Chapter 13 - Wyn
I can still taste her on my lips, and it’s driving me insane.
Two days have passed since Raegan pushed me away in the break room, and my wolf hasn’t stopped pacing beneath my skin. Every patrol, every surveillance mission, every fucking moment requires conscious effort to focus on something other than the memory of her hands fisting in my shirt.
The binoculars slip in my sweaty palms as I watch the Thornridge camp through the morning heat. Aidan crouches beside me, probably wondering why I keep losing track of our target counts.
“You’re distracted,” he notes.
“I’m focused.”
“On what? Because it’s not the enemy encampment we’re supposed to be monitoring.”
He’s right. I’ve counted the same group of sentries three times and still can’t remember how many weapons caches we identified yesterday. My wolf keeps pushing images of Raegan into my thoughts—the way she gasped when I touched her bare skin, how she didn’t pull away until the very last second.
“There.” Aidan points to movement near the command tent. “Convoy’s arriving.”
I force myself to concentrate on the tactical situation in front of us. Three vehicles approach the Thornridge position, kicking up dust clouds that obscure their exact numbers. Through the binoculars, I count at least twelve additional personnel disembarking.
“Reinforcements?”
“Or leadership arriving for the final phase.” Aidan adjusts his scope. “Either way, this doesn’t look good for us.”
My radio crackles. “Wyn, this is base. Report your status.”
“Observing increased activity at the primary target. Multiple new arrivals, possible command personnel.”
“Copy that. Maintain observation and report any significant developments.”
“Understood.”
But understanding and executing are different things when half my brain is replaying the feeling of Raegan’s body against mine.
The way the supernatural bond between us came to life was the moment our mouths connected.
How every instinct I possess screamed at me to claim her properly instead of letting her walk away.
Again.
“You need to talk to someone about whatever’s eating at you,” Aidan says without lowering his binoculars. “Because if you’re this scattered during observation, you’re going to get us killed during actual combat.”
“I’m fine.”
“Like hell you are. You’ve been wound tighter than a spring, and everyone’s starting to notice. You need to be professional.”
Professional. That’s what I used to be. Reliable. Now I’m fantasizing about backing Raegan against a wall while enemy forces prepare to overrun our territory.
“Movement,” I report into the radio, grateful for the distraction. “Six personnel leaving the main camp on foot, heading northwest toward the mining road.”
“Copy. Can you identify their objective?”
I track the group through my scope as they disappear into a canyon that leads toward the old extraction sites. “Unknown.”
“Maintain visual contact if possible.”
“Roger.”
Aidan and I begin moving parallel to the Thornridge team, using ridgelines and natural cover to keep them in sight. The terrain here is treacherous—loose rock, narrow paths, and plenty of places for an ambush. But my wolf knows every inch of these canyons from years of border patrols.
Which is why I recognize the trap before we walk into it.
“Stop.” I grab Aidan’s arm as he’s about to step around a boulder. “We’re being herded.”
“What?”
“The group we’re following. They’re the bait.” I inspect the surrounding canyon walls, counting potential sniper positions. “Someone knew we’d follow them into this bottleneck.”
Aidan drops into cover behind the nearest rock formation. “How many do you think there are?”
“No idea. But if I were setting up this ambush, I’d have at least six shooters positioned along the rim.”
“So what do we do?”
The smart decision would be to retreat immediately, report the attempt, and coordinate a response with the larger team. But my wolf wants to fight. Wants to shift and tear through whatever opposition Thornridge has positioned around us.
The alpha genetics I’ve spent years hiding push against my human reasoning, demanding action over caution.
“We circle back,” I decide. “Use the old mining tunnels to approach from an unexpected angle.”
“Those tunnels haven’t been used in decades. Could be unstable.”
“Better than walking into a planned ambush.”
We begin working our way back through the canyon, moving slowly to avoid triggering whatever surveillance system Thornridge has established.
My radio buzzes with an incoming message, but when I try to respond, only static comes through. Shit. They’re jamming our communications.
“Can you reach base?” I ask Aidan.
He tries his own radio and shakes his head. “Nothing. We’re on our own until we get out of this canyon.”
The mining tunnel entrance sits another quarter-mile ahead, hidden behind a rockfall that most people would assume makes it impassable. But I’ve used this route before during training exercises, and I know which passages remain structurally sound.
We’re fifty yards from the tunnel when the shooting starts.
Bullets spark off rocks around us as muzzle flashes appear along the canyon rim. Professional marksmen with elevated positions and clean fields of fire. My wolf snarls with fury at being caught in such an obvious tactical disadvantage.
“Move!” I shout to Aidan as we sprint toward the tunnel entrance.
More gunfire erupts from positions I didn’t identify, confirming that Thornridge has been watching our patrol routes and preparing for exactly this scenario. They know how we operate, where we go, when we’re most vulnerable.
A bullet catches my vest and spins me around. The impact is like getting kicked by a mule. Kevlar stops the projectile from penetrating, but the force still knocks me off balance.
“Wyn!” Aidan reaches back to help steady me.
“Keep moving! Don’t stop!”
We dive through the tunnel entrance just as more rounds pepper the rock face behind us. The darkness inside feels like salvation after the exposed canyon, but I know we’re not safe yet. Thornridge could have people positioned at the other end of these passages.
“How far?” Aidan pants beside me.
“Half a mile through the main shaft, then up through the ventilation system to the surface.”
“And if they’re waiting for us at the exit?”
I heave in a breath and answer, “Then we die in a tunnel instead of a canyon.”
