She forced herself to focus on facts, not emotions.
Fact: Gregory Torrance had been Vincent’s right hand.
Fact: After Vincent’s death and the change in Sunburst leadership, Gregory had been exiled, not killed.
Fact: Weeks ago, she’d found evidence of his death—blood, signs of struggle, his personal effects abandoned.
Fact: The tracks had led back toward Sunburst territory.
But there were gaps in this narrative.Why would the new leadership exile Gregory only to hunt him down later?What threat did he pose from exile that warranted assassination?
And why did Conall seem genuinely surprised by her accusation?
Her wolf believed his innocence.But wolves were creatures of instinct, not logic.They could be deceived.
Still, doubts had taken root in her previously unwavering conviction.
Unwelcome doubts—but persistent.
What if there was another player in this game?Someone who wanted her to believe the Sunburst Pack—specifically the Stewart twins—had killed her father?
The impostor’s appearance suggested as much.
Nadine sat on the bottom step of the root cellar, absently rubbing her wounded leg.The silver pain had receded to a dull ache, the healing beginning to progress at a more typical shifter rate.
Think, Nadine.Think beyond what you’ve been led to believe.
A new plan formed.She couldn’t approach Sunburst, New Mexico, not with the pack’s security on high alert and an impostor already in play.But there were other sources of information.
The old ghost town of Caledonia lay less than twenty miles northeast—a gathering place for shifters who existed outside pack structures.Exiles.Loners.Information brokers.Her father had maintained contacts there even during his time as Vincent’s enforcer.
Always have escape routes and independent sources,he’d taught her.Pack politics change, but information is eternal currency.
She would go to Caledonia, first thing in the morning, and see what the neutral ground held.
Perhaps, if she was lucky, she’d even find allies who had known her father during his exile.
CHAPTER 6
CONALL LEANED AGAINST THEcold brick wall of the meeting room, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched Anders circling the woman who claimed to be Nadine Torrance.
His wolf paced beneath his skin, restless and agitated.
She was wrong.Everything about her was wrong.
Good enough to fool casual observation, sure.The black hair, the athletic build, even the way she held herself.
But her scent…
Christ, her scent was all chemicals and artifice.Nothing like the mountain snow and wild honey that had flooded his senses in that ravine.
Nothing like the woman whose mate bond pulsed beneath his skin, a throb he couldn’t silence.
Tell me again,Anders said, voice carrying that military precision that made even alphas pay attention.How exactly did Gregory Torrance die?
The impostor’s smile was cold.
Calculated.
