But the real burden lies in the transit.
The stealth transport cuts through the freezing morning air over the Pacific Northwest. The cabin is dark, lit only by the harsh, red glow of the emergency strips. I sit strapped into the acceleration couch, my heavy assault rifle resting across my lap. My hands are heavily bandaged, the nerve damage flaring with a dull, throbbing ache in the cold.
Kade sits beside me. He is dressed in his heavy, tactical gear, his left sleeve pinned neatly to his chest. His right hand rests on the hilt of his thermal-bladed combat knife. Through the mate bond, I feel his absolute, unyielding focus.
He’s shutting down, Kade projects, his mental voice grim. He shifts his gaze to the rear compartment.
Asher is sitting on the medical cot, his knees pulled up to his
