It wasn’t supposed to be a real mission. Just a recon run, low-risk terrain, low-profile intel collection. A test of team cohesion, Blackstone’s security tech, and the task force’s ability to not kill each other in close quarters but the forest had other plans.
Now Mira was crouched beneath the twisted carcass of a fallen tree, blood in her mouth, sweat on her neck, and two growling, pissed-off males flanking her on either side. “Everyone else is still back at the outpost,” Jace said, voice low. “We got separated at the ridge when the det charge went off. “Yeah, I noticed,” Mira muttered, adjusting the strap on her thigh holster. Rhett didn’t speak. He stood a few feet away, back to them, scanning the treeline with his usual coiled intensity. His hands were flexing and relaxing at his sides, like he was ready to tear something apart. “Trap?” Mira asked. “Most likely,” Rhett said. Jace crouched beside her, steady eyes scanning the terrain. “Minimal blast pattern. Controlled. Not meant to kill. Meant to isolate.” “Who the hell wants to isolate us?” Mira asked, though she already had the answer. Someone who knew what they were, or at least suspected it. They moved as a unit, following the terrain northeast toward a secondary rally point. Mira kept pace with Rhett’s long strides while Jace covered the rear. The forest was dense—pine and stone and fog-draped silence. Everything felt like it was watching them, but Mira felt steadier than she should’ve. Not calm, exactly. But grounded. That was Jace, she realized. He didn’t say much, but his presence was like a warm current; there, beneath everything, unshakable. His eyes missed nothing. His hands never drifted far from his blade. He wasn’t dominant. He wasn’t loud. But gods, he wasn’t weak either. Then there was Rhett, cutting through the brush like a war machine. Alpha instincts at full tilt. He didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate. Every move was calculated, controlled. His senses were sweeping ahead, every muscle locked into protection mode. This is how they move, Mira thought. Together. One leading. One shielding. It hit her then, harder than before. They’re already working like a bonded unit. They didn’t see it yet but she did. They paused in a ravine near the river to regroup. Mira knelt to check a sensor beacon half-buried in the moss while Jace stood guard and Rhett scouted the northern perimeter. “You okay?” Jace asked softly. Mira didn’t look up. “I’m not bleeding out, if that’s what you mean.” “I meant your shoulder. You took a hard hit in the blast.” She finally met his eyes. “You noticed?” “Of course I noticed.” His tone wasn’t flirtation, it was care. The kind of care that came with knowing someone mattered. The kind that unnerved her far more than heat or teasing ever could. She looked away. “I’ve had worse.” “I‘ sure you have,” Jace said. “But that doesn’t mean you should carry it alone.” Her breath caught slightly, but she masked it with a snort. “You’re starting to sound like someone who’s emotionally available.” “Only on Thursdays,” he said, deadpan. She huffed a short laugh despite herself. Before she could answer, Rhett returned. @We’re clear up to the ridge,” he said. “No signs of movement, no scent trails. Whatever detonated that charge wasn’t nearby.” Mira stood. “So someone triggered it remotely. “Which means someone’s watching,” Jace added. Rhett’s jaw tightened. “We move fast. Quiet.” As they started up the ridge, Mira felt it again. That silent, growing thread between the two males. Still raw. Still unspoken. But present. They reached the cabin just before nightfall. It was old, half-collapsed, and likely hadn’t been used in years, but it was dry and high ground. Rhett swept it first, Jace reinforced the barricades, and Mira set trip wires. Efficient. Unspoken. Seamless. Later, they sat around the cold hearth, weapons nearby, none of them speaking at first It was Jace who broke the silence, “We can’t ignore it much longer.” Mira looked at him. “The bond?” He nodded. “It’s not just between us.” Her gaze shifted to Rhett, who hadn’t moved. He stared into the fireless hearth like it owed him answers. “It doesn’t matter,” he said quietly. “Yes, it does,” Jace replied. Not sharp. Just certain. “You think I’m going to roll over and accept something that could dismantle everything I’ve built?” Rhett’s voice was low. Controlled. Dangerous. Mira stepped in before Jace could answer. “No one’s asking you to roll over, Alpha,” she said. “But the bond is growing whether you want it to or not. Between you and me. Between Jace and me. And between you and him.” Rhett’s jaw twitched. Jace didn’t flinch. “You don’t feel it yet,” Mira said, “but it’s there. In how you move around each other. In how you instinctively protect me from opposite sides. You’re already syncing.” “I don’t need to feel anything to do my job,” Rhett growled. “Your job isn’t what’s changing,” she said. “You are.” Silence. Then Jace stood and moved toward the far corner of the cabin, laying down on his side with his back to them. Not a retreat. An offering of space. Mira stood slowly and followed. Rhett stayed by the hearth, fists clenched. The bond pulsed through all three of them like a heartbeat building toward something that couldn’t be undone. Mira—gods help her—was starting to wonder if she wanted it to be.
