night still vibrating with the echo of their engines, and Cassidy’s wicked grin mirrors my own, sharp with anticipation.

“Ready?” I whisper.

“Born ready,” she replies.

Two, almost identical, swirling mists find us quickly, rising thick and alive from the ground. It coils around my legs, heat and thunder in every curl. Cassidy’s eyes flash copper, lightning catching in her hair before it encompasses her and the wolf bursts free.

I let go, surrendering to the storm. The thunder rattles my bones, lightning snaps across my skin, and then I’m on four legs, fur bristling, the world sharp and wild. My paws dig into the dirt, muscles singing with power.

With a quick look at one another, we turn to the direction of the port, and we run.

The night air is sharp and sweet, freezing and burning in equal measure as it tears through my lungs with every breath.

The pounding of our paws strikes a relentless war rhythm against the earth, each impact echoing up my bones.

Grass slashes at my legs, dew bursting cold, while the ground thrums beneath me as if alive.

The fragments of the mist trail close behind us, swirling around in blinding flashes of silver and gold, turning the world into a storm-lit dream.

Every sense is heightened—wings beating as birds flee in panic, the low thrum of engines prowling ahead, and the faint, jagged chatter of comms bleeding into the night, each word sparking adrenaline through my veins.

Cassidy veers right, hugging the rise of the ridge, her copper fur flashing as she cuts into the darker terrain.

I angle left, hugging low, shadowing the main route the Rangers carved ahead.

We move like wraiths across the landscape, bodies stretched low to the earth, paws beating out a rhythm that blends with the wind.

The grass whips against my belly, cold air slicing my throat, but we don’t falter.

We’re ghosts in the field, sliding through the night unseen, every stride tuned to the pulse of war closing in ahead.

Each of us wears a slim headpiece fitted around our heads. Easy to put on tech, designed to be put on as wolves. The bone-conduction rigs pick up growls, barks, and short sounds we can make, keeping us linked with the Rangers even in wolf form.

Through that channel, Rush’s voice barks orders, steady and precise.

Deacon responds in clipped bursts, Gideon calls out positions with military calm.

I catch the low rumble of Gage’s growl of acknowledgment, carried clear through the rig, and it ripples through me like fire.

My throat works with the urge to answer, to send back a guttural note that he’d recognize instantly, but I hold back.

If I do, he’ll know I followed, and I’m not ready for that storm.

We hit the perimeter near the port. Barbed wire stretches across the ground, a crude line of defense. Cassidy launches over it clean. I follow, snapping a section with my weight, the sharp twang of metal breaking the night. We land silently on the other side, noses to the ground, reading the air.

Gunfire cracks in the distance, sharp and relentless, cutting through the night like tearing metal.

The sound ripples across the port, echoing off steel and concrete, and every instinct inside me flares alive.

Smoke drifts on the wind, faint but acrid, already stinging my throat.

The battle has started, violent and close, and every heartbeat pounds like a warning drum that we’re running straight into the fire.

Through the haze I glimpse Gage pinned behind a crate, splinters flying as rounds chew the wood inches from his head.

Rush dives across open ground to cover him, rifle barking, and my chest clenches with the urge to sprint straight to them.

We keep low, circling the outskirts, flanking where the Rangers are pushing forward.

Muzzle flashes strobe in the dark, dazzling bursts that leave afterimages across my vision.

Shouts ricochet between warehouses, boots hammer the ground, radios squawk with frantic static.

The air reeks of oil and gunpowder, thick and bitter on my tongue, searing down my throat with every breath.

My wolf thrills at the chaos, muscles trembling with the urge to spring.

Cassidy snarls, copper eyes blazing, teeth flashing white in the firelight, and I drive harder to keep pace, both of us caught in the pull of battle closing fast.

Deacon bursts into view, rifle up, charging through the smoke with deadly focus.

He doesn’t see the figure stalking behind him, slithering out of the shadows with predator’s patience.

My ears twitch, catching a heartbeat that doesn’t belong—calm, deliberate, wrong.

The rifleman raises his weapon, tracking the unguarded line of Deacon’s spine.

Not today. I explode forward, hitting the man with every ounce of muscle and fury my wolf can muster.

My teeth tear into his arm, crunching down until the gun wrenches free of his grasp.

His scream is high and panicked, carrying over the gunfire, before I drive him into the dirt with bone-jarring force.

His weapon skitters out of reach, clattering uselessly across the ground.

Deacon whirls, eyes wide, catching sight of me looming over the bastard, muzzle dripping, a steady growl vibrating from my chest. I bare my teeth, lips peeled back in lethal promise, daring him to move a single inch. He doesn’t.

Deacon’s mouth curves into a quick, fierce grin. “Thanks, darlin’.” He’s gone again, back into the fray. Beyond him I catch sight of Gideon sprinting across open ground, bullets sparking at his heels. For a heartbeat he disappears into smoke, swallowed by danger, until he dives behind cover again.

The battle rages hotter, the night shaking with violence as chaos swells around us.

Cassidy and I weave through it, slipping behind crates and vaulting over shattered pallets, darting between shadows where muzzle flashes paint the world in violent light.

Every Ranger is locked in, their rifles spitting fire into the dark.

Rush’s voice cuts through the storm, orders sharp as blades, while Deacon shouts warnings that ricochet off corrugated steel.

Gideon answers with bursts of cover fire, bullets snapping past my ears like hornets.

The comms roar with overlapping commands and curses, a storm of noise, but underneath it all, I keep hunting for one sound—the deep, steady growl of Gage’s voice, anchoring me like a lifeline in the chaos.

Across the yard, Rush staggers as a round glances off his vest, the impact spinning him sideways before he steadies and fires back.

The flash of vulnerability jolts through me—every one of them is walking a razor’s edge.