The forest wasn't quiet. It was too quiet.
Most people heard nothing—just a stretch of trees and night air. But soldiers, real soldiers, learned to sense what soundlessness meant. It wasn't absence. It was presence.
Nyx knew it because she'd been trained from the crib to know it. Dorian knew it because two hundred years of war had burned it into his bones.
The wildlife had gone still. The air tasted charged, electric. Something had entered their space.
They didn't speak. They didn't have to.
Dorian's eyes flicked to hers, silver burning like a low flame. His hand rose to his mouth, fingers brushing his lips once—a silent command.
She tilted her head and mimicked sucking her teeth. The tiniest gesture, the universal assassin's code for You've got to be kidding me.
Then, with her fingers, she signed back: I'm protecting your ass, not the other way around. She pointed to his wound, bleeding silver.
His nostrils flared. His wolf didn't like her defiance. The bond hummed between them, low and hot.
He signed back with one sharp motion. Down.
Her muscles locked. Not because she wanted to obey—but because the mate bond made it impossible not to. Her wolf purred at the command even as her human side cursed it.
Damned mate bond, she thought, sliding silently to a crouch behind a fallen log. I'm screwed.
Kelly popped into her head with a laugh that sounded like claws on silk. Hopefully we're getting screwed soon, she said, giggling like a naughty whore.
Shut up, Nyx hissed at her.
Kelly rolled onto her mental back, tail lashing. Oh come on. He's an Alpha. He's ours. He's hot enough to light tinder. You're not fooling anyone.
Nyx forced her breathing slow, eyes scanning the treeline. Her Glock sat warm in her hand, safety already off. Her knife waited at her thigh. Her wolf pressed at her skin like a second heartbeat, every hair on her arms rising as the energy around them shifted again.
Dorian crouched opposite her, larger, heavier, yet somehow blending into shadow like a predator who'd been stalking prey since time began. His fingers brushed the earth once—reading sign. His jaw clenched. He knew exactly what she knew: they weren't alone.
Their eyes met. Seasoned soldier to seasoned soldier. Different worlds. Same understanding.
The mate bond thrummed again, a hot pulse of wanting and warning. It almost felt like the forest itself had started to beat to the rhythm.
A twig snapped in the distance—too light for a man, too heavy for a squirrel. Both their heads tilted a fraction. They didn't need words. They'd been trained for this moment long before they'd been trained for each other.
Dorian's fingers twitched once: Flank left.
Nyx signed back: Cover right.
And then, just as her wolf's hackles rose to full height, a voice cut through the night.
Female. Calm. Measured.
"Your Highness," it called softly, just enough to reach him but not echo. "It's Dr. Chambers. And your guard."
Nyx froze. The name meant nothing to her. But the way Dorian's eyes narrowed said it did to him.
Kelly purred in her head, stretching like a cat. Oh good. Company.
Nyx's finger tightened on the trigger. She didn't lower it.
Dorian didn't look at her. His voice stayed a low growl, just for her. "Stay behind me."
Nyx's lips curved in a humorless smile. "I don't stay behind anyone."
His silver eyes flicked back, dangerous. "You will behind me."
The mate bond flared hot, making her muscles obey even as her mind cursed.
Kelly's laughter rolled through her skull again. Oh sweet Goddess. This is going to be fun.
The shadows shifted. Figures emerged—black suits, low light. A woman in a dark coat, medical bag slung cross-body, stepping carefully into the clearing. Behind her, two guards in the King's colors, weapons low but ready.
Dr. Chambers.
Dorian's wolf pressed forward under his skin. Nyx's finger slid along her trigger.
The standoff wasn't over. It was just beginning.
Dr. Chambers stops, eyes flicking from the King to Nyx's bloodied arm, and says quietly, "You're losing her, Your Highness. If you want her alive, you'll have to let me work—now."