I don’t want to leave them like that. I need more answers, and I follow them no matter what to get all the details I need.
The hunters don't make it to the treeline.
Three wolves explode from the compound's eastern flank, forming a semicircle that pins the lieutenant and his remaining operative against the outbuilding wall.
The lieutenant raises his hands, weapon at the ground. "Hold positions. Nobody fires."
"Sir, we need to engage—"
"We do not fire. Not with her standing between us."
The wolves snarl, hackles raised, teeth gleaming in the gray dawn. The operative keeps his rifle trained on the nearest wolf, finger hovering near the trigger with the trembling restraint of a man who knows he's outmatched.
And then Lysander arrives. His wolf form crashes through the underbrush—larger than the others, golden eyes blazing. He skids to a halt between me and the lieutenant, a snarl ripping from his throat.
"Lysander, wait." I step forward, touching the thick fur along his shoulder.
He flinches—not from pain but from something worse. He heard. Through whatever supernatural awareness wolves share during battle, he heard what the lieutenant said.
Now he's standing between me and the truth with his body because he can't do it with words. His wolf turns his head, and those golden eyes hold a question I can read without supernatural bonds:
‘Did they tell you everything?’
"Yes… I don’t know, maybe," I whisper. "But I swear I didn't know. I swear, Lysander!"
The lieutenant watches this exchange—a human touching a wolf without fear, a wolf responding with devotion. The mate bond he can't see but clearly senses.
"Your father kept you out of it," the lieutenant speaks carefully, hands still raised, aware that one wrong word could trigger the wolves surrounding him. "That was always his intention—give you the training without the context, protect you from the knowledge of what the Montgomery clan actually does."
The words scrape my throat. "You keep saying that it's something noble."
"It is. Generations of Montgomerys have protected human populations from supernatural threats that most people don't know exist."
His voice carries the conviction of a true believer—someone who has killed and would kill again without hesitation. "Your great-grandfather founded the northeastern cell. Your grandfather expanded operations across three states. Your father built the most effective hunter network in North American history."
"By killing people," I say. "By hunting down families and children and—"
"Predators who prey on humanity!" His jaw tightens. "Have they told you what their kind is capable of? What happens during territorial wars when human populations get caught in the crossfire? How many innocent people have died because pack conflicts spill over into neighborhoods and schools and workplaces?"
"These wolves haven't hurt anyone—"
"They are Silvermoon! Ask their Alpha what happened at the Oregon border three years ago." He nods toward the wolves surrounding him. "They're not the gentle creatures but apex predators with supernatural abilities and centuries of violent history, and your father dedicated his life to keeping them in check."
Lysander growls—low, sustained, the sound of an Alpha restraining himself from violence.
"You're biased," I tell the lieutenant. "You're a soldier delivering propaganda while surrounded by the enemy. Nothing you're saying is objective."
"Verify it yourself. You have your father's files," his eyes sharpen. "Yes, we know about those. The moment you started decrypting, our intelligence division flagged it."
They've been watching me. Since I opened those files in my apartment—they've known.
"Everything you need is in those records. Your father left it all for you because he knew this day would come—when you'd have to choose between the legacy you inherited and whatever this is."
He gestures at Lysander's wolf form with something between disgust and bewilderment.
"This is love," I say, and my voice doesn't waver.
"This is Stockholm syndrome wrapped in supernatural manipulation," his tone goes flat. "Wolves form mate bonds. It's a biological mechanism. Whatever you feel for him isn't organic—it's a chemical response engineered by his species to ensure compliance."
Lysander lunges with a snarl that splits the air. Two wolves block him, preventing him from reaching the lieutenant.
"That's a lie," I say. "I loved him before I understood what he was."
"Did you?" The lieutenant's calm is infuriating and precise. "That’s the mate bond's effect on human partners. The initial attraction that feels like choice but isn't. The escalating attachment that overrides rational self-preservation. You're a smart woman, Ms. Montgomery. You know the difference between falling in love and being claimed."
The words land like surgical strikes, targeting every doubt I've carried since the hiking trail where Lysander first showed me his wolf. The pull in the grocery store—was that choice or biology? The certainty in my bed—love or supernatural programming?
"Sir," the operative's voice cracks with urgency. "More wolves are coming from the north. We're surrounded, and we can’t continue the battle right now! At least a dozen heading for our position."
"We're leaving," the lieutenant backs toward the treeline, hands still raised. "Think about what I've said, Ms. Montgomery. Your father's legacy isn't a burden—it's a calling. When you're ready to hear the full truth, we'll find you."
They vanish into the trees as reinforcement wolves burst into the clearing.
Lysander shifts back. Naked, breathing hard, blood from a superficial wound streaking his ribs. He reaches for me, and I let him take my hand because the alternative is standing alone with everything I've just learned.
"Caroline," his voice is wrecked. "Whatever he told you—"
"Is it true? The mate bond—does it override human choice? Is what I feel for you something your biology manufactured?"
"No," the word comes out fierce, desperate. "The bond recognizes what's already there. It doesn't create feelings—it confirms them."
"Can you prove that?"
He opens his mouth and then closes it. The silence between us fills with the sound of wolves pacing and dawn breaking over a compound that will never feel safe again.
"I need time," I say. "I need to read my father's files, and I need you to let me do it alone. Without trying to frame the information before I see it."
"Caroline, please—"
"If what you're telling me is true, the files will confirm it. If what he said is true..." I can't finish the sentence, can't voice the possibility that everything I've felt, everything I've chosen, everything I've built with this man was engineered by his DNA.
Lysander stands in the clearing, naked and bleeding, watching me walk back toward the compound with a question in his eyes that neither of us can answer yet.
What am I going to do now that I know what I am? I have no idea, and that terrifies me more than any hunter ever could.