Chapter 10

10

IRENE

I rene stayed low behind the jagged boulder, her breath shallow and her muscles coiled. The hunters’ voices echoed faintly through the trees, growing louder. They were getting closer.

Dizziness swept over her again, a wave of nausea rising from deep in her gut. She clenched her fists against the ground, willing herself to focus, to push through it. But the sensation was all too familiar, the same disoriented unease she’d felt at the boulders and back in the diner.

What the hell is wrong with me? she thought, squeezing her eyes shut against the spinning world.

The hunters’ voices drew nearer, their movements punctuated by the occasional snap of a branch or the crunch of leaves underfoot. Irene’s pulse quickened. She pressed her back against the cool stone, her mind racing. Why did they keep finding her? She’d been careful, masking her scent, choosing obscure trails, avoiding patterns. And yet, here they were again, closing in.

Are they hunting me? Or is it something else?

The thought churned uneasily in her mind. What if they weren’t just tracking her scent? What if they were after the same thing she was? If the markings she’d found earlier were correct, she was getting closer to the treasure—or at least another clue to its location. Was it possible the hunters had caught wind of it, too?

The men’s voices sharpened, and the nauseating dizziness surged again, making her vision blur. She shook her head, her hands gripping the edge of the boulder to steady herself. She didn’t have time for this.

She listened as they separated. It sounded as if one of them was returning to their camp, with another moving off in a different direction, and the remaining one heading straight for her. Steeling herself, she reached for the hem of her jacket, preparing to remove her clothes. If she had to fight, it would be as her wolf. Her human form was no match for even a single rifle, and she was faster and could outmaneuver them as her wolf.

She was halfway through unzipping her jacket when a familiar, electric charge rippled through the air, brushing against her senses.

Beck.

The sensation was unmistakable—an almost tangible presence that sent a shiver racing down her spine. Irene’s head snapped up, her gaze darting toward the tree line. And there he was, stepping silently through the shadows.

Her breath caught as she watched him, her wolf stirring restlessly within her. He moved with the grace and stealth of a predator, scanning the area with lethal focus. The set of his mouth, the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the sheer power in his broad shoulders—it was impossible not to notice how finely made he was.

Stop it , she scolded herself, tearing her gaze away.

But her traitorous eyes refused to listen, drawn back to him as he reached for the hem of his shirt.

Oh, for God’s sake.

Beck stripped off his shirt in one smooth motion, revealing a chest that was all muscle and sinew, his bronzed skin catching the faint light filtering through the trees. Irene swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry as he unfastened his belt, his movements unhurried, deliberate.

You’re in danger, she reminded herself fiercely. This is not the time to ogle the sheriff.

But even as she chastised herself, her gaze lingered, following the subtle ripple of muscle as he stepped out of his jeans. His body was a study in strength, every line and curve carved with precision. He had strong, muscled thighs and the cock that stirred between them was impressive.

Stop staring. Just stop.

As if sensing her attention, Beck’s head turned slightly in her direction. For one breathless moment, their eyes met. His gaze was intense, searching, but she thought she detected a faint grin as his cock began to become engorged.

Irene tore her eyes away, heat creeping up her neck as she ducked back behind the boulder.

Focus , she commanded herself. The hunters were still out there, their movements growing more deliberate. And now Beck was here, too, complicating everything.

She risked another glance just in time to see the mist swirl around him, his powerful form shifting seamlessly into that of a massive black wolf. The sight stole her breath. Even in his wolf form, Beck was a force to be reckoned with—towering, commanding, and utterly lethal.

The black wolf raised his head, scanning the trail as his ears swiveled toward the approaching hunter. His growl was low, almost imperceptible, but it sent a shiver down Irene’s spine.

For a fleeting moment, she felt a pang of guilt. Beck was risking himself for her, stepping into danger without hesitation. And yet, she couldn’t shake the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. She didn’t need saving. She didn’t need him.

So why couldn’t she look away? Or better yet, run?

The hunter drew closer still, and Irene forced herself to focus. Beck was here now, and that changed everything. Together, they had a chance—if she could keep her head clear and her heart from racing every time his eyes met hers.

The charge in the air crackled as the hunter entered the clearing, his rifle gleaming faintly in the fading light. Beck’s wolf seemed to bristle, his growl deepening as he prepared to strike.

