Chapter 5 - Wyn
I’m going to kidnap my mate.
The thought sits in my head like poison as I spread blueprints across my desk. Oren’s house plans, security schedules, patrol routes—everything I need to take Raegan against her will. Three years of protecting her from a distance, and now I’m the threat she needs protection from.
My radio buzzes. “Wyn, this is Control. Status report?”
I key the mic. “All clear on the eastern perimeter. Thornridge scouts have pulled back for now.”
“Copy that. Maintain surveillance.”
If only they knew what I’m surveilling.
Going to Oren with my suspicions isn’t an option. Not when it would mean destroying Raegan.
If I tell Oren that her fiancé is a Thornridge operative, he’ll demand immediate action. Bastian will be arrested, interrogated, possibly killed if he resists. The engagement will be exposed as a deception designed to infiltrate our pack and steal our resources.
Raegan will learn that the man she agreed to marry never existed. That every moment of their relationship was a lie. That she was targeted, manipulated, and used by someone who saw her as nothing more than a pathway to power.
The humiliation would break her.
I know my plan doesn’t make sense. I know I’m about to become the monster in her story instead of letting the real monster be exposed.
But I can’t think straight when it comes to her. I never could.
Now she’s back, engaged to an enemy operative, and every rational thought in my head has been replaced by the need to protect her.
Even if it means she’ll never forgive me.
That’s how far I’ve fallen.
The intelligence report sits beside the blueprints, confirming what my gut already knew.
No record of Bastian Corvelli exists in any neighboring territory.
The agricultural pack he claims to represent doesn’t have anyone by that name in their registry.
His background is fiction, carefully constructed to pass casual inspection but falling apart under scrutiny.
Bastian Corvelli is a ghost. Which means whoever he really is, he’s dangerous enough to create an entirely false identity just to get close to Raegan.
Ash’s vision makes more sense now. The deception, the betrayal, the choices that will doom more than one person. Raegan said yes to a marriage proposal from a man who doesn’t exist.
I pull up the guest house floor plans on my tablet. Oren insisted on housing them in separate rooms, thank God. Old-fashioned propriety might be the only thing standing between Raegan and whatever Bastian’s real agenda is.
The guest quarters sit about two hundred yards from the main house, connected by a covered walkway that offers multiple approach angles. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, small living area. No security cameras inside, but motion sensors on all exterior doors.
I’ve disabled those sensors before during other operations. The process is simple if you know where to look.
The guest house was built a year ago when pack alliances started requiring more diplomatic visits. Oren wanted comfortable accommodations that offered privacy while maintaining security. What he created was the perfect safe house for visiting dignitaries.
Tonight, it becomes the perfect target for extraction.
My phone rings. Jay’s number.
“What do you have?” I answer.
“Ran facial recognition on your boy Bastian through our database connections. Got three possible matches, none of them good.”
“Tell me.”
“First hit came back to Jonathan Reed, wanted for fraud in the northern territories. Second was David Woral, suspected of involvement in pack territorial disputes two years ago. Third is the interesting one—Nathan Lineman, connected to a group that’s been recruiting disaffected pack members for some kind of separatist movement. ”
“Any of them match Thornridge activities?”
“That’s where it gets fun. Nathan Lineman was spotted near Thornridge territory just before our friend Bastian started studying at Llewelyn.”
The timeline fits perfectly. Too perfectly.
“Keep digging,” I tell him. “I need everything you can find on all three identities.”
“Wyn, whatever you’re thinking—”
“I’m thinking about pack security.”
“Right. Just…be careful, okay? Oren’s already asking questions about why you stormed out of that meeting.”
After I hang up, I return to the blueprints. The guest house has one major advantage for what I’m planning—it’s isolated. The main house sits three hundred yards away, far enough that a brief struggle wouldn’t immediately alert anyone.
Not that I plan to struggle with her. Raegan weighs maybe 120 pounds, soaking wet. I can have her restrained and moving before she knows what’s happening.
The thought makes me sick.
I spent years protecting her from threats she never saw coming. Now I’m going to become one of those threats. But if the alternative is letting a Thornridge operative use her for whatever endgame they’re planning, I’ll live with being the bad guy.
I study the guest house layout again, memorizing every detail. Raegan was always a creature of habit, even as a teenager. She’ll shower before bed, spend time reading, and probably call her friends from Llewelyn to debrief about today’s disaster of a family meeting.
The bedroom windows face east, toward the desert rather than the main house. Perfect for an extraction route. My truck is parked in the maintenance shed, loaded with supplies for an extended stay off-grid.
Everything hinges on getting her out of that room without Bastian noticing. The man might be using a false identity, but his reaction to questioning today showed real training.
Which means he’s dangerous.
The lights inside the guest house come on as evening settles over the territory. Through binoculars, I can see movement in both rooms. Bastian’s silhouette moves past his window, while Raegan’s room remains curtained.
She always did value privacy.
Sometimes I wonder if Jerrod Blacklock’s approach wasn’t simpler. Rule through fear, crush opposition before it develops, never let anyone close enough to betray you. Oren’s attempt at building something better has left us all vulnerable to exactly this kind of infiltration.
