Page 11 of Anders (The Sunburst Pack #2)

A NDERS !

Etta’s scream cut through the late afternoon, echoing across the sidewalk Anders stood on and through his very bones.

She needs me .

The analytical part of his mind clocked the fact that the door to the newspaper office was unlocked—and it was a good thing, too, because Anders had no doubt he would have ripped it off its hinges.

Or broken straight through the glass.

Whatever it took to get to his mate.

Once inside, it took him only seconds to orient himself to her tortured scent, the sound of her agonized sobs.

Downstairs.

He’d forgotten this building even had a basement.

What the hell kind of guardian forgot such a basic detail?

He raced down the stairs, where he found Etta collapsed on the floor.

Anders dropped to his knees beside Etta’s convulsing form, his tactical training taking over as he assessed her condition.

Her body jerked violently against the concrete floor, her white-blonde hair splayed in stark contrast against the dusty surface. The scent of her distress—sharp and acrid—filled his nostrils, making his wolf howl in protective fury.

Her eyes were rolled back, showing only whites. The convulsions were getting worse, her head dangerously close to striking the metal shelving unit.

Anders moved quickly, sliding his arm beneath her neck to cushion it while using his other hand to check her airways. Her pulse raced beneath his fingertips, far too fast even for a shifter.

Etta, he called, keeping his voice steady despite the panic clawing at his chest. I need you to focus on my voice.

She didn’t respond.

Stay with me, he murmured, cradling her head. His training told him not to restrain someone having a seizure, but he couldn’t risk her injuring herself further.

Time stretched, each second feeling like an eternity as he monitored her vital signs. The rational part of his mind cataloged symptoms, calculating possible scenarios and appropriate responses.

The wolf part—the part he was currently trying desperately to suppress—whined in distress, urging him to gather his mate close and protect her from whatever was causing her pain.

Gradually, mercifully, the convulsions began to subside. Etta’s breathing evened out, though it remained shallow. Her eyelids fluttered.

That’s it, Anders encouraged, relief washing through him. Come back to me.

She blinked slowly, her gaze focusing on his face. Recognition dawned, followed immediately by something that made Anders’s instincts flare: fear.

Etta jerked away from his touch, scrambling backward until her spine hit the shelving unit. Old newspapers cascaded around her as the unit shook with the impact.

Stay away, she gasped, her voice raw.

Anders remained where he was, keeping his posture nonthreatening while his mind raced through possibilities.

You had a seizure, he said evenly. You called out for me.

Confusion flickered across her face. I… What?

You screamed my name, Anders explained, noting the way her pupils dilated as he spoke. I was outside. I heard you and came to help.

Etta’s gaze darted around the basement, taking in the scattered papers, the overturned chair, the trash can she’d apparently been sick in. Her fingers trembled as she pushed her hair back from her face.

I remember…, she began, then winced, pressing her palms against her temples. My head…

Anders’s instinct was to move closer, to offer comfort, but he held himself in check. What happened?

She looked at him, really looked at him, and for a moment Anders thought she might actually tell him the truth. Then her expression shuttered, walls slamming into place.

Migraine, she said flatly. I get them sometimes. Bad ones.

Anders could smell the falsehood, could see it in the way she wouldn’t quite meet his eyes.

He’d been trained to detect lies, to read microexpressions and physiological tells—added to his wolf’s instincts, the training allowed him to almost always tell when someone was attempting to lie to him.

Everything about Etta’s posture, her scent, her voice, screamed deception.

That wasn’t a migraine, he said carefully.

What would you know about it? Etta snapped, the fear in her scent intensifying. You’re not a doctor.

Anders studied her, noting the defensive posture, the way her hands kept straying to the back of her neck where that strange mark lay hidden beneath her hair. His mind clicked through the evidence, assembling it into a new, disturbing pattern.

The surveillance devices he’d found around town. Her systematic interviews with pack leadership. The way she documented their behaviors while appearing unaware of her own shifter nature.

Either she was the most deeply embedded sleeper agent he’d ever encountered, or she was playing some kind of long game.

The realization hit him, left him reeling. This had been staged—probably all of it.

From her apparent unknowing shifter behaviors to this convenient seizure just when he was nearby. She’d even called his name, for God’s sake. The perfect way to draw him in, to make him emotionally compromised.

