Nadine closed her eyes, focusing on her shift.
Her bones cracked and re-formed, muscle and sinew rearranging as her body transformed.The familiar rush of power and sensation washed over her as her wolf took physical form—midnight black fur with a single white streak along her spine, the same streak her father’s wolf had carried.
A legacy.A reminder.
She moved quickly but deliberately, making enough noise to attract attention while staying just beyond visual range.One of the operatives shouted, and the team changed direction, following her trail.
That’s it.Follow the nice wolfie.
Her paws carried her swiftly across the desert terrain.The team pursued, their bulky human forms struggling against the desert landscape that her wolf navigated effortlessly.
She slowed for a moment, allowing them to catch sight of her.
The crack of gunfire split the air.Something hot and vicious tore through her left flank.
Nadine stumbled, a yelp escaping before she could suppress it.Her left hind leg threatened to buckle, hot blood matting her midnight fur.
Silver.The burning sensation was unmistakable.
The silver bullet had grazed her, not penetrated—small mercy.A direct hit would have poisoned her bloodstream within minutes.
Keep moving.Show no weakness.
She forced herself forward, each stride sending fresh pain lancing up her side.
Dammit.Silver wounds didn’t heal quickly like normal injuries.This would slow her down for days.
Why am I doing this?
The thought flashed unbidden as she limped behind a rocky outcropping, hidden from the tactical team’s view.She was risking her life—bleeding, hunted—to protect a man she believed had helped murder her father.
He’s evidence.Nothing more.
But the excuse rang hollow.Her wolf knew better, responding to some instinct deeper than logic or vengeance.
Protect our mate.
Even if her human half hated him.
She set out again, drawing her pursuers farther away from the Stewart twin.
Three minutes of running, then she doubled back, crossing her own scent trail to confuse them.An old hunter’s trick her father had taught her.
The movement sent fresh waves of agony through her injured leg, but she forced herself onward.Her blood would make the trail easier to follow—she needed to be smarter than them.
But she couldn’t quit thinking about her reason for being here at all.
Gregory Torrance was not a man who would die easily.
That thought had haunted her for months.Her father was a survivor, a fighter.When the Sunburst Pack had exiled him, he’d begun to build a new life.Made connections.Established security networks.
So how had they gotten to him?
It had to be an inside job.Someone who knew his routines, his safeguards.
Someone like Conall Stewart and his twin.
The Stewart twins were the pack’s best trackers.They worked seamlessly together, anticipating each other’s moves.Perfect for an assassination mission.
