Chapter 17 - Wyn
Watching Raegan debrief the council changes everything I thought I knew about my mate.
She stands at the head of the table, waving maps and photographs around. Gone is the student I’ve been trying to protect. In her place stands a woman who just prevented multiple casualties through pure competence.
“The eastern approach remains their weakest point,” she explains to the assembled leadership. “My readings confirm minimal emotional investment in that sector. They’re overconfident about the terrain.”
“How so?” Oren asks.
“They’ve positioned sentries there out of obligation, not genuine belief in the threat. Their emotional signatures show boredom, distraction. Classic signs of troops assigned to what they consider a non-priority position.”
“And you’re certain about these readings?” Dorian questions.
“As certain as I can be with current power levels.” Raegan’s honesty impresses me more than false bravado would have. “But the intelligence gathered through conventional means supports what I sensed psychically.”
For the next hour, I listen as pack leaders who dismissed her this morning treat her observations as tactical gospel.
The change in their attitudes mirrors my own internal struggle—how do you reconcile years of protective instincts with the reality that the person you’re protecting doesn’t need protection?
When the briefing ends, Raegan approaches me with a stack of files under her arm.
“We need to talk,” she says.
“About what?”
“About the intelligence we gathered on their leadership structure.” She sets the files on my desk in the small office space we’ve been using for coordination. “There’s something you need to know about who we’re really fighting.”
I flip open the top folder and find surveillance photos of a man I don’t recognize—tall, broad-shouldered, with graying hair and the kind of cold eyes that speak to years of violence.
“Thane Mordaunt,” Raegan says before I can ask. “Alpha leader of the Thornridge pack. This entire operation is his brainchild.”
“How do we know that?”
“Because I saw him both inside the prisoner we interrogated and several of the guards we just dodged. I couldn’t get deep enough to pull specific plans, but I got enough to understand the command structure.
” She pulls out another photo. “Mordaunt’s been planning this for years. All of it traces back to him.”
I hold the photos up and inspect them while she continues.
“He discovered the location of the Amanzite source through espionage long before we found it ourselves. He just couldn’t get to it quickly enough. Everything since then has been preparation for seizure and control.”
“What kind of preparation?”
The scope of Mordaunt’s ambitions becomes clear as Raegan walks me through months of careful planning. These aren’t opportunistic raiders. This is a would-be emperor who sees our discovery as the key to building his own dynasty.
“And Mordaunt’s betting that traditional pack structures will make us predictable.” She meets my eyes. “He’s counting on alphas being too protective of their people to use every asset available.”
The pointed observation makes me uncomfortable because she’s right. How many other pack leaders are handicapping themselves by treating skilled females as liabilities rather than advantages?
“There’s more,” Raegan continues. “During the reconnaissance mission, I discovered I can do more than just sense emotions. I can influence them. When we encountered those scouts who were watching us, I was able to project fear into one of them. Made him panic enough to give away his position.” She pauses.
“It wasn’t conscious manipulation at first. More like…
emotional suggestion that I pushed outward.
It wasn’t until I got back here that I realized what I’d done. ”
The implications make my wolf whine with excitement. If Raegan can influence enemy emotions during combat, she becomes an asset unlike anything Mordaunt has planned for.
“How much can you influence?”
“I don’t know yet. If our bond would allow me to access my full potential….”
She trails off, but we both know what she means. If we could just work past our emotional shit, this would be a hell of a lot easier.
“We need to test these abilities under controlled conditions,” I decide.
“Agreed. But not tonight.” She gathers the files. “Tonight, we plan defensive strategies based on what we learned.”
Over the next six hours, Raegan’s intelligence proves invaluable for positioning defensive assets and identifying enemy weaknesses. More importantly, working alongside her reveals how naturally we complement each other’s strengths.
She provides strategic analysis while I handle tactical implementation. Her psychic insights guide my conventional planning. When she suggests alternative approaches, I listen instead of dismissing her ideas.
By midnight, we have the framework for a defense that might actually work.
“Mordaunt’s counting on traditional pack responses,” I observe as we review our plans. “Alphas protecting their people by pulling them back to defensive positions.”