And it had worked. His wolf had responded to her distress signal like the lovesick fool it was, ignoring all his careful precautions and surveillance protocols.

What were you looking for down here? Anders asked, his voice cooling several degrees.

Etta’s eyes narrowed at his tone shift. Old newspaper archives. That’s what newspaper people do—research.

Research what, specifically?

I’m not in the habit of explaining my work to security consultants. She used the cover title he’d given her—but her gaze flicked to the nearby documents, and Anders followed it.

The article visible on top was about local legends of shape-shifters.

Well. That was certainly convenient.

Anders’s jaw tightened. You know, it’s interesting that you’d have such a severe episode right when you were researching local folklore.

Coincidence, she said too quickly.

I don’t believe in coincidences. Anders rose slowly to his feet, keeping his movements deliberate. Not when they involve people showing up in my town asking very specific questions. Not when surveillance equipment appears shortly after their arrival.

Etta’s eyes widened. What are you talking about?

Don’t, Anders said sharply. Don’t insult my intelligence. You’ve been documenting pack behaviors since you arrived. I’ve seen your notes.

It was a calculated risk—he hadn’t actually seen her notes, but her reaction would tell him everything.

Etta’s face paled. You’ve been going through my things?

Bingo .

Why are you really here, Etta? Anders’s voice dropped lower, a hint of growl entering it. Who sent you?

No one sent me, she insisted, struggling to her feet. Her legs wobbled, and despite everything, Anders had to fight the urge to reach out and steady her. I came here for a job. A newspaper job.

The newspaper that conveniently gives you access to the entire community, Anders pointed out. Perfect cover for intelligence gathering.

Etta’s expression flickered between confusion and fear. Good. He needed her off-balance.

You’re insane, she said, edging toward the stairs. I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Anders moved, cutting off her escape route with a grace that no human could match. I think you do.

For a moment, they faced each other in the dim basement light. Anders watched the calculations run behind her eyes—the distance to the stairs, the odds of getting past him, the potential weapons within reach.

All very telling behaviors for someone claiming to be a normal human journalist.

What do you want from me? Etta finally asked, her voice quiet but steady.

The truth, Anders said. Who do you work for? What are they looking for?

I work for the Sunburst Herald , she insisted. Ask Fulton Publishing if you don’t believe me.

Anders’s patience, already stretched thin by his wolf’s conflicting instincts, snapped. Enough.

He’d tried the subtle approach. He’d given her chances to come clean. But she was committed to her cover, and he was tired of playing games.

There was one surefire way to force a shifter to reveal themselves—threaten them.

No wolf, no matter how disciplined, could maintain human form when genuinely believing their life was in danger. The survival instinct was too strong.

I know what you are, Anders said softly, dangerously. I know what that mark on your neck means.

Etta’s hand flew up to cover the spot, her eyes widening. I don’t—

Let’s stop pretending, Anders cut her off. He began unbuttoning his shirt, his movements measured and deliberate.

Etta backed up until she hit the wall. What are you doing?

Showing you what I am, he said. And then you’re going to show me what you are.

He didn’t usually shift like this—without proper preparation, in a confined space, with a potential enemy present. But desperate times called for desperate measures. He needed to know, once and for all, how much of a threat Etta posed.

And only her wolf could tell him that.

Anders removed his shirt, folding it neatly and placing it on a nearby shelf. The action was automatic, ingrained discipline from years of controlled shifts. He kicked off his shoes, keeping his eyes locked on Etta’s the entire time.

Last chance, he offered. Tell me the truth, and we can handle this like civilized people.

Instead of answering, Etta glanced frantically around the room, clearly looking for a weapon or escape route. Her behavior confirmed his suspicions—she was stalling, strategizing.

Fine. He’d force her hand.

Anders closed his eyes briefly, letting his wolf surge forward.

The familiar ripple of transformation washed over him, bones shifting and realigning, fur sprouting across his skin.

The process was smooth, practiced—he’d been shifting since childhood, unlike whatever late-stage training program had clearly produced Etta.

In seconds, he stood before her in his wolf form, massive and imposing. His mixed gray and brown fur bristled slightly, his ears pricked forward, alert for any sound of threat or submission.