Irene crouched lower, her body coiled and ready, her gaze darting between the hunter and the black wolf who had claimed her attention—and her thoughts.

This was it. The storm was coming, and there was no turning back. Her fingers itched to shift, to let her wolf take over and fight her way out of this, but something held her back.

That something emerged from the trees, silent and lethal. His growl was low, a warning that rumbled through the clearing like a distant storm.

The hunter froze, his head whipping around to locate the source of the sound. His rifle lifted instinctively, but he was too slow.

In a blur of motion, Beck launched himself forward, his powerful body slamming into the man and knocking the weapon from his grasp. The hunter hit the ground with a grunt, his hand scrabbling for the knife at his belt, but Beck was faster.

Irene watched, her heart pounding as the black wolf made short work of his opponent, Teeth bared, Beck sank his jaws into the man’s throat, ripping out his windpipe with lethal accuracy.

But the commotion hadn’t gone unnoticed. The faint sound of voices reached her ears.

“Beck,” she whispered urgently, her pulse racing.

The black wolf turned toward her, his sharp eyes locking onto hers for a brief moment before his gaze shifted to the sound of the approaching hunters. He growled again, his powerful form tense and ready.

Without thinking, Irene darted from her hiding spot, snatching up Beck’s discarded clothes. He turned toward her, his massive frame radiating both power and protectiveness.

“Come on,” she urged, her voice low but steady.

Beck trotted toward her, his movements fluid despite the tension in the air. As he reached her, he lowered himself slightly, his sharp eyes meeting hers in a silent command.

“Are you serious?” she hissed, glancing at the approaching shadows in the trees.

He growled softly, a sound that left no room for argument.

With a muttered curse, Irene climbed onto his back, gripping his thick fur tightly with one hand while holding his clothes with the other.

The moment she was settled, Beck surged forward, his powerful legs propelling them through the forest with a speed that left her breathless. The wind rushed past her, and she clung to him as he darted through the trees, his movements sure and unyielding.

The shouts of the hunters faded into the distance, replaced by the rhythmic thud of Beck’s paws against the ground. Irene’s heart pounded as the adrenaline surged through her veins, her mind racing to keep up with the whirlwind of events.

By the time they reached the edge of town, the knot in her chest had eased slightly. Beck slowed, his breathing steady as he came to a halt near a secluded clearing.

Irene slid off his back, her legs unsteady as she caught her breath. She held out his clothes, avoiding his piercing gaze as the mist swirled around him. Moments later, Beck stood before her in his human form, his expression a mixture of frustration and concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice rough.

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Thanks to you.”

Beck’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. “This isn’t over, Irene.”

She hesitated, then forced a smile. “How about we discuss it over dinner?”

His brows shot up, surprise flickering across his face before he gave a curt nod. “Fine. Let’s go.”

The Rusty Fork was quiet when they arrived, the familiar chime of the doorbell announcing their entrance. Irene slid into a booth, her pulse still racing as Beck joined her.

A waitress approached, her pen poised over her notepad. Beck’s voice was calm, but the intensity in his eyes didn’t waver.

“Two burgers. Medium rare. Fries on the side. And water.”

The waitress nodded, her gaze darting nervously between them before she hurried away.

Beck leaned back in the booth, his eyes locked onto Irene. “Now,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Tell me what the hell is going on.”

Irene swallowed hard, the intensity of his gaze pinning her in place. She glanced at the door, then back at Beck, her mind racing for the right words. But the truth was, she didn’t have a ready-made lie or evasion—not one that would satisfy him, anyway, and judging by the fire in his eyes, he had no intention of letting her off the hook.

The Rusty Fork was quieter than usual, the din of conversation from earlier replaced by the low hum of refrigerated cases where they kept things people could grab on the go. Irene fiddled with the edge of her napkin, her thoughts a tangle of caution and reluctant trust. Beck sat across from her, his eyes never wavering, his presence filling the space like a thundercloud on the horizon.

The waitress set their plates down with a nervous smile before retreating quickly, leaving them alone in their booth. The smell of grilled meat and fried potatoes filled the air, but Irene’s appetite was nonexistent.

Beck leaned back, his arms crossed, the tension in his shoulders evident even as he appeared relaxed. “So,” he said, his deep voice cutting through the silence. “Are you going to tell me what’s really going on?”