The old mining equipment provides some cover as we move deeper into the abandoned site. My eyes adjust to the darkness, allowing us to make our way through without using a flashlight that might give away our position.
But the alpha genes I’ve been suppressing make themselves known in other ways.
Enhanced hearing picks up sounds that human ears would miss.
My sense of smell detects scents that could indicate enemy presence ahead.
Most importantly, I can feel the territorial boundaries of my pack’s land like physical markers, guiding us toward safety.
“Wyn,” Aidan whispers as we pause at a junction in the tunnels.
“What?”
“They weren’t shooting at me. I noticed it when you almost went down. They were specifically targeting you.”
I glance back at him. The implication makes my stomach roil. He’s right. When I faltered after getting hit, he was still a target. They weren’t interested in him.
But why me?
Is it because I’m married to Raegan? Because someone knows I’d do anything to keep her safe?
Something tells me it goes deeper than that.
I suspect they targeted me specifically because of Raegan—eliminating her husband removes a protective element and destabilizes her emotionally.
They know the marriage bond enhances her abilities, so breaking that bond weakens one of our tactical advantages.
“We need to get back to base,” I state. “Oren needs to know what just happened.”
The remainder of our journey through the mining tunnels passes without incident, but when we finally emerge into daylight, the Grayhide territory feels different. Less secure and more hostile. Like enemy eyes are watching from every shadow.
The drive back to headquarters gives me time to process what just happened and what it means for our defensive strategy. Thornridge isn’t just planning a general assault on our territory. They’re conducting targeted elimination of key personnel.
Which means they know exactly who poses the greatest threat to their operations.
When we make it to the pack hall, it’s filled with multiple teams reporting in from various reconnaissance missions, and the intelligence picture grows darker with each update.
Thornridge forces have been identified in positions throughout the valley, and their coordination suggests imminent action.
I find Oren in his office, studying maps like he’s trying to solve an impossible puzzle. He looks up when I enter.
“Got a text from Aidan. He says you walked into a trap.”
“Targeted assassination attempt,” I correct. “They weren’t trying to capture intelligence or disrupt operations. They wanted me dead.”
“Why you?”
The question I’ve been dreading. Because answering it honestly means revealing truths I’ve kept hidden since childhood. But with enemy forces closing in and Raegan’s safety depending on tactical decisions made in the next few hours, personal secrets become secondary to survival.
“I suspect it’s because they know what I am,” I tell him, closing the office door behind me.
Oren sets down the map, giving me his full attention. “Which is?”
“An alpha. Genetically, at least. My father was a pitiful excuse for a leader, but I’m sure they consider that a threat, nonetheless.”
He must catch the contempt in my voice when I say the word alpha, because he grunts as I do. “Your father’s failures have nothing to do with your capabilities or your character, Wyn.”
“His failures cost him everything. His pack position, his family, his life. That’s the bloodline I carry.”
“Your father made his own choices. They don’t define what you’re capable of or limit what you can achieve. They’re not wrong to consider you a considerable obstacle.”
The words should be comforting, but they bounce off years of accumulated shame and self-doubt. “You don’t understand—”
“I understand that you’ve been using your father’s mistakes as an excuse to avoid claiming what’s rightfully yours.” Oren’s voice carries the authority of an alpha leader, but also the concern of a lifelong friend. “Including my sister.”
Heat flushes up my neck. “That’s different.”
“Really? Because I know how painful it is to reject a mate, and I can’t think of any reason you would do that unless you’re still letting fear of your family’s history prevent you from accepting that you deserve good things.”
Before I can respond, Dorian appears in the doorway with an armload of intelligence reports. He glances between Oren and me, probably picking up on the weight of whatever conversation he just interrupted.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he says, “but we have a situation that requires immediate attention.”
“What kind of situation?” Oren asks.
“Thornridge has been manipulating commodity markets across three territories, using the economic disruption to cover infiltration operations.” Dorian spreads the reports across Oren’s desk.
“They’ve been planning this campaign for over two years, not just the months we initially suspected.
They’re doing everything the historian said they would do. ”
“All of this to get their hands on that Amanzite reserve,” I grumble. “We need to evacuate non-combatants. Get families to safety before this becomes a battlefield.”
“Agreed. But where? If Thornridge is conducting regional operations, nowhere in the valley is truly safe.”
“The coastal territories. They’re far enough away to avoid immediate involvement, and they have maritime escape routes if the situation deteriorates further.”
Oren nods. “Start making the arrangements. Priority goes to families with children, elderly pack members, and anyone without combat training.”
“What about Raegan?” The question comes out before I can stop myself.
Both men look at me with expressions I can’t quite read. Oren’s face shows understanding, while Dorian appears amused by my obvious concern for his sister-in-law.
“What about her?” Oren asks.
“She’s their primary target. The reason they infiltrated our territory in the first place. If Thornridge is preparing for active operations, she needs to be somewhere they can’t reach her.”
“She needs to be wherever her abilities can do the most good,” Oren corrects. “Raegan’s psychic capabilities may be our best advantage against enemies who’ve been planning this attack for years.”
“Her abilities won’t matter if she’s dead.”
“And our defensive strategies won’t matter if we don’t have intelligence about enemy intentions and capabilities.”
The argument feels familiar—another version of the same debate Raegan and I have been having about protection versus participation. But with enemy forces closing in and time running out, philosophical disagreements about her role become secondary to keeping her alive.
Now, I’ve just got to convince an alpha and his sister to see that logic.