He’s protective,Conall said, the words feeling inadequate.
Of you?Or of the pack?
Both.Neither.
It’s complicated,he said finally.
Everything about this is complicated.Nadine was already moving toward the door, putting distance between them both physically and emotionally.Which is why it can’t happen again.
She was right, of course.
The kiss had been a mistake, a moment of weakness that threatened to compromise everything they were trying to accomplish.The investigation demanded their complete focus, not the messy complications of an unwanted attraction.
But as she walked away, leaving him alone in the archive room, Conall couldn’t deny that the kiss had felt more right than anything in his life.
And he was beginning to suspect that fighting it—fighting the mate bond—was a battle he couldn’t win.
CHAPTER 16
QUINTON HAD PACED THEIRapartment above the bakery, the familiar scent of fresh bread from below doing nothing to calm the restless energy that had been building all evening.
The digital clock on their kitchen counter read 11:47 p.m., and Conall still wasn’t back from the Old Packhouse archives.
Three hours past when he said he’d be home.
The twin bond carried nothing but silence—not the comfortable quiet of shared focus, but the deliberate blank that meant Conall was actively shielding their connection.That alone set Quinton’s teeth on edge.They’d never hidden things from each other.Never needed to.
Until her.
Quinton stopped pacing and stared out the window toward the Old Packhouse, its adobe walls barely visible in the desert darkness.Somewhere in those archives, his twin was working alongside Nadine Torrance, the woman who’d spent months hunting them for a murder they didn’t commit.
The woman who’d somehow convinced everyone—including Conall—that she deserved trust instead of suspicion.
A fucking mate bond.That was what was driving this madness.
Quinton had seen it in his brother’s eyes, felt it bleeding through their twin connection despite Conall’s attempts to suppress it.The way Conall’s attention sharpened whenever Nadine entered a room.The protective instincts that flared when anyone questioned her motives.The growing distance between the twins as Conall oriented himself toward this new connection.
Quinton felt like he was watching his other half slip away one interaction at a time.
He said he’d be back by nine.
Quinton grabbed his jacket from the back of the couch.If Conall was so absorbed in hisresearchthat he’d forgotten about time—then maybe he needed a reminder about priorities.
The walk to the Old Packhouse took twenty minutes through Sunburst’s quiet streets.Most pack members were home with their families at this hour, the town settled into the peaceful rhythm of evening routines.Only the security lighting remained active, casting long shadows across the buildings that had housed their pack for generations.
Quinton let himself into the archives building using his enforcer access codes.The main archive room was dark, but light spilled from beneath the door of the specialized records room where he assumed they’d been examining Vincent-era medical files.Voices carried through the old building’s walls—Conall’s familiar baritone and Nadine’s distinctive rasp.
Working late.Nothing suspicious about that, given the scope of their investigation.
So why did the twin bond feel so unsettled?
Quinton approached the records room quietly, expecting to pick up fragments of conversation with his wolf’s enhanced hearing.
Nothing.
He reached for the door handle, intending to announce his presence with a casual offer to help with the late-night research.
Professional.Brotherly.A perfectly reasonable excuse for checking on them.
