Yet attempting to travel in her condition would be suicide.
That team might still be searching for her, for one thing.And without her full strength, she’d be easy prey for any threat—human or otherwise.
Fuck.
The realization settled like a stone in her stomach.She was trapped here, on the periphery of Sunburst Pack territory, until she healed enough to travel.
Nadine rummaged through her pack, reassessing her supplies.
Enough food and water for three days if she rationed.Basic camping equipment.Weapons—including a silver-loaded pistol similar to what the tactical team had used.
She needed a more secure location.The coyote rock offered minimal protection.Too exposed.Too vulnerable.
Memory flickered at the edge of her consciousness—her father’s voice again, quiet and urgent.There’s an old miner’s cabin on the eastern edge of Sunburst territory.Abandoned decades ago.Vincent’s patrols avoided it because of structural concerns.Could be useful someday.
She’d scouted it during her reconnaissance.Half-collapsed, forgotten by time.But the root cellar remained intact.Underground.Defensible.Close enough to Sunburst to continue her surveillance, far enough to avoid routine patrols.
Perfect.
Gathering her strength, Nadine packed her supplies and forced herself to stand.Her injured leg trembled but held.The walk would be brutal, but she could do it.
One step at a time.Survive.Then revenge.
By the time she set out, the sun’s heat beat down mercilessly on the desert landscape.In her weakened state, the journey to the miner’s cabin stretched endlessly, each step an exercise in pure stubborn will.
Her fevered mind slipped between past and present as she walked.
Her father teaching her to hunt.The shock when she’d learned of Vincent’s death and the Sunburst Pack’s change in leadership.Tracking Gregory’s movements after his exile.
And always, that final bloody scene.The evidence she’d found.The tracks leading back to Sunburst territory.
The Stewart twins are trackers.The best in the pack.Perfect for an assassination.
Yet yesterday’s encounter had left her doubting.Genuine surprise had flashed through Conall’s eyes when she’d accused him.And the way he’d protected her had been automatic, instinctive.
Could a cold-blooded killer fake that?
Maybe.
Could the mate bond be wrong?
Impossible.
The contradiction circled in her mind like prey she couldn’t quite catch.
Sometime in midafternoon, the abandoned cabin appeared on the horizon, shimmering like a mirage.
Nadine’s legs were leaden, her wound throbbing in time with her heartbeat.
The silver fever had intensified again, clouding her vision with dark spots.
She practically fell through the cabin’s sagging doorway, crawling the last few feet to the root cellar entrance.The wooden trapdoor protested as she pulled it open, revealing stone steps descending into blessed darkness.
Cool air wafted up from below, carrying the scent of earth and abandonment.Nadine dragged herself down the steps, collapsing on the packed dirt floor.
Safe.
For now.
