Chapter 20 - Dylan
"Confirm location and numbers," I say into the secure phone, voice low despite the cottage's empty rooms. Sera leaves for her shift at the clinic soon, the space between us still charged with unspoken tension after Donovan's visit.
"Three hunters spotted at the northwest boundary," James Morgan replies, connection crackling and stuttering with its thick encryption, so heavily secured that it prompts intense interference. "Armed, using the old logging roads. Not aggressive yet, just surveillance. But we’ve got our eye on them. They’re getting closer. "
I pace the small confines of my bedroom, mentally mapping the coordinates he provides. Northwest boundary puts them fifteen miles from Silvercreek's core territory, but only five from the summer hunting grounds. Close enough to raise alarms, not close enough for immediate action.
"Pack status?"
"Alert but not mobilized. Nic's ordered expanded patrols, protective details for vulnerable members." A pause. "Any intelligence on what these assholes are planning?"
"Nothing concrete yet," I admit, frustration bleeding through. "But they're coordinating across town lines, sharing resources. The rhetoric's escalating."
"And your cover?"
"Solid for now, but Donovan's getting suspicious. Started watching the cottage, made a surprise visit last night."
James curses softly. "Might be time to extract. You've gathered enough—"
My phone buzzes with an incoming text. Mike's name flashes on the screen, message preview visible: Special op tonight. Boss says you're in if...
"Wait," I interrupt James. "Something's happening."
I check the full message, pulse quickening as I read:
Special op tonight. Boss says you're in if you want. Tracking something big near Miller's Ridge. Meet at the HQ, 8 pm. Bring your kit. This is the real deal.
Miller's Ridge. Five miles east of where the hunters were spotted. The pieces click into terrible alignment.
"They're organizing something for tonight," I tell James. "Near the northwest boundary."
"Shit. I'll alert Nic."
"Sure," I say, decision crystallizing. "But let me go in tonight. If it's just another scouting mission, we don't want to escalate unnecessarily.”
"And if it's not?"
"Then I'll be there to warn you or create a diversion if needed. Or I can try to lead them in the wrong direction.”
Silence stretches between us, heavy with implications.
"Your call," James finally says. "If you think you can do it. But if you're not back in contact by midnight, we're assuming the worst and mobilizing to extract you and Sera.”
"Understood."
The call ends, leaving me standing in the center of the room, phone in one hand, Mike's text glowing on the screen of the other.
Two paths diverge before me—withdraw now, return to Silvercreek, help prepare defenses.
Or push deeper, gather critical intelligence, possibly prevent an attack before it begins.
The bedroom door opens, followed by the soft thud of Sera's bag hitting the kitchen table. Her scent—lavender and antiseptic—drifts through the cottage, instantly recognizable. She’s ready to go, but I need to talk to her first.
“You off to your shift?" I ask, leaning against the doorframe.
She doesn't look up. "Dr. Sanders got called away on some emergency. They want me there until late.”
I nod, watching her movements—the careful placement of items, the deliberate avoidance of my gaze. Since Donovan's visit, we've circled each other with almost comical caution, neither acknowledging the ease with which we'd fallen into our roles as lovers.
"Just heard from James," I say. "Hunters spotted near the northwest boundary of Silvercreek."
Her hands still, a can of soup suspended mid-air. "How close?"
"Close enough to worry, not close enough for immediate threat." I show her Mike's text. "But this changes things."
She reads it, brow furrowing. "Miller's Ridge. That's near—"
"The summer hunting grounds. Yeah."
Her eyes lift to mine, understanding dawning. "You're going."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "I have to."
"No." She sets the can down with careful control. "No, that’s—that’s stupid. It’s too risky, too dangerous. Hunting with them? Seriously? We've gathered enough intelligence, Dylan. If it’s all going to implode soon, then it’s time to go home."
"And leave a potential attack uninvestigated?" I counter. "I can get details—"
"Details?" Frustration edges her voice. "We know their plans. They hate shifters. They want to kill us. What more do you want? Are you waiting for them to make you kill someone, too?”
"Specifics. Numbers. Routes. Weapons." I step closer, intensity rising. "Information that could save lives. We’re not done—you can’t seriously think we’re done.”
"Do you think we’re really going to stop them from the inside?" She crosses her arms, stance widening subtly. "You know they don’t trust us, Dylan—you know as well as I do that they’ll start icing us out soon. It’s time to pull out.”
The accusation in the words lands like a physical blow. "You think I can’t keep my cover?”
"I don’t want you to die,” she insists, furious. “He already comes to our house, watches us—what next? What happens when they stop believing your story? If you think you could beat all of them, you’re fucking delusional, Dylan.”
