Shifting Sands (Strength of the Pack #4)

Chapter One

brYCE

“He’s here!” Tristan skidded into the kitchen, socks sliding on tile, eyes bright with excitement. “At least, a black Lexus just came up the driveway, and no one around here drives something like that.”

“Oh, joy,” Bryce muttered, pushing himself to his feet. They’d known this visit was coming—hell, they’d invited it—but now that it was here, every instinct screamed at him to bolt out the back door.

He caught Matt’s gaze across the room. His alpha gave him a short nod, more grim than encouraging. Matt was even less thrilled than he was. But this had to happen. And as pack beta, Bryce had a role in making it happen.

They’d been na?ve to think they could hide Jesse forever, when he lit up under the moon like a damn nightlight. Argents were supposed to be legends, shrouded in mystery. Jesse, meanwhile, was snarky, perpetually ravenous, and picked fights with chickens.

But it didn’t matter how different Jesse was from the stories—the Argent name alone was enough to draw attention. And when word slipped out about Jesse, someone with too much money decided they wanted him and didn’t care who got hurt in the process.

That was why Matt’s answer had been simple—go public. Make Jesse official. Tie him so visibly to the pack that if anything happened to him, the whole damn world would know.

The Shifter National Council was the only group with the authority to make that kind of claim stick. The problem? The buyer, the person offering a fortune for Jesse, was someone sitting on that same Council. They just didn’t know who.

All of which made dealing with the Council a double-edged sword. And now, one of their representatives was on the pack’s doorstep.

He opened the door, forcing a smile that didn’t fool anyone, least of all the kid standing on the porch. The National Council had seen fit to send them a twelve-year-old. Or maybe an eighteen-year-old—it was getting hard to tell the difference at Bryce’s age of thirty-something.

However young the kid was, his immaculate dark suit probably cost more than Bryce made in a year, and his black shoes were as shiny as his slicked-back hair. He looked like he’d wandered out of a business school brochure.

“Taylor Caddel,” he said, flashing a practiced, unconvincing smile. He offered Bryce his hand in a way that just happened to show off the onyx and gold cufflink nestling in his pristine white cuff.

“Bryce Reynolds, beta of this pack,” Bryce said. He barely touched the soft hand, and the kid couldn’t hide his relief. “You better come in.”

Caddel walked in like he couldn’t wait to be done with this flyover-state detour and back in a Washington boardroom. Bryce didn’t look back, but he’d bet good money Taylor Caddel wiped his hand on his pants as he followed Bryce along the hallway that led to the kitchen.

Bryce made the introductions, and then sat at the table where Jesse and Matt were seated with Tristan and Colby.

Matt had made it clear that all members of the pack would be welcome at this meeting, but only Tristan had been interested in the visit of some low-ranking flunky.

“He’s from the National Council, here to see us,” he’d insisted. “Of course I want to be there.”

From the expression on Colby’s face right now, he was only there because of Tristan and not because he had some previously unsuspected fascination with politics.

Caddel might have looked twelve, but when he spoke, he had the smoothness and condescension Bryce associated with professional politicians.

“You’ll forgive me, Sheriff Urban, if I point out that it’s a somewhat unusual claim you’re making,” he said. “The last sighting of an Argent was—”

“Centuries ago,” Matt cut in, his voice hard. “Honestly, I almost believed they were a fairy tale, right up until I saw Jesse shift.”

Caddel froze for an instant, and when he looked at Jesse, his eyes were wide. Shock swiftly turned to disdain. “You’re the alleged Argent?”

How the hell Matt didn’t knock the disbelief off the little brat’s face for insulting his mate was beyond Bryce.

Though if he were being generous, he might think Caddel’s reaction was not entirely unreasonable.

When people spoke about the legend that was the Argents, they threw around words like nobility and dignity.

It was said they used to rule over all shifters.

And Jesse… Jesse was many things, but he didn’t much look like a ruler of anything, his shoulder-length hair tangled the way it always seemed to be, the collar of his threadbare flannel shirt fraying.

Bryce had a feeling Jesse thought letting Matt buy him new clothes would count as charity, and Jesse didn’t take charity.

Not even from Matt. The only time he’d heard Jesse mention the subject was when Tristan had innocently offered to take him down to the outfitters in town if he wanted some new jeans.

Jesse had just stared at him, incredulous.

“I only just got these worn in the way I like them,” he’d said. “Why in the hell would I want to start over with another pair?”

Jesse’s snark had diverted Tristan without Jesse having to say an outright no, keeping his pride. Classic Jesse.

It wasn’t only Jesse who left Caddel unimpressed. He didn’t seem to think much of any of them. He asked a few questions about how Jesse looked when he was shifted and how long he’d been with the pack, but he wasn’t interested in the answers and didn’t take any notes as the evening deepened outside.

“The moon’s up,” Matt said. “I’m guessing you’ll want to see for yourself.”

“If you wouldn’t mind, Sheriff Urban,” Caddel said. “I’m sure you’ll understand we’ve had a few of these reports over the years, and usually it’s a particularly pale wolf that’s caused someone to misidentify them as an Argent.”

“Usually?” Jesse repeated, his voice sharp.

“Excuse me?” Caddel asked, looking taken aback that Jesse had dared question him.

“You said usually. That mean some have been Argents?”

The flush on the kid’s face gave away that he thought Jesse was criticizing his less-than-precise wording. He couldn’t know that Jesse was wondering if any of his old pack had survived. “Well, occasionally, it’s a prank,” he said stiffly. “That’s why I said ‘usually’ a misidentification.”

