Progress, small but significant.
"We'll protect them," I whispered. "Together?"
Liam hesitated, then gave a single, decisive nod. He still didn't trust me fully—might not for a long time—but he trusted me enough for this. Enough to stand with me against a common enemy.
We remained crouched side by side beneath the pine tree, my large hand hovering protectively near his smaller one without touching, both watching Victor with narrowed eyes.
The morning sun filtered through the branches above us, casting dappled light across Liam's face and illuminating the fierce determination in those remarkable golden eyes.
In that moment, I didn't need a claiming bite to know that this wild, cautious lynx shifter was meant to be mine. And as we prepared to defend our club together—his chosen territory as much as mine now—I dared to hope that someday, he might come to see me as his, too.
But for now, this was enough—this fragile trust, this common purpose, this moment of standing together against a threat. The rest would come in time. However much time Liam needed.
Chapter Nine
~ Liam ~
I waited until Victor's sleek black car disappeared through the main gate before I settled onto the ground, cross-legged, my notepad balanced carefully on my knee.
My fingers trembled slightly as I began to sketch, not from fear but from the urgent messages pulsing through the soil beneath me.
The dandelions pushing through cracks in the pavement, the stubborn clover clinging to life at the fence line, the ancient oak near the garage—they all whispered to me through subtle shifts in their energy, painting a picture of danger that only I could see.
Rooster crouched beside me, his massive frame casting a shadow over my notepad. He remained silent, watching as my pencil flew across the paper. I appreciated that he didn't rush me, didn't demand immediate explanations. He simply waited, a steady presence at my side.
The plants were agitated, their usual gentle hum escalated to something more frantic. I placed my palm flat against the ground, closing my eyes briefly as I sorted through the jumble of impressions flooding my consciousness.
Metal-death. Signal-danger. Watching-eyes.
I opened my eyes and began sketching the compound's layout with quick, precise strokes. The clubhouse in the center, the garage to the left, the picnic table where Rooster had first left food for me—each detail rendered with the accuracy of someone who had spent months observing from the shadows. Then I marked Xs where the plants had sensed the buried devices, my pencil pressing harder against the paper with each mark.
Seven. Nine. Twelve.
Twelve devices forming a perfect perimeter around the Soldiers of Fortune compound. Victor had only planted oneduring our observation, which meant the others had been installed earlier, during previous "visits" or break-in attempts.
The realization made my stomach twist with anxiety.
"Kid, this is..." Rooster's voice trailed off as he studied my drawing. His finger traced the pattern of Xs, connecting them into a complete surveillance circle. "You're saying all these spots have devices like the one we saw him plant?"
I nodded, then flipped to a fresh page. This time I sketched Victor's silhouette near the fence line, then drew connecting lines to other figures wearing similar suits. Three men in total, with nearly identical postures—confident, entitled, dangerous.
I'd seen them before, though never all together. They took turns circling the compound, each visiting a different section of the fence to maintain their network of spying tools.
Rooster's brow furrowed as he studied the new drawing. "These other two—you've seen them here too? Recently?"
I held up two fingers, then pointed to the waxing moon overhead before making a circular motion. Two cycles. Two months. I'd been watching them watching the MC for that long.
The weeds beneath my legs shifted, their tiny roots squirming with agitation as they transmitted a fresh warning. I quickly sketched a close-up of one of the devices—a small metal disc with a blinking light, an antenna barely thicker than a human hair, and something else... something that had made the plants recoil when Victor buried it.
Poison-metal. Death-to-green.
I couldn't explain that part to Rooster. How could I make him understand that the devices weren't just listening or tracking—they were hurting the plants somehow, causing a slow decay in the soil around them?
Instead, I drew a crude shifter mid-transformation beside one of the devices, with jagged lines connecting them. Then I sketched a small cage around the shifter figure.
"These track shifters specifically?" Rooster asked, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Not just surveillance but targeting us?"
I nodded emphatically, relieved he understood. I flipped to yet another page and drew what I'd seen three cities ago—men in similar suits setting up identical devices around a small park where I'd discovered a coyote shifter living. Three days later, the coyote had been gone, and the suited men had returned to collect their equipment, satisfied smirks on their faces.
