Riding the Whirlwind (Strength of the Pack #5)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

DAVE

Christian answered before Dave could even open his mouth.

“You want us to hang out in bars on the pack’s dime? That’s a hell yeah.”

Dave couldn’t blame him for his enthusiasm. The way things had been lately, a break sounded good. Still, it might have been nice for Christian to have checked with him before answering for both of them.

Matt had asked to speak to them after supper, which had been unusual enough to alarm Dave.

With all the changes in the pack, he’d wondered if it was about their jobs.

The ranch wasn’t exactly a money-making machine.

A couple dozen head of cattle, some horse-breeding—just enough to bring in a little money and keep the two of them busy.

But it was steady, and he’d hate to lose working side by side with Christian every day, answering to someone they actually liked.

Before he came to Elk Ridge, he’d made his way by taking whatever casual labor he could pick up, and it had left him with a range of skills that some might call eclectic, unless they needed pecans shelled fast and clean, or a heat-shrink wire job done.

But none of it had grounded him. None had that feeling of permanence he’d been craving his whole life.

Not until here, with the pack, and with Christian, his mate.

The one person who made him feel like he wasn’t passing unnoticed through the world.

Thankfully, the ranch hadn’t been why Matt wanted to see them. He’d poured them each a whiskey in his den, a small, dark room that seemed to breathe his essence—quiet, a little somber, yet with an underlying warmth and the feeling that nothing could shake its foundations.

Then he laid out what he was asking, and he made it clear that it was a request, not a command from their alpha.

He asked them to head to New Mexico and try to find anyone who knew about Jesse’s old pack, the one that had been killed all those years ago.

The one that must have included at least two other Argents for Jesse to exist. It was a recessive gene—the only way the silver coat existed was if both parents were from the Argent line.

“I know it’s a long shot, but we have to try,” Matt had said.

“We need to know who was behind the murders to protect ourselves. Whoever did this clearly has no reservations about murdering entire packs, and we’re in their firing line.

It’s not only about getting justice for Jesse’s pack.

” His voice harshened, doubtless at the thought of an entire pack murdered and Matt’s mate left alone, lost, bewildered, and seven years old.

Although he’d never had to face what Jesse had, Dave knew a little more about being abandoned young than he’d like. He still remembered the hollow ache of waiting on a porch that no one came back to. Jesse’s story made his own feel small, but the hurt had lasted.

It went without saying that they’d go, but he’d looked over to his own mate, hoping for a shared glance to make sure they were on the same page. Christian just said yes, typical of that impetuousness Dave so loved in him, even when it made life harder.

Christian hadn’t dealt too well with all the changes here, and Dave wondered if that was why they were being asked to go, to give him space and time to adjust. Or perhaps it was to get him out of the way before the politicians descended, wanting to see Jesse for themselves.

Because Christian never did well with persuasive voices and practiced smiles, and they were prerequisites for a politician.

Dave didn’t know why he was that way, but he suspected there’d been too many broken promises in his life.

“So where’re we going?” Christian asked, leaning forward eagerly.

“Town called Silver Rock. There are sandstone cliffs about twenty miles out, and Jesse was found a few miles from them.” Matt looked into his whiskey, brow slightly furrowed.

“Jesse remembers a whole cave complex, but from the little I could find out, it’s more like a few wind-carved tunnels in the edge of a cliff.

But then, to a small pup, those might feel like a big adventure playground.

” He looked up at them, eyes frank. “It may be nothing, I may be sending you to the wrong place, but do your best. At least we’ll have tried. ”

Dave glanced over at Christian, who looked ready to grab a backpack and go right now.

Typical Christian—edgy, always ready to move, almost as if he didn’t trust good things to last. And God, that hit close to home.

But when Christian met his gaze, something softened in him, a glimpse of the man only Dave ever got to see.

The one who always chose him, even when he didn’t have the words.

“Silver Rock’s an interesting choice of name,” Dave said. “You think it’s coincidence?”

You ever seen an elk in Elk Ridge?” Christian asked, voice dry.

“Maybe before they paved the streets,” Dave said.

Christian snorted, but the sound held more weariness than humor.