“Instead, we’re going to use unconventional assets in unexpected ways.” Raegan traces routes on the map. “Psychic reconnaissance to identify real versus false targets. Female operatives he won’t expect in combat roles. Coordinated strikes instead of defensive posturing.”
“Think it will work?”
“It has to. Because the alternative is watching Mordaunt turn our home into the foundation for his empire.”
We work in comfortable silence after that, refining details and contingency plans. Despite everything between us—the forced marriage, the rejected bond, the walls we’ve built—this feels right. Natural. Like we’re meant to be partners in more than just name.
Around two in the morning, Raegan finally sets down her pen and rubs her eyes.
“We should get some sleep,” she suggests.
“You go ahead. I want to review these supply calculations once more.”
“Wyn.” She doesn’t move from her chair. “We’ve been over those numbers three times already.”
“I know, but—”
"You're avoiding what's between us," she says quietly.
I suck in a breath because she's right, and we both know it.
"After what happened in the armory," she continues, "I thought maybe we'd moved past some of the barriers between us. But you've been keeping your distance ever since."
"It's not that simple."
"I proved I can handle myself in the field. We worked together tonight like actual partners. So, what's the problem?"
I set down the files and really look at her. "The problem is that I don't trust myself around you. Every decision I make gets clouded by what you are to me. Tonight proved we work well as partners, but that doesn't change the fact that I kidnapped you. Forced you into this marriage."
Raegan stands and moves around the desk until she's standing right in front of me. "We're both adults, Wyn. We can stop pretending what happened in the armory was just physical when we both know there's more to it."
"Can we?" I ask, meeting her eyes. "Because I'm not sure I can be around you without wanting things I shouldn't."
“And what do we both want?”
“To not be alone. To feel something other than fear and responsibility for a few hours. To stop pretending that what happened in the armory was a mistake when we both know it wasn’t.”
“Raegan—”
“I’m not asking for declarations of love or promises about the future,” she interrupts. “I’m asking for one night where we stop fighting what’s between us and see what happens.”
Before I can overthink it, before the rational part of my brain can list all the reasons this is a bad idea, I lean down and kiss her.
Her lips are soft under mine, and she tastes like the coffee we’ve been drinking all evening. When she slips her tongue between my lips, I suck on her tongue for a moment before meeting it with mine. I stand and lift her, carrying her toward the door.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
“Somewhere with an actual bed. Somewhere I can take my time with you.”
My house is only a short walk from where we’ve been working, but it feels like miles with Raegan’s weight in my arms and her scent filling my head. By the time I set her down beside my bed, my wolf is practically vibrating with need.
But I meant what I said. I want to take this slow.
I start with her hands, lifting each one to my lips and pressing soft kisses to her palms, her wrists, and the sensitive skin of her inner arms. She shivers at the contact, and I feel her response through our bond—surprise mixed with pleasure, the way her wolf recognizes mine even when her human side fights against it.
I move my lips up her arms to her shoulders, where I push the fabric of her shirt aside to access more skin. She tastes like salt, and it makes my wolf growl with possession deep in my chest.
The sound makes her breath catch, and I feel the way her body responds to the evidence of my wolf’s desire for her. Her scent changes, becomes richer, more intoxicating.
“Wyn,” she breathes.
“Tell me what you want,” I request as my hands find the hem of her shirt, but don’t move to remove it yet.
“Everything. I want all of you, not just the parts you think are safe to share.”
I pull her shirt over her head slowly, giving her time to change her mind, to pull away if she wants. But she doesn’t. Instead, she reaches for my shirt, and she starts to work at the buttons.
When we’re both bare from the waist up, I take a moment to really look at her. She’s not the uncertain girl from three years ago or even the angry woman from our wedding night.
This is my mate, my partner, strong and beautiful, and willing to fight beside me instead of just letting me fight for her.
“You’re perfect,” I tell her, meaning every word.
“No, I’m not. But maybe that’s okay.”
Her hands explore the planes of my chest, and her fingers run over old scars and newer wounds from recent conflicts. When she touches a particularly sensitive spot near my collarbone, I hiss softly at the sensation.