Page 121 of Knot Their Soldier: Part Three

"We're only intercepting distortion, low fidelity, but it's enough. That's not idle chatter," he says firmly.

My jaw sets. "No. It isn’t."

I clap the soldier on the shoulder and praise him for spotting the broken pattern, but I don't linger. My attention slips away from the room, from the hum and the heat of the machines.

Because I know what these intercepted communications mean.

The enemy is on the move again, and every second we waste arguing about leadership or trying to decipher the mess of Stone's paperwork is a second we hand them for free.

Air catches in my throat.

The numbers I've been reading all night won’t leave my head. The ration counts, the dwindling ammo, the lack of any anti-missile defense, the empty bunks, and the thin line of tired soldiers standing between the fate of our people and what’s coming. I can finally see the whole shape of it now, and I almost wish I hadn't, because it's ugly and depleted.

It's not enough to defend the Pass.

It was never going to be enough.

The General was wrong about plenty, but he was right about one thing.

Halley's Omega Command is our only hope of survival.

The door opens behind me.

I turn, already braced for another soldier with a dire report, or a problem that needs solving.

Halley steps into the Communication Office instead, carrying two cups of coffee and two covered plates, somehow balanced against her hip.

The first hit of her scent moves through me, lavender, warm skin, nest blankets, and Pack. She looks sleepy around the eyes, but determined, which means I am about to be managed by a very stubborn Omega.

"Jason said you were in need of some Omega cuddles."

"That traitor," I mutter good-naturedly.

Halley’s mouth curves. "He also said you hadn’t eaten."

"A traitor and a gossip."

I help her set the cups and plates down on the least cluttered stretch of desk. I settle back into my chair as she eyes the half-opened ration bar beside my datapad.

"Please tell me that wasn’t breakfast."

"It tasted like cardboard, but I think it had some nutritional value."

"That's debatable. I think it really is just bar-shaped cardboard."

She hands me a coffee, then steps between my knees, looks down at me and sighs.

"You look awful, Shade," she says.

"Ah, the exact words a man wants to hear from his new mate."

"I'm being serious." Her thumb moves across my temple, and I close my eyes because it feels amazing, soothing the low-level tension headache that has been growing for hours.

"What do you need?" she asks.

I open my eyes and find her watching me carefully.

Hmm, what do I need? A plan, more soldiers, better weapons, a way to protect her from what this war will demand from her. None of those are in her power to give me, so I tighten my hands around her waist and pull her closer, pressing my face into her soft belly.