Page 2 of Anders (The Sunburst Pack #2)

T HE W ELCOME TO S UNBURST sign looked like it had seen better days, its faded paint barely visible in Etta Barone’s headlights as she pulled into town well after sunset.

Massive mesas loomed against the starlit sky, their shadows broken by the silhouettes of scrubby pine trees. A sharp, botanical scent drifted through her open window, carried on the dusty desert breeze.

The town itself almost seemed to be holding its breath as she drove down what she assumed was the main street, though the distinct lack of traffic or pedestrians made it hard to tell.

Then again, she reminded herself, it was nighttime—and a lot of small towns rolled up the sidewalks after dark.

Besides, I chose this assignment , she reminded herself.

Though, to be fair, she hadn’t been given much choice.

Mr. Fulton says it’s the Sunburst job or nothing, Johnny, her former editor, had told her, his tone apologetic but definite. But it’s a good move—the office has been closed for something like two years, so you’ll have total control, hiring and editorial and everything.

Johnny had been right, of course. In the end, she’d taken the position despite her misgivings about moving halfway across the country to a dying town to take over an already dead newspaper.

But those misgivings were rearing their heads again now, her instincts screaming at her that there was something wrong here.

A few businesses were still lit up—a diner with a neon sign proclaiming Desert Sunrise in electric blue, and what looked like a bar further down. Most of the other storefronts were dark, their windows reflecting her car’s headlights back like wary eyes.

She pulled into a parking spot in front of the diner, figuring it was as good a place as any to get her bearings.

The moment she stepped out of her car, the desert air slid over her—dry and crisp, carrying scents she couldn’t quite identify.

Something wild and green, maybe sage? And underneath that, something else, something that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

Get it together, Etta , she chided herself. It’s just new-town jitters .

The bell above the diner’s door chimed as she walked in, and every head in the place turned to look at her. She’d expected some attention—small towns usually noticed newcomers—but this felt different. More intense. Like she was being assessed rather than just observed.

A tall man leaning on the counter straightened up, his shoulders squaring as if preparing for…something.

The waitress behind the counter put a hand on his arm, and he relaxed slightly, but his eyes never left Etta.

Dark eyes, she noticed, and she found herself unconsciously tilting her head as she studied him, some instinct making her want to maintain eye contact longer than felt socially comfortable.

A small rumble built in her throat before she could stop it, and she quickly disguised it as a cough.

Welcome to the Desert Sunrise, the waitress called out, her voice warm but careful. Sit anywhere you like.

Etta chose a booth near the door, telling herself it was because she wanted to keep an eye on her car with all her belongings inside, not because some primitive part of her brain was screaming for a clear escape route.

The leather seat squeaked as she slid in, and she caught another whiff of that strange scent from outside, stronger now.

It made something deep inside her stir restlessly.

Coffee? the waitress asked, appearing at her table with a pot in hand. Her name tag read Sarah. She positioned herself between Etta and the rest of the diner’s occupants, as if shielding her from too much attention.

Please, Etta said, wrapping her hands around the mug as soon as Sarah filled it. And maybe some help? I’m looking for the Sunburst Herald office. I’m supposed to start work there tomorrow, but my GPS gave up the ghost a while back.

Sarah’s hand tightened on the coffee pot. Just slightly, but Etta noticed. She’d always been good at reading people’s microexpressions—it was part of what made her a good journalist. What she read in Sarah’s face now was…concern? No, wariness.

You’re the new owner, Sarah said. It wasn’t a question.

Editor, actually. Hired by the new owner. Etta took a sip of coffee. It was good—rich and dark, not the watered-down stuff she’d expected from a small-town diner. News travels fast.

It’s a small town, Sarah replied with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. We don’t get many newcomers.

The man from the counter had drifted closer, trying to look casual about it and failing spectacularly. He was even taller up close, broad-shouldered and muscular. Something about his presence made Etta’s skin prickle, like static electricity before a storm.

Nick, he said by way of introduction. Sarah’s husband. Welcome to Sunburst.

Etta shook his offered hand, noting the calluses. His grip was careful, controlled, like someone very aware of their own strength.

Etta Barone, she said. Thanks for the welcome, though I’m starting to feel like I should have sent out a press release about my arrival. If only the paper was already up and running.

That got a genuine laugh from Sarah, though Nick’s expression remained serious.

The Herald office is just down the street, he said. Two blocks east, can’t miss it. But it’ll be locked up this time of night. Were you planning to stay at the Desert Rose Motel?

