Chapter 10 - Raegan
I spend the morning systematically destroying every assumption I had about my own intelligence.
My cup of coffee sits cold on Wyn’s kitchen table while I spread the reports I found across the surface like tarot cards that might reveal my future. Each document confirms what I already know but refused to accept. I was completely, utterly fooled by Bastian.
The agricultural student from a small pack is interested in diplomatic relations. The gentle academic who cried when he talked about his dead sister. The man who proposed with tears in his eyes and a ring that fit perfectly.
All of it was a lie. Every single conversation, every moment I thought we were building something real…it was all just manipulation designed to position me for murder.
“Stupid,” I spit out as I flip through surveillance photos that show Bastian meeting with men I don’t recognize. “So incredibly stupid.”
My phone vibrates with another text from Sera asking if I’m okay. I ignore it like I’ve ignored the dozen others since yesterday. How do I explain that the man I was planning to marry was actually a terrorist operative who wanted to kill me for my inheritance?
The front door opens, and Wyn walks in carrying grocery bags. He pauses when he sees the classified intelligence files scattered across his table.
I expect him to scold me for snooping, and I’m ready to hit back when he does, but instead, he simply asks, “Finding anything useful?”
“Just confirmation that I have terrible taste in men.”
He sets the bags on the counter and doesn’t respond to the barb.
“Ash is coming by this afternoon,” he tells me instead. “She thinks working together might help you understand your new abilities better.”
“What new abilities? I had one vision. That hardly makes me psychic.”
“The bond between us changed something. You felt it when I touched your wrist.”
I did feel it. The moment his fingers closed around my skin, the world exploded into impossible clarity. But acknowledging that means acknowledging everything else about our supernatural connection, and I swore that off years ago.
“Maybe it was just stress,” I offer instead.
He gives me the courtesy of replying, “Maybe.”
But we both know I’m lying.
Ash arrives an hour later with her own stack of files and a thermos of something that smells like herbs and honey. She settles across from me at the table like we’re about to conduct a business meeting.
“Show me what you’ve learned,” she says without preamble.
I point to the maps I’ve been studying. “Thornridge has been planning this for months. The timing, the infiltration methods, even the backup plans, it’s all military in scope.”
Ash nods approvingly. “What else?”
“They’ve been gathering information about pack defenses, resource locations, and leadership vulnerabilities.”
“And now?”
“Now they know their cover is blown, so they’ll adapt. Probably accelerate their timeline and abandon subtlety for direct action.”
“Which means?”
“They’re coming for me, and likely soon. They’re willing to start a war to get their hands on me.”
The word sits heavy between us. War means casualties, displacement, and the kind of violence that reshapes territories for generations.
“Your brother and the other leaders are preparing for that possibility,” Ash tells me. “But we need to understand what other advantages we might have.”
“Such as?”
“Your enhanced abilities.”
I shake my head. “Like I told Wyn, it was one vision. That doesn’t make me some kind of supernatural weapon.”
Ash reaches across the table and touches my hand. The moment our skin makes contact, images flood my mind—not as overwhelming as the vision with Wyn, but clear enough to make me gasp.
I see Ash as a child, maybe eight years old, sitting in a garden while an older woman teaches her to read tarot cards. The images are fuzzy or distorted. It’s like I’m looking right at her, here, in this moment.
“Visions are just the beginning,” the woman says in my mind. “True sight means understanding the connections between all living things.”
The image fades, leaving me staring at Ash with new understanding. Reading memories, seeing through someone else’s experiences…that’s far beyond simple precognition.
“I can see more than just the future,” I realize aloud.
“The bond with Wyn unlocked something that was already inside you. But it’s not fully activated yet.”
“What do you mean?”
Ash gives me a look that suggests she knows exactly how much I don’t want to hear her answer.
“Bloodline abilities linked to mate bonds require…completion to reach full potential.”
Heat floods my face as I understand her meaning. She’s talking about consummating this already insane marriage. “That’s not happening.”
