Wyatt didn’t push. He corrected my stance with a tap on my hip that sent a fresh wave of pain through muscles that was a certainlarge man’s fault, and I bit my tongue to keep my expression neutral.
We moved to the eastern training ground after warm-ups. Thiago had added perimeter defense to my curriculum, which meant observation drills from a shooting blind at the tree line’s edge.
Wyatt set up the spotting scope and knelt beside me. “Watch the rotation timing. Flag any gap longer than forty seconds.”
“Forty seconds isn’t a gap. That’s a scheduling error.”
“Welcome to military infrastructure. Half of security is intimidation, the other half is prayer.”
I logged patrols, noted the gaps. Filed the useful ones away for reasons Wyatt didn’t need to know about.
Then my body turned.
My entire torso rotated toward the tree line before my brain caught up. The bond pulling me south with zero subtlety.
He was out there.
The compound’s sensors wouldn’t catch him. Solomon moved quietly. I’d spent months learning the particular silence of a man who could cross a room without disturbing dust particles.
But the bond didn’t care about silence. It cared about proximity, and right now it was screaming south with zero subtlety.
A low growl rolled from the tree line. Barely audible, buried under wind and birdsong, but I caught it because my body wasalready tuned to his frequency. The possessive rumble of an alpha registering another male’s scent on his mate.
Wyatt was kneeling two feet from me. His hand had been on my hip thirty seconds ago, correcting my stance. Solomon had watched that happen from thirty meters away, and apparently centuries of discipline wasn’t enough to keep his wolf quiet about it.
I am so going to murder him after this.
Wyatt’s head turned toward the trees. His hand drifted to his sidearm. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“That sound. From the tree line.”
“Probably a deer. I’ve been seeing them all week.”
“That didn’t sound like a deer.”
He studied me. Then stood, hand still on his sidearm, eyes scanning the tree line.
“I’m going to check it out.”
He took one step toward the trees.
My hand caught his arm and pulled him back. “Wyatt, don’t. Last time a trainee chased wildlife, they tripped a sensor and the whole compound went on lockdown for two hours. You really want to explain that to my father?”
He hesitated. My fingers were still on his arm.
From the tree line, another growl, deeper this time.
I spoke louder, turning Wyatt bodily toward the northern ridge. “Actually, look. Movement at the north post.” I pointed past his shoulder at nothing. “Two o’clock, past the drainage ditch. See it?”
Wyatt squinted north. His training overrode his instinct, attention redirecting where I’d aimed it. “I don’t see anything.”
“It was fast. Could be a patrol gap. Might be worth checking.”
He looked back at the eastern tree line one more time. Then north again. The hunter in him weighed both directions. I held my breath.
“Fine. I’ll check the northern post. Five minutes.”