He’d been on a short fuse for the last few weeks.

Shorter than usual, that was, which meant it was almost nonexistent.

Dave knew that it had everything to do with their newest pack member.

What he didn’t understand was what, exactly, Christian had against Colby.

“Unlikely the name has anything to do with Jesse’s pack, but then, I’d have said an Argent still existing was impossible. Shows how much I know,” Matt said, and for the first time in days, his eyes held the hint of a smile.

“I haven’t told the pack out there you’re coming, so when you run into them, be respectful.” His gaze lingered on Christian as he said it. “I’ll send you both a map with their territory marked to make sure you avoid it. It doesn’t start until a few miles outside the town.”

“Is there a reason you haven’t told them?” Dave asked. It was usual courtesy to inform another pack of a visit close to their territory.

“There’s no way two packs could have lived twenty miles apart and not known the other was there, yet no one in shifter circles knows Jesse’s old pack even existed,” Matt said.

“Not officially. So my guess is the local Silver Rock pack knows something they’re not saying.

If they think you’re simply passing through rather than Silver Rock being your destination, you might get more out of them. ”

Christian knocked back the last of his whiskey. “Just call me Columbo.”

“I’m guessing that makes me Miss Marple,” Dave said.

“You said it.” Christian grinned at him, eyes warm and excited about the prospect of something new, before returning his attention to Matt. “When d’you want us to head out?”

“Sooner the better. Once the Council visits us, we’re going to have to show we’re acting in good faith and tell them about Jesse’s past. They’ll make the same deductions I have about location and send their own people down there.

When that happens, everything’s going to get locked down. I figure we’ve got a week, max.”

Dave nodded, and Matt’s eyes flicked between them, serious. “Be careful. It was a long time ago, but someone’s still covering their tracks. I want this information, but more than that, I want the two of you back safely. No lone-wolf hero shit.”

Dave rose to his feet and took the pack credit card that Matt gave him.

“We will,” he promised.

CHRISTIAN

Dave was still packing when Christian headed over to the house for breakfast. He wasn’t sure what was taking Dave so long. For someone who talked about traveling lightly through life, he sure did seem to be packing a lot of shit.

It had taken Christian maybe five minutes to throw his stuff together, and four of those had been spent on choosing his hair-care products.

It came from always needing to be ready to leave.

Foster homes, group homes, other people’s beds—living out of a bag meant he could leave fast, before he was thrown out.

Tristan’s two walking disasters were vandalizing the porch. One was chewing the edge of the rocking chair, the other headbutting the screen door. Neither goat looked remotely guilty as he approached.

“Off!” Christian barked, and that got them moving. They skittered down the steps, hooves clattering.

Tristan leaned out the back door, hair still damp from his morning shower and eyes too bright for the time of day. “They got out again? I swear they can pick locks.”

“Or you don’t know how to latch one,” Christian muttered. Those damn goats were the wrong species to be Houdini’s descendants, yet they were never where they were supposed to be. Tristan was the obvious explanation.

Inside, the kitchen was busy. Jason was at the stove, humming quietly as he flipped something buttery and golden while Riley leaned against the counter beside him. Christian couldn’t tell if the hunger on his face was from watching Jason or the food in the pan.

He took a chair opposite Jesse, who was slouched with a spotlessly empty plate before him.

“Mornin’,” Jesse drawled. “Thought I heard stomping.”

Christian didn’t answer. Mostly because Jesse wasn’t wrong.

“Coffee?” Jason offered, already holding out a mug.

Christian took it with a grunt of thanks. “Tristan, you’re looking after Diablo.”

Tristan blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Jesse’ll only pick a fight with him, and God knows which of them would out-stubborn the other.”

“Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Tristan said in a voice that trembled on a laugh. “Good to know you appreciate my abilities, and I’m not just your fallback position.”

“You cleared the Jesse bar,” Christian said, fighting not to give in to Tristan’s easy laughter. “It’s kind of a low one, though.” Asking him to look after Diablo meant something, and Tristan knew it. Neither Christian nor his horse trusted easily.

“Not like I could do it anyway,” Jesse pointed out. “I got chickens to wrangle.”