But that’s unfair. Oren’s leadership has brought prosperity and stability to both packs. The Amanzite discovery alone has changed everything for our people.
Which is probably why Thornridge wants to take it away from us.
The intel reports paint a clear picture.
Thornridge has been recruiting from displaced pack members across the region for months.
Former pack wolves who’ve lost their territories to conflicts, ambitious betas who feel overlooked by traditional pack hierarchies, and omegas who believe the old ways have failed them.
The profile Jay sends me on Nathan Lineman fits perfectly. Young, charismatic, educated enough to pass for diplomatic material. The kind of operative who could infiltrate a university, identify valuable targets, and spend months building the perfect cover identity.
Raegan never stood a chance, all because I drove her away.
I scope the guest house again through binoculars. Bastian’s room is dark, but there’s movement behind his curtains. Restless pacing, maybe.
The man is definitely not sleeping.
My phone goes off with another intelligence update.
Lineman has connections to mercenary groups operating in the eastern territories.
He specialized in long-term infiltration and would embed himself in target communities for months, building relationships and gathering information before striking.
His longest recorded operation lasted eight months in the northern territories before he disappeared with critical resource data.
Six months at Llewelyn University fits his pattern to a T.
Raegan’s window finally goes dark. She’ll read for a few minutes before actually sleeping—long enough for me to get into position and wait for the right moment.
I gather my equipment and head for the truck. The maintenance shed sits on the far side of the property, hidden by desert terrain and storage buildings. No direct sightlines from the guest house or main residence.
The drive takes twelve minutes, keeping headlights off and engine noise to a minimum. Desert night swallows sound quickly, but Bastian’s training might make him sensitive to unusual activity.
I park behind the equipment barn and check my gear one final time.
Zip ties, cloth, and emergency medical supplies in case something goes wrong.
The knife at my belt is for cutting restraints, not for use against Raegan, but the weight of it reminds me how far I’ve fallen from protector to predator.
The approach to the guest house takes another five minutes of careful movement through scrub brush and rocky terrain. Night vision goggles turn the landscape into green-tinted clarity, showing every obstacle and approach angle.
Desert wildlife scatters as I move. Jackrabbits bound away from my path, while coyotes watch from safe distances before melting back into darkness. They know predatory movement when they see it.
Tonight, I’m the apex predator.
Bastian’s window remains dark and is now still. Either he’s asleep or he’s moved to a different position inside the room.
I reach the utility ladder and test its stability. The metal rungs hold my weight without creaking, though a year of desert weather has left them rough with corrosion.
Raegan’s window sits directly above, curtains drawn but with a thin strip of darkness where the fabric doesn’t quite meet. No interior illumination; she’s finally gone to sleep.
Or she’s lying in darkness, thinking about today’s confrontation and wondering what the hell she’s gotten herself into.
The thought of her doubting herself, questioning the engagement because of my accusations, should make me feel guilty. Instead, it gives me hope. If she’s already having second thoughts, maybe what I’m about to do will save her from more than just physical danger.
Maybe it will save her from making the worst mistake of her life.
The window above grows larger as I approach, and I can see the faint outline of furniture through the gap in the curtains.
Her room. Her sanctuary in her brother’s territory. The place where she should feel safest in the world, at least for the night.
And I’m about to violate it completely.
At the window level, I pause and listen. No sounds from inside—no movement, no restless turning, no phone conversations with friends back in Llewelyn. Just the deep silence of someone finally asleep after an exhausting day.
The window latch is newer construction, the kind installed for aesthetic consistency with the main house. But new doesn't mean secure if you know what you're doing. Years of security work have taught me all kinds of useful skills.
I think about the teenage girl who used to sneak out through this same type of window to meet friends downtown. How many times did I track her movements, making sure she stayed safe while maintaining the illusion of freedom?
Now I’m the danger she needs protection from.
The latch gives way with barely a whisper of sound. The window slides open on well-maintained tracks, and I slip inside like the predator I’ve become, moving through darkness toward the woman I’ve spent three years trying to forget.
The room layout matches the blueprints exactly. Bed against the far wall, dresser to my right, bathroom door closed. Raegan’s breathing is deep and even; she’s actually asleep, not just lying awake worrying.
Better for both of us that way.
I move closer to the bed, cloth ready in my left hand. One quick application over her nose and mouth, count to ten, and she’ll be unconscious long enough for extraction.
My hand trembles as I raise the chloroform cloth.
This is it. Once I cross this line, there’s no going back. Raegan will never forgive me for what I’m about to do, never trust me again, never look at me with anything but hatred and fear.
But she’ll be alive to hate me.
That’s going to have to be enough.
I lean forward, ready to end her world as she knows it.
The floorboard beneath my foot creaks.
Raegan’s eyes snap open in the darkness, meeting mine across the space between us. For one frozen moment, we stare at each other—the woman I’ve spent years protecting and the man about to betray her trust completely.
Then she opens her mouth to scream.