The way he said it made it sound less like a question and more like a strong suggestion. Etta bristled slightly at the implied direction.

Actually, the company set me up with a rental house, she said, pulling out her phone to check the address. On Mesa View Road?

The reaction was subtle but immediate. Sarah and Nick exchanged a look she couldn’t quite interpret. The other diners, who had been pretending not to eavesdrop, suddenly found their coffee cups fascinating.

That’s…quite a ways out of town, Nick said carefully. Easy to get lost in the dark if you don’t know the area. Maybe you should reconsider the motel, just for tonight.

I appreciate the concern, Etta said, keeping her tone pleasant but firm, but I’ve got good directions. A lie, but she wasn’t about to admit that to these strangers, no matter how helpful they seemed to be trying to be. And I’d rather get settled in tonight so I can focus on work tomorrow.

The diner was starting to feel crowded, though half the booths were empty. Her skin prickled uncomfortably at having so many strangers in what suddenly felt like her space, though she couldn’t explain why she felt so territorial about a diner she’d just walked into.

Somewhere in the kitchen, she could hear two people whispering, though they were too far away to make out more than a few of their words: …have to tell Malcolm and Larissa…

…protocol for situations like this…

Another loaded look passed between the couple. Then Sarah pulled out her order pad and started writing.

At least let me give you my number, she said, tearing off the page and sliding it across the table. In case you need anything. Cell service can be spotty out there.

Etta took the paper, oddly touched by the gesture even as she wondered about the ulterior motive she sensed behind it. Thanks. That’s really kind of you.

It’s what neighbors do, Sarah said with another smile, this one reaching her eyes. Though you might want to stock up on some supplies before heading out there. The store closes in twenty minutes, but I can call ahead, ask them to stay open a bit longer?

The offer was tempting—she hadn’t thought about things like groceries in her rush to get on the road this morning—but something in her rebelled against accepting too much help too quickly. I’ve got some basics packed, she said. I’ll do a proper shop tomorrow.

Nick looked like he wanted to argue, but Sarah touched his arm again, and he subsided. Etta was starting to get the impression that was a common dynamic between them.

Etta finished her coffee and settled the tab with Sarah.

As she walked back to her car, she felt eyes on her from every direction.

Not just from the diner—from the shadows between buildings, from the barely lit windows of second-story apartments.

The wild scent from earlier seemed stronger now, making her head spin slightly.

She got into her car quickly, telling herself she was being ridiculous. They were just being typically small-town curious about a newcomer.

That was all.

The fact that her hands were shaking slightly as she started the engine was just fatigue from the long drive. The way her skin felt too tight, like it was trying to reshape itself, was just stress and too much coffee.

The road to her rental wound up into the hills, the lights of town falling away behind her. The moon was rising, nearly full, casting everything in silvery light that made the landscape look alien and familiar at the same time.

That strange scent grew stronger as she climbed, and with it came an inexplicable feeling of…rightness? Like she was heading exactly where she needed to be, even though every rational part of her brain was screaming that this whole situation was weird.

Her rental house appeared exactly where the directions said it would be—a small adobe structure set back from the road, its walls pale gold in the moonlight.

As she pulled into the driveway, her headlights swept across something that made her heart stutter: a pair of eyes reflecting green in the darkness, too high off the ground to be a fox.

Maybe a coyote? Etta didn’t have any experience with those, but she’d been under the impression they were small too.

She blinked, and the eyes were gone. Just her imagination. Had to be.

But as she got out of the car, that wild scent hit her again, stronger than ever. And this time, something deep inside her responded. Something that felt like it had been sleeping for a very long time and was finally starting to wake up.

What the hell kind of town is this?

As she grabbed her overnight bag from the trunk, another part of her—a part she didn’t recognize and wasn’t sure she wanted to examine too closely—whispered an answer to the question.

Home .

She shook off the thought and headed for the front door, her key ring clutched tightly in her hand. Whatever was going on in this town, whatever strange undercurrents she was picking up on, she’d figure it out.

That was what journalists did, after all.

Besides, she had a newspaper to run. Everything else—the weird welcome, the strange scents, the feeling that she was missing something huge and obvious—could wait until tomorrow.

But as she unlocked the door, she heard something that made her freeze: a long, mournful howl, echoing off the hills. It was answered by another, then another, until the night was full of howling.

And deep in her chest, something howled back.