Page 3 of Where Lightning Strikes Twice (Fated Mates, Stubborn Hearts #2)

Hours later, I stand on the launch platform with twenty of our finest aerial fighters.

The sun has begun its descent behind the western peaks, casting long shadows across the valleys below.

Perfect hunting conditions—the fading light will conceal our approach while giving us enough visibility to execute precision strikes.

I pace before my warriors, evaluating their readiness. Each has been selected for specific skills—some for speed, others for carrying capacity, all for absolute loyalty. These missions require perfect coordination and split-second timing.

“Tonight’s target is a major supply convoy moving from Haven’s Heart to their northern settlement,” I explain, my voice carrying across the platform. “Intelligence suggests it contains medical supplies, food stores, and weapons. We take what we need—nothing more, nothing less.”

I scan their faces, noting their resolve. “Remember our priorities: resource acquisition first, minimal engagement with guards second. We are not there to kill ground-dwellers. We are there to feed our people.”

Viktor steps forward, checking his weapons with meticulous attention. “And if they resist?”

“Disable, don’t destroy,” I answer firmly. “Every unnecessary death brings us closer to full-scale war—a war we cannot afford.”

He inclines his head in acknowledgment, though his eyes hold a challenge. I’ve placed him on this mission deliberately—better to have him where I can watch him than plotting behind my back.

“Take flight positions,” I command, moving to the edge of the platform. “Strike formation delta.”

As one, we shift into our eagle forms—the transformation rippling through the group in a wave of golden light and crackling energy.

My wings unfurl to their full eight-foot span, larger than any natural eagle.

Power courses through me as I launch from the platform, my warriors following in precise formation.

We soar high above the tree line, riding thermal currents that carry us toward the southern valley where the convoy will pass. The ground blurs beneath us—ancient forests giving way to the scraggly vegetation of the borderlands, then the cultivated fields surrounding Haven’s Heart settlements.

I signal with a wing tip, and the formation spreads out, each eagle finding their position for the coordinated strike. In eagle form, our communication happens through subtle movements and keen observation—a language of predators refined over centuries.

Below, the convoy comes into view—six heavily laden wagons protected by armed guards on horseback. Even from this height, I can sense their complacency. They don’t expect an attack here, so close to their settlement borders.

I tuck my wings and dive, my warriors following in perfect sequence. Wind rushes past my feathers as the ground accelerates toward me. At precisely the right moment, I release a pulse of storm magic—lightning streaking from my wingtips to strike the lead wagon’s fuel reserves.

The explosion is controlled but impressive enough to startle the horses and create confusion without threatening lives. The guards scatter as planned, some racing to control panicked animals, others drawing weapons and searching the skies.

My warriors execute their assigned tasks with military precision—swooping low to snatch supply containers, using targeted lightning strikes to separate guards from wagons, creating strategic chaos that allows us to extract maximum resources with minimal confrontation.

I bank sharply, circling to assess our progress, when something unusual catches my attention. A scent—unfamiliar yet somehow compelling—rises from the medical tent being hastily erected near the disabled convoy. My eagle instincts register it immediately, triggering a response I don’t understand.

For a moment, I forget the battle plan, my focus narrowing to the source of that scent. Something about it calls to my eagle in ways I’ve never experienced—a pull so powerful it momentarily overrides my tactical awareness.

A guard’s arrow whizzes past my wing, snapping me back to reality. I wheel away, rejoining the formation as we complete our resource gathering. Within minutes, we’ve secured what we came for—medical supplies, food stores, and enough raw materials to sustain the aerie for weeks.

I signal the retreat, and my warriors begin their ascent, each carrying their portion of the captured supplies. But as I turn to follow them, that scent pulls at me again, more insistent this time. Against all tactical wisdom, I bank back toward the convoy, driven by curiosity I can’t explain.

Flying lower than safety dictates, I pass over the medical tent. Inside, I glimpse a female figure moving with purpose among the wounded—slender, with chestnut hair pulled back in a practical style. Something about her movements suggests precision, intelligence. A healer, not a warrior.

She steps outside the tent, looking up at the sky where my warriors retreat with their bounty. For an instant, our eyes meet—hers wide with a mixture of fear and fascination, mine sharp with predatory focus. Something electric passes between us—recognition, awareness, connection.

The moment breaks when a guard raises his weapon toward me. I wheel away, wings pumping powerfully as I climb back toward the safety of altitude. But even as I rejoin my warriors, my eagle instincts remain fixated on that brief encounter. That scent. Those eyes. That inexplicable pull.

The journey back to the aerie passes in silence, each warrior focused on carrying their precious cargo. By all measures, the raid was a complete success—maximum resource acquisition, minimal confrontation, no Storm Eagle casualties. I should feel satisfied.

Instead, my mind keeps returning to that human female and the strange response she triggered in both my human consciousness and eagle instincts. I’ve encountered thousands of ground-dwellers over my years of leadership. None has ever affected me this way.

As we approach the aerie, the setting sun bathes the mountain peaks in golden light. My warriors land on the main platform, shifting back to human form to unload their captured supplies. Clan members gather excitedly, already cataloging and distributing the much-needed resources.

Viktor approaches as I complete my transformation, his expression carefully neutral. “A successful hunt, Stormwright. Your strategy proved effective.”

“The clan will eat well tonight,” I reply, watching as medical supplies are rushed to our healers.

“Indeed.” He studies me with those calculating gray eyes. “Though I couldn’t help noticing your… detour at the end. Did something catch your interest?”

I meet his gaze steadily. “Just confirming no pursuit. Standard tactical procedure.”

He nods, clearly unconvinced. “Of course. Your thoroughness is legendary.”

As he walks away, Zara appears at my side, her eyes questioning. “What happened out there? The raid went perfectly, but you seem troubled.”

I consider deflecting her concern, but Zara knows me too well. Still, I can’t explain what I don’t understand myself. “Nothing important. Just an unexpected development that requires thought.”

She waits, clearly expecting more, but I remain silent. After a moment, she sighs. “When you’re ready to talk about whatever has you looking like you’ve seen a ghost, I’ll listen.”

Later, alone in my quarters at the highest point of the aerie, I stand on my private balcony overlooking the vast wilderness our clan has ruled for generations. Stars glitter above like silent witnesses to my confusion.

I should be reviewing battle plans, strategizing our next resource acquisition mission, or addressing the political challenges Viktor continues to create. Instead, my thoughts keep returning to a pair of brown eyes that somehow saw past my eagle form to the man beneath.

Why did she affect me so strongly? What was that pull, that instant connection? And why do I feel compelled to see her again, despite everything I know about the dangers of ground-dweller contact?

I grip the stone railing, watching lightning spark unconsciously between my fingers—a physical manifestation of my inner turmoil. Whatever happened today has shifted something fundamental within me. The question is whether that shift represents an opportunity or a threat.

One thing is certain: I will return to that border area. I must understand this strange connection before it becomes a vulnerability Viktor can exploit. The Storm Eagle leader cannot afford weakness—especially not one involving a ground-dweller.

As night fully claims the sky, I make my decision. Tomorrow, I’ll lead another scouting mission to the border settlements. For the clan’s security, I tell myself. For strategic intelligence gathering.

But deep in my eagle heart, I know the truth. I’m returning for her—the human female whose mere existence has somehow disrupted everything I thought I knew about my place in this world.

I turn from the balcony, troubled by questions I can’t answer and desires I don’t understand. For the first time in thirteen years of leadership, I face an enemy I can’t fight with claws or lightning.

Myself.