Irene hesitated, her fingers tightening on the napkin. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“You already know the answer to that,” Beck replied, his gaze steady.

A wry smile tugged at her lips despite herself. “I suppose I do.” She sighed, leaning forward slightly. “You’ve saved my life twice now. I suppose that earns you some honesty.”

Beck arched a brow but didn’t interrupt, his silence as commanding as any words.

“My name is Irene Blakiston,” she began, her voice low but steady. “I have a degree in archaeology from the University of Arizona. For the past five years, I’ve lived with a small group of she-wolves who’ve either left or been cast out of their packs. Most of them were survivors of... bad situations.”

Beck’s expression softened slightly, though his sharp gaze remained unyielding. “A pack of women,” he said, his tone contemplative. “Not something you see every day.”

“No,” Irene agreed. “It’s not. But it works for us. We’ve built a kind of hidden life…”

“In the Superstitions?”

“I’m not going to answer that.”

A faint smile touched Beck’s lips, and he inclined his head. “You just did, but fair enough; I won’t push the point… at least not for now. But you’re confirming what I’ve suspected. The rumors of an all-female pack in the Superstitions are true.”

Irene frowned. “I didn’t confirm anything specific.”

“Close enough,” Beck said, his voice carrying a note of admiration. “Takes strength to build something like that. Resourcefulness, too.”

Surprise flickered across her face before she masked it, her fingers tracing the edge of her plate. “We didn’t have much of a choice. It was either survive or... don’t.”

Beck’s eyes darkened, a flicker of understanding passing through them. “I respect that,” he said quietly.

Irene allowed herself to relax, the intensity of his steady gaze feeling less suffocating than before. She hadn’t expected him to react this way—not with respect and curiosity rather than suspicion or judgment.

“But that still doesn’t explain why you’re here,” Beck said, his tone soft but probing. “Or why the hunters are after you.”

Irene exhaled slowly, her mind racing. “The hunters aren’t after me specifically,” she said carefully. “At least I don’t think so. I think they may be looking for the same thing I am.”

Beck leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “The treasure.”

Irene hesitated, stress creeping back into her shoulders. “It’s not just a treasure,” she said slowly. “It’s a piece of history—something that could change everything for my pack.”

“Change everything how?” Beck pressed.

“I can’t say,” Irene admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Not yet.”

Beck’s jaw tightened, his frustration evident. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Irene. That treasure—if it even exists—has drawn more than its fair share of trouble over the years. People have died looking for it.”

“I know the risks,” Irene said sharply. “I’m not doing this on a whim.”

“Then why not tell me what you know?” Beck asked, his tone firm but not unkind. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

Irene looked away, her fingers tightening on the edge of the table. “Because if I tell you, it puts you and everyone in Silver Falls in danger. It’s better if I handle this myself.”

Beck’s hand came down on the table, not hard, but enough to draw her attention. “You’re not handling this alone,” he said, his voice low and fierce. “Not anymore. Whether you like it or not, you’re in my territory. That makes this my problem, too.”

Irene’s heart twisted at the conviction in his voice, the protective edge that sent a shiver down her spine. “You don’t understand,” she said quietly. “If I fail... if they find it first...”

“I won’t let that happen,” Beck said firmly.

The certainty in his words made her chest ache, the walls she’d built around herself threatening to crack under the force of his conviction. But she couldn’t afford to let them fall—not yet.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice barely audible. “For everything. But I can’t let you take this risk for me.”

Beck leaned back, his sharp gaze never leaving hers. “I think you underestimate me, Irene.”

The air between them was charged with a simmering sexual attraction and tension, the pull she’d tried so hard to ignore tugging at her. Beck was more than she’d expected—stronger, sharper, and far more relentless.

And as she looked into his eyes, she realized she was in more trouble than she’d ever imagined.

The sound of the doorbell broke the spell, signaling another customer entering the diner. Irene glanced toward the door, her heart racing as the familiar scent of gun oil and sweat reached her nose.

Beck’s sharp gaze followed hers, his posture stiffening as he caught the same scent.

“We’re not alone,” he muttered. “And I’m the sheriff. This is my town.”

Irene’s pulse quickened, her breath catching as she met his gaze. The storm brewing in his eyes mirrored her own. Beck slid out of the booth and approached the hunters.