“I’m not saying it should. I’m saying that’s what the supernatural mechanics require.”
“Then I’ll work with whatever abilities I have now.”
“That’s your choice.”
We spend the next two hours testing the limits of what I can do. Touching objects to read their history, focusing on photographs to sense the emotions of the people in them, trying to project calming energy toward Wyn’s nervous-looking houseplants.
Some attempts work better than others.
The plants seem to respond, and their leaves turn toward me like they’re seeking something I can provide.
The photographs reveal layers of emotion I never would have noticed before, like the one of a young Wyn, fishing with his father.
I can actually feel the joy and excitement as he reels in the tiniest fish.
“You’re stronger than most newly awakened psychics,” Ash observes. “Even without full bond completion.”
I snort and ask, “Is that supposed to be comforting?”
“It’s useful, if nothing else.”
My phone rings, interrupting our practice session. Sera’s name appears on the screen, and this time, I answer.
“Finally,” she screams into the phone. “I’ve been worried sick. What’s this about you being married?”
“How did you hear about that?”
“Sera,” a familiar voice says in the background, “let me talk to her.”
My heart jumps when I recognize the second speaker. “Is that Matriarch Lydia?”
“Hello, dear,” Lydia Thornwick’s cultured voice comes through the phone. “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, but we need to discuss recent developments.”
Lydia Thornwick making a personal phone call is like seeing a unicorn—theoretically possible but practically unheard of. The Llewelyn Matriarch maintains careful distance from political entanglements, preferring to operate through intermediaries and formal channels.
“We’re driving to your location as we speak,” she continues. “Sera has information you need to hear.”
“What kind of information?”
“It’s better delivered in person. We’re already on our way; we should arrive in just a few minutes.”
The line goes dead, leaving me staring at my phone in confusion.
“What was that about?” Ash asks.
“I’m not sure. But if Lydia Thornwick is personally traveling here, the situation is worse than we thought.”
Wyn appears in the kitchen doorway, clearly having overheard the conversation. “The Llewelyn Matriarch is coming here?”
“Apparently.”
“Why?”
“I have no idea. But Lydia doesn’t make house calls unless the world is ending.”
Ash gathers her files and stands. “I should report this to the other leaders. If Llewelyn is getting directly involved, they’ll want to set up a meeting with her.”
She leaves through the back door, probably to meet up with my brother. Wyn and I are left alone in his kitchen, surrounded by evidence of the conspiracy that destroyed my old life and created this impossible new one.
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly.
“No. I’m married to a man who rejected me, living in his house, studying intelligence reports about people who want to use me. Nothing about this situation qualifies as okay.”
“I meant about Bastian. Learning that everything between you was fake.”
I let out a shaky breath and chuckle. “He cried when he proposed. Actual tears. He talked about his sister dying in a car accident and how meeting me made him believe in love again. It was all a lie. And I believed every word because I wanted to believe that someone could love me for who I am rather than who my family is.”
Wyn inches closer, but he stops himself after a couple of steps. “Someone does love you for who you are.”
“Don’t.”
“Raegan—”
“I said don’t. You made your feelings clear that night in the garden. This marriage doesn’t change that.”
A part of me wants him to argue, to fight to make me understand, but he doesn’t. Wyn just rubs the back of his neck and glances out the window as cars pull into his driveway.
Through the window, I see Sera climbing out of the passenger seat of a black sedan. The driver is a woman I don’t recognize, but her posture screams bodyguard.
Matriarch Lydia emerges from the back seat like royalty stepping out of a carriage.
She wears a tailored coat the color of deep wine, fitted slacks, and heeled boots polished to a shine.
A string of pearls rests at her throat as a subtle but noteworthy symbol of her status.
Her silver hair is drawn back in a smooth chignon, and her pale blue eyes move over Wyn’s property, weighing every detail.
More cars arrive behind hers. I recognize several faces from Llewelyn: women from my classes, my roommate Dora, and even Professor Holeman from the diplomatic relations program. This isn’t a social call. It’s an invasion.