Tempting though it was to point out the chickens had only turned murderous since Jesse had come along, Christian concentrated on what was important. “He gets turnout every morning, half-scoop grain mix, and check for ticks under his tail, morning and evening.”

Tristan’s excitement at being trusted with Diablo wavered a little at that. “Twice a day?”

“No excuses. His care sheet is on the fridge.” Where he’d left it last night, fastened by a magnet, with all possible eventualities covered.

Tristan scraped his chair back, went to the fridge and pulled off the piece of paper filled with Christian’s spiky handwriting. “You actually wrote all this out?” he asked, as he scanned it. “I do know how to check hay for mold, you know.”

“Well, now you got a reminder, don’t you?

” Christian grabbed a croissant from the plate in the middle of the table and tore it open.

He hadn’t been away from the ranch overnight since he’d first come here, and the prospect of leaving Diablo’s care to someone else made his gut tight.

He did trust Tristan, but this was Diablo. That kind of trust was still hard.

Matt walked in, heading straight for the coffee machine.

“You two set?” he said over his shoulder.

“Almost,” Dave said from behind Christian, where he’d just come through the back door. He always showed up at the right time, like the sun.

“We’ll be out after breakfast,” Christian said. “Assuming Dave’s finished packing by then.”

Dave glanced back from the pantry. “Just need my teabags, then we’re good.”

“Could you leave some of the fennel ones?” Tristan asked.

As one, the pack turned to look at him.

“Colby kinda likes them?” he said defensively.

Figured. Christian had known there was something wrong with Colby, right from the start. He’d been sitting silently at the end of the table, and right now, he looked like he wanted to disappear through the floor.

“Sure,” Dave said, easy as ever. “Any others?”

“How about all of them,” Christian suggested, leaning over and grabbing another croissant.

“Just the fennel, thanks,” Tristan said.

Dave finished filling his box of supplies. Tea, of course, but also snacks, vitamins, and a beeswax wrap full of homemade granola.

Christian didn’t say a word, but watching Dave pack like this—quiet, careful, like he was preparing for some gentle granola apocalypse—made something in his chest feel warm.

Dave was treating this like they were going somewhere they’d be welcome, as if the world wasn’t one long series of rejections.

Christian loved the way Dave trusted. He hated it too, because Dave would only end up hurt and disappointed, and there were some things even Christian couldn’t protect him from.

* * *

They were loading their bags in the jeep when Jesse wandered out the front door, half-eaten piece of toast in his hand. He stood watching, quietly enough to draw Christian’s attention.

He glanced at Jesse, an eyebrow raised.

“Just don’t go sticking your head into any hornet nests,” Jesse said. Then he pointed at Dave. “And you, don’t go upsetting the locals with your caterwaulin’.”

“We still haven’t done pack karaoke night,” Dave mused, and Jesse choked on his toast. Surprise or horror—Christian couldn’t tell. Possibly both. The idea of Dave in front of a microphone was enough to make anyone nervous.

“Hey,” Jesse said, as Christian opened the jeep door. He turned, and Jesse was silent for a moment, looking like he was struggling with something. “Be careful,” he said at last. “And, yeah, you know.” He shrugged. “Thanks.”

Christian held his gaze and nodded once. He wasn’t great with words either, but he understood what Jesse was saying. What he was trusting them with.

“Don’t let Matt maul too many of the politicians,” Christian said. “Save some for the rest of us.”

Jesse turned to go in the house, and Christian watched him a moment longer. He still looked too thin. He’d been pale and quiet for days after his memories had returned—worse, he’d lost his appetite, and Jesse never passed on food.

Now, Christian and Dave were heading off to go digging through the bones of his old life. No wonder he looked stretched tight. What if they found something? What if they didn’t? Christian didn’t know which would be harder on Jesse.

As he got in the jeep, his wolf turned restlessly inside him, almost like it didn’t want to leave this place. He ignored it, because he didn’t know what to do with that reaction. He’d never been anywhere long enough to call it home.

Glancing at Dave, who was fastening his seatbelt, he found himself grinning. He and Dave had never been alone together. Not really. The rest of the pack had always been around. And now, even though they had a job to do, they’d have both space and time to themselves.