And if the kid didn’t pull that stick out of his ass, he’d get on just fine in Washington, Bryce thought.

Jesse led the way outside, huffing in barely disguised annoyance as he shucked off his shirt, his t-shirt, his long-sleeved t-shirt, and hell, was that another t-shirt?

He’d already let Matt—and anyone within hearing distance, which meant all of the pack and most of Elk Ridge—know his opinion about having to shift on command for some blowhard in a suit.

Bryce wouldn’t be surprised if that was why he was wearing so many layers, as some sort of passive protest.

Certainly, Caddel was getting pretty ticked off at having to wait as Jesse struggled out of enough clothes to dress a moderately sized army.

“How many layers are you wearing, Jesse?” Tristan asked, sounding mystified. “It would take me half the day to get dressed if I wore that much.”

“Don’t know how you think like it ain’t freezing,” Jesse muttered, shivering dramatically as he stood there, finally naked.

Bryce leaned a hip against the porch railing. He appeared to be looking in Jesse’s direction, but in reality he was focused on Taylor Caddel. The snotty little bastard hadn’t bothered to conceal his impatience.

And then Jesse shifted.

Caddel clutched convulsively at the porch rail in front of him, staring at Jesse’s coat as it glowed in the moonlight. Jesse looked like liquid silver when he loped across the yard to greet Karl, both impossible and real at the same time.

It scared the hell out of Bryce, what people would see when they looked at Jesse. What they’d want from him.

“He—he—” Caddel stuttered into silence and simply stared. For the first time, he had nothing slick to say.

“Satisfied?” Matt asked, turning to look at Caddel. If there was a hint of smugness in Matt’s voice, Bryce couldn’t blame him.

“I—yes,” Caddel said. He shook his head as he reached for his phone. “I need photos for Councilor Bennett.”

“Just one,” Matt said, reminding him who was in charge here.

Once Caddel had taken his photo, Matt opened the back door, unmistakably signaling this part of his visit was over. Caddel reluctantly tore his gaze from Jesse, who was currently play-stalking Karl, probably to take his mind off the scrutiny he was under, and they went inside.

Tristan hesitated by the coffee machine, but Bryce shook his head.

He’d already had enough of their visitor’s intrusion and he was damn sure Matt and Jesse had.

He wanted Taylor Caddel gone and their home back to what it should be, not somewhere people came to stare at a member of the pack like he was an exotic creature in a zoo.

The way Caddel saw Jesse was made even clearer when Jesse came in a few moments later.

Everything Caddel said and did was focused on Jesse.

He angled his chair toward him, asked him questions directly, even when Matt was the one who answered.

If Jesse glanced Matt’s way before speaking, Caddel didn’t seem to notice—he was too busy nodding, smiling, agreeing with anything Jesse said.

To be on the Council payroll, Caddel had to be educated and politically aware, yet Bryce was pretty sure if Jesse told him the moon was made of cheese, he’d believe him. Or at least, he wouldn’t argue. Which meant that Jesse was a very dangerous commodity indeed.

It didn’t take more than a few minutes of this for Matt to rise to his feet.

“You’ve seen all you need to,” he said, his tone final. “If any members of the National Council feel it necessary to get in touch following your report, they can call me.”

“Yes, of course, Alpha Urban.” Caddel might not be the brightest crayon in the box, but he knew enough to realize he’d incurred an alpha’s displeasure. Funny how it was Sheriff Urban when he thought Matt was deluded, and Alpha Urban now that he’d seen Jesse glow in the moonlight.

“Thank you so much for your hospitality, and I’m sure Councilor Bennett will be in touch. And I didn’t mean any disrespect with what I said earlier, about mistakes and pranks,” he rushed on, his gaze turning back to Jesse, his eyes still filled with wonder. “I just—”

“You thought we were either ignorant or lying,” Matt said flatly, and Caddel paled.

“I’ll show you out,” Bryce said, before Washington’s next great hope started sobbing in their kitchen over having offended the alpha of the only pack in the world to boast its very own Argent.

He waited at the front door till Caddel’s car was out of sight and then closed it with a sigh. It had begun. Things would never be the same again for the pack.

It had all started with a few quiet phone calls, Matt reaching out to the National Council. Letting them know—carefully, cautiously—that he had an Argent in his pack.

Days later, Cale’s pack turned up dead. They’d been the ones the Washington buyer had secretly contracted to snatch Jesse.

Cale and his wolves had been bottom-feeders, and Bryce would have gladly taken them apart himself for what they’d done to Tristan.

And to Colby, who still flinched at a raised voice.

But this hadn’t been justice. It had been cleanup, ruthless beyond anything Bryce had known.

The moment word of Jesse reached the Council—even if they didn’t fully believe it—the buyer must’ve panicked. Cale knew the buyer’s identity, and that made his entire pack a liability.

Half of them were still in bed when it happened. Bryce remembered the aftermath. The silence. The stink of blood and fear. He’d never forget what he saw that day, no matter how hard he tried.

Jesse had seen it, too, old memories breaking through from when he was just a pup.

Different time, different place—but Bryce couldn’t believe the connection was coincidence.

Two packs, both with ties to an Argent, both wiped out in the night?

That couldn’t be coincidence. That was the same damn people.

And still the only clue they had was the link with the Council.

Bryce rubbed his forehead fretfully. The die was cast now, and the Council involved, for better or worse. Maybe the murderer would give themself away in their reaction to Jesse.

And maybe then, they wouldn’t have to weigh every word, hiding what they knew to make sure they weren’t the next targets.

Well. He’d always been an optimist.