“What the hell?” I mutter, moving toward the front door.
Wyn follows me outside, and I can feel his wolf reacting to the sudden presence of so many unfamiliar people on his land, but he doesn’t say anything.
Sera reaches me first, and she wraps me in a hug that smells like her familiar vanilla perfume and something else—fear.
“I’m so glad you’re safe,” she whispers in my ear. “When we heard what really happened…”
“What did you hear?”
Matriarch Lydia approaches before Sera can answer. Up close, the Llewelyn leader looks older than usual, with stress lines around her eyes that weren’t there last week.
“Mrs. Lemay,” she says formally, inclining her head in acknowledgment of my new marital status. “Thank you for seeing us.”
“Of course. Though I have to admit, I’m confused about why you’re here.”
“Because Llewelyn University has been harboring a terrorist for months, and we didn’t know it.”
I gasp and ask, “What?”
“Three more students besides your former fiancé have disappeared in the past twenty-four hours,” Professor Holeman explains, joining our conversation. “All of them were exchange students from smaller packs, and they all had backgrounds that don’t withstand scrutiny.”
Dora steps forward, clutching a laptop bag against her chest. “I brought all of Bastian’s research files that we cleared from his room. There’s a lot about Grayhide pack politics in here.”
“He was using me for intelligence,” I realize.
The full scope of the deception hits me like a wave. Not just the engagement, not just the fake identity, but months of careful manipulation designed to extract information about my family and territory.
“There’s more,” Sera tells me with a frown. “Show her the communications log.”
Dora opens her laptop and turns the screen toward me. Email threads, encrypted chat logs, phone records—all documenting Bastian’s contact with outside handlers.
“He was reporting everything,” she explains. “Your class schedule, your friends, your habits. When you ate, when you studied, when you went to bed. They knew your entire routine.”
I read over the communications, and my stomach sinks more with each entry. Dates, times, locations—a complete surveillance record of my life at Llewelyn.
“This goes back months,” I breathe.
“Six months,” Matriarch Lydia confirms. “Beginning as soon as he arrived on campus.”
My eyes burn with tears that I’m desperately fighting to hold back. “I’m going to be sick,” I mutter.
Wyn’s hand touches my shoulder, steadying me. “You couldn’t have known.”
“I should have known. I should have seen the signs.”
“He was trained for this,” Professor Holeman assures me. You were dealing with a professional operative. There’s no way you could’ve known.”
Matriarch Lydia clears her throat, drawing everyone’s attention.
“We’re here to help however we can. Llewelyn failed to protect one of our own, and we take that responsibility seriously.
Whatever you need to counter this threat and to ensure that Raegan receives the support she needs during this transition. ”
“Transition?”
“To her new abilities. Bloodline magic awakened by trauma requires careful guidance. We have specialists who can help.”
“I don’t need specialists. I need to understand what we’re dealing with so I can help stop it.”
“Child,” Lydia begins, “you can’t help anyone if you don’t first help yourself.”
She gestures to the women who came with her. “We’re here to stay until this threat is resolved. We’ll get ourselves checked into a hotel, but we will remain just a phone call away.”
I’m at a loss for words. The reserved, aloof Llewelyn Matriarch has brought an entire support team to Grayhide territory. To support me.
“Why?” I ask. “Why this level of involvement?”
“If Thornridge succeeds in destabilizing this region, every territory is at risk. What they’re planning here is just the beginning.”
We stand in Wyn’s driveway surrounded by evidence of a conspiracy that extends far beyond what any of us imagined. My forced marriage to escape one threat has revealed connections to something much more dangerous.
But at least I won’t face it alone.
The thought brings unexpected comfort. Whatever happens next, I have allies who chose to be here rather than people who made decisions for me without my consent.
That has to count for something.
Even if I still don’t fully understand what I’ve become or what role I’m expected to play in the conflict ahead.