Chapter 5

5

IRENE

T he sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the forest as Irene crouched near a rocky outcrop, brushing dirt and leaves away from a faint indentation in the ground. Her heart thudded dully in her chest, but her focus was fraying, splintering into a hundred thoughts that had nothing to do with treasure.

She swore under her breath, forcing herself to refocus. She had to. Her pack back in the Superstitions was counting on her. The markings on the boulders had pointed her here, to this exact spot. If she could just...

Her mind betrayed her again, drifting back to the man with bulging biceps, and what she was sure was a pair of cut pecs and a six or eight-pack you could bounce a quarter off of—if you were so inclined. Despite her uneasiness around him, she was definitely inclined. He also had a face that looked as if it had been sculpted out of the granite that made up most of Colorado’s mountains, with piercing blue eyes and an infuriatingly commanding presence. Beckett Grey.

The sheriff had been maddeningly persistent, his questions digging just deep enough to unsettle her without giving her the satisfaction of knowing what he was really after. And that smile —that faint, knowing curve of his lips that seemed to promise he could see through her every carefully constructed facade and make her beg for mercy if he ever got them on her skin. Only she wasn’t sure it was mercy she would be begging for.

Her hand clenched around the small trowel she was using to dig. “Focus,” she muttered sharply.

But it was no use. Beck was everywhere—etched into her thoughts as surely as the symbols had been etched into the rocks, pulling her focus away from the task at hand. His voice, smooth and deep, still rang in her ears. The way his presence filled a space, commanding attention and leaving no room to breathe. And the way her body reacted to him, that maddening pull that felt as much like a challenge as it did an invitation.

Frustrated, she stood, brushing dirt from her knees. The forest felt suddenly suffocating, the gravity of her thoughts pressing in from all sides. She needed to get out, to regroup, to eat something that didn’t come from her pack.

The familiar chime of the Rusty Fork’s bell greeted her as she stepped inside, her boots leaving faint prints on the well-worn floor. The warmth of the diner wrapped around her like a blanket, carrying the comforting scent of smoked meats and freshly baked bread.

Irene’s stomach growled loudly, reminding her she hadn’t eaten much since lunch. She slid onto a stool at the counter, scanning the menu posted on the chalkboard above. Her eyes landed on the special of the day—smoked BBQ ribs.

Perfect.

When the waitress approached, Irene smiled. “I’ll take the ribs, a side salad, and a sweet tea. To go, please.”

The woman nodded, jotting down her order with quick efficiency. Irene’s gaze flicked briefly around the room, half-expecting to see Beck somewhere in the shadows, watching her with that unnervingly perceptive gaze. But the sheriff was nowhere to be seen, and she exhaled a small sigh of relief.

Still, the thought of him lingered, the memory of his voice wrapping around her like velvet as she waited for her order.

When the waitress returned, she handed over her meal, the scent of smoked ribs wafting from the bag. “Ruby says you’re staying at the B that much was clear. But his presence was no less unsettling.

Irene turned sharply, darting toward the rocky hills that loomed in the distance. She could hear him following, his heavy paws pounding the earth behind her. No matter how hard she pushed herself, he matched her stride for stride, his size and strength evident in every movement as he caught up to her.

He ran beside her for a few strides and then pulled ahead, expecting her to follow, no doubt. Well, the arrogant alpha was in for a surprise.

She darted up a narrow ravine, her claws scraping against the rocks as she climbed higher. The black wolf changed directions and followed, his powerful frame moving with an ease that made her curse under her breath. She zigzagged through the boulders, leaping over crevices and sliding down slopes, determined to lose him.

Finally, she spotted a narrow crevice between two large rocks and squeezed herself into it, her breath coming in shallow pants as she pressed her body against the cool stone. The black wolf appeared moments later, his head swiveling as he searched for her.

When he didn’t find her, he stopped, throwing his head back and letting out a long, mournful howl—calling to her. The sound echoed through the hills, vibrating in her chest and sending a shiver down her spine.

Why does he care, she wondered, her heart twisting with something she didn’t want to name. She waited until his howl faded and his footsteps receded before slipping out of her hiding place.

Circling back toward the pastures, Irene moved cautiously, her senses attuned to every sound and scent. As she neared the spot where she’d left her clothes, a flicker of orange light caught her attention. She froze, her ears swiveling toward the source.

A campfire.

Creeping closer, she crouched low, peering through the underbrush. Three men sat around the fire, their voices low but distinct. The metallic tang of weapons and the acrid scent of gun oil hit her nose, making her stomach twist.

Hunters.

They were laughing, their voices carrying snippets of words that made her blood run cold.

“... saw tracks up by the ridge. Bigger than normal...”

“... told you these woods aren’t just full of deer...”

“... worth a fortune if we bag one...”

Irene’s heart pounded as she slowly backed away, her paws silent against the damp ground. She needed to get out of here—now. These men weren’t just a threat to her but to everyone in Silver Falls. If they were tracking shifters, they’d already crossed a dangerous line.

Her retreat was painstakingly slow, every nerve on edge as she moved away from the fire. A sudden crack of a branch made her freeze, her breath hitching as one of the men stood, his head swiveling toward the sound.

“Did you hear that?” he asked.

“Probably just a raccoon,” another man muttered, but the first didn’t look convinced.

Irene held her breath, her body coiled and ready to bolt if necessary. After what felt like an eternity, the man sat back down, and she continued her retreat, her heart hammering in her chest.

She made a wide circle, ensuring she hadn’t been followed. By the time Irene reached the pastures, the first hints of dawn were coloring the horizon. She shifted back, her body aching with the strain of the night, and quickly pulled on her clothes. Slinging the gear bag over her shoulder, she started back toward the B&B, her mind racing.

The hunters were a threat she couldn’t ignore. But more than that, the black wolf’s mournful howl echoed in her mind, refusing to be silenced.

As she reached the Bristlecone’s front door, she hesitated, glancing back toward the forest. The danger in these woods was growing, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep running—from the hunters, from Beck, or from herself.