"That's my job," I growl, anger flaring hot and quick. "Beating them.”
"That’s not what we were sent here for!" Sera doesn't back down, eyes flashing. “We’re spies, not fighters!”
“And we’ve been damn good spies!”
"And how far are you willing to go to maintain that cover now? Would you hurt someone if they asked? Kill a wolf they capture? When are you willing to concede you can’t kill them on your own? That killing them won’t fix anything anyway?”
I grind my teeth hard. "I know what I'm doing."
"Do you?" Sera’s voice softens, somehow more devastating than her anger. "Because I see the way you look when you come back from their meetings. Like something's being poisoned inside you. You’re breaking down. You think I can’t see it. But this is killing you.”
She's too close to a truth I've been avoiding—the seductive simplicity of their black-and-white worldview, the release of channeling grief into sanctioned hatred. Each Guardian meeting leaves me walking a narrower edge between infiltration and absorption.
"You don't understand," I say, retreating to defensiveness.
"I understand perfectly." Her eyes hold mine, unflinching. "I grew up watching good wolves become monsters, one small compromise at a time."
"I'm nothing like them."
"No? Then walk away. Come back to Silvercreek with me. Let the pack handle this together instead of you playing lone hero."
"It's not that simple."
"It is," she insists. "You just don't want it to be, because then you'd have to admit this isn't just about the mission anymore. It's about vengeance. About finding whoever killed your brother and—"
My control slips, wolf rising dangerously close to the surface. "Don’t fucking talk about my brother—"
I’m yelling before I know what I’m doing. But Sera doesn’t back off.
"I'm trying to stay in your life," she shouts right back. "To keep you from destroying yourself chasing revenge that won't bring him back!"
"Don't you fucking talk about Ethan," I warn, voice dropping to a dangerous register. "You didn't know him."
"And you didn't know my parents, or my grandmother, or the kids I watched die at Cheslem,” Sera snaps. “But I knew them. And I won’t watch you die, too, Dylan, I won’t!”
We stand facing each other across the kitchen, both breathing hard, neither willing to yield ground. The fundamental divide between us yawns wider with each passing second—her belief in healing, my certainty in justice through action.
And with a hot, lashing tendril of rage rising inside me, I say it.
"This is why the lottery was a mistake," I spit finally, words emerging before I can reconsider. "I would have taken anyone else over you. A life with you as my mate sounds like hell on earth, Daley.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I want to call them back. Her face remains composed, but something shutters behind her eyes—a door closing, a light extinguished.
"Sera—" I begin.
"No." She holds up a hand, voice steady despite the pain evident in her expression. "You're right. It was a mistake. We both know that."
She moves past me toward her bedroom, posture rigid with controlled emotion. The silence she leaves in her wake feels heavier than any accusation could have been.
I stand frozen, trapped between the instinct to follow her and the knowledge that I have nothing to offer that wouldn't make things worse. No comfort that wouldn't be a lie, no promises I could keep.
My phone buzzes again—Mike, confirming details for tonight's operation. The decision I'd already made hardens into certainty, despite the hollow feeling expanding beneath my ribs.
I gather my gear methodically—weapons cleaned and checked, communications secured, cover story reinforced. Professional routine offering refuge from emotional complexity.
When I emerge, Sera stands in the living room, bag slung over her shoulder.
"I’ll be out late," she says, voice carefully neutral. "Don't wait up."
The words contain layers—practical information, emotional withdrawal, tacit permission to proceed with my plan despite her objections.
"Be careful," I say, inadequate but sincere.
"You too." Her eyes meet mine briefly, complex emotions flickering across her face too quickly to identify. Then she's gone, the door closing softly behind her.
I check my watch. Three hours until I meet the Guardians at their makeshift headquarters.
Three hours to reconcile my dual missions—gathering intelligence while maintaining enough emotional distance to remain effective.
Three hours to push away the memory of Sera's expression when I spoke words I didn't mean but can't unsay.
The cottage feels emptier than it should, given its small size. I move through final preparations with mechanical precision, mind circling back repeatedly to our argument, to her accusations, to the fear beneath her anger.
The memory of it follows me as I load my truck, as I drive toward town, as I prepare to dive deeper into a hatred that sometimes echoes my own too closely for comfort. Sera sees the danger more clearly than I've allowed myself to acknowledge—the thin line between infiltrating evil and absorbing it.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, focus narrowing to the mission ahead.
One more operation. One more chance at critical intelligence.
Then, perhaps, a reckoning with truths I've been avoiding—about vengeance, about healing, about the mate I claimed to regret but find myself increasingly unable to imagine living without.