Page 4 of Anders (The Sunburst Pack #2)

He trailed off, his attention caught by movement on one of the feeds. A dark sedan was pulling into the driveway of the Martinez house.

She’s arriving now, he reported, zooming in on the vehicle. New Mexico plates, rental car based on the windshield sticker. Driver matches the photo ID from her employment records.

Malcolm leaned over Anders’s shoulder, studying the feed. What do you make of her?

Anders watched as Etta Barone stepped out of the car. Her movements were fluid, efficient—almost predatory. She paused, lifting her head slightly in a motion any wolf would recognize: scenting the air.

But her next actions made no sense. Instead of acknowledging Quinton’s presence—which any wolf would have detected immediately—she simply collected her bags from the trunk and headed inside.

What was that ? Malcolm murmured.

What? Sarah asked, and Malcolm recapped Etta’s motions for Nick and Sarah.

Either she doesn’t know what she is, Anders said slowly, or she’s very good at pretending not to know.

Neither option is particularly comforting, Malcolm growled.

On the phone, Nick made a sound of agreement. Should we confront her directly?

Not yet, Anders said, already mapping out scenarios. If she’s truly unaware of her nature, a direct confrontation could be dangerous—for her and us. If she’s faking, we don’t want to show our hand too early.

Agreed, Malcolm said. For now, we watch and gather information.

Sounds good, Nick said.

Malcolm straightened, his alpha authority settling over him. Nick, Sarah, keep running the diner as normal. We don’t want to spook her. But document everything—any odd behaviors, any unusual reactions. Anders—

Already on it, Anders said, fingers flying across the keyboard as he expanded his search parameters. I’ll have the new cameras up by midday tomorrow. And I’m running deeper background checks on both her and SwiftStay Properties.

Good. Malcolm turned back to the phone. Thank you both for catching this. Keep us updated on any changes.

Let us know if we can help in any way, Sarah said.

Will do. After disconnecting the call, Malcolm stared at the map Anders had pulled up on one of his monitors, his finger tracing the short distance between the Martinez house and the Old Packhouse. This is a problem.

Three hundred yards, Anders confirmed, his voice clipped. Well within surveillance range of our primary security hub.

Too close, Malcolm muttered. If she’s some kind of infiltrator…

My thoughts exactly. Anders pulled up the property’s blueprints. The house has clear sight lines to both the training grounds and the pack library.

And this new security hub too , he thought, though he didn’t say the words aloud.

Malcolm straightened, running a hand through his hair. We need eyes on her. Not just cameras—direct observation.

Agreed. Anders was already standing. I’ll head over now. I need to check the security sensors in that sector anyway, plan placement for the new ones.

Be careful, Malcolm warned. If she really doesn’t have information about other shifters…

I know. Anders’s voice was grim. I’ll maintain distance, stick to the shadows. Standard recon protocols.

Malcolm nodded, then hesitated. When was the last time you shifted?

Anders paused. Three days ago. Maybe four.

You need the run, Malcolm said. Clear your head. Your wolf’s probably getting restless.

He wasn’t wrong. Anders could feel his wolf stirring beneath his skin, eager for release. He’d been so focused on setting up the command center, he’d neglected that basic need.

I’ll shift for the recon, he conceded. Better stealth capabilities in wolf form, anyway.

Malcolm’s lips twitched. Always the tactician. Never just admitting you miss running on four legs.

Tactical advantages are tactical advantages, Anders said dryly. I’ll report back in two hours.

Once outside, Anders moved swiftly through the shadows until he reached the tree line. Here, hidden from view, he efficiently stripped and secured his clothes in a hollow he’d previously prepared for just such occasions.

The shift rippled through him, smooth and natural after years of practice. His wolf surged forward eagerly, senses expanding as fur replaced skin, as his body realigned itself into its other natural form.

Anders shook out his coat, his wolf reveling in the freedom of this shape. The night air carried a thousand scents: sage and creosote bush, rabbit and deer, the lingering marks of pack members who’d passed this way earlier.

Focus , he reminded himself. This is reconnaissance, not a pleasure run .

Still, he couldn’t deny the joy that coursed through him as he loped through the desert night, his paws carrying him swiftly and silently toward his target. His wolf form moved with natural stealth, blending with the shadows as he approached the Martinez house.

Anders circled the property once, noting entry points and defensive vulnerabilities. The house sat on a slight rise, giving it excellent views of the surrounding area—including, he noted with renewed concern, the Old Packhouse.

Movement caught his eye. Through one of the front windows, he could see Etta Barone moving around her new bedroom. She was making her bed, her movements precise and efficient. Even through the glass, there was something compelling about her presence that drew his attention.

Her white-blonde hair caught the moonlight, making her appear almost ethereal as she moved through the room.

She was striking—tall and athletic, with high cheekbones and an aristocratic jawline. Her eyes, when she’d glanced toward the window earlier, had flashed golden in the darkness. Even her teeth, barely glimpsed when she’d yawned, showed the slightly elongated canines typical of their kind.

Anders settled into the shadows of a large creosote bush, watching.

She moved like a predator, he realized. The way she scanned her surroundings, the way she positioned herself in relation to exits—all classic wolf behaviors.

But there was something else. Something that made his wolf stir restlessly.

Etta paused, tilting her head in that familiar gesture of scenting the air. After a moment, she shook her head and returned to her task.

She looked like a wolf who had forgotten she was a wolf.

The thought made his chest ache with sympathy, and he pushed the feeling down.

He couldn’t afford to feel anything for this stranger.

Not until he knew if she was a threat to his pack.

Anders maintained his surveillance as Etta moved through the house, turning off lights, and eventually slipped into her bed.

Once he was certain she was asleep, Anders crept closer to examine her vehicle. The rental car was clean. No personal items visible, no distinguishing marks beyond the standard rental company identifiers.

He was about to retreat when the wind shifted, bringing with it a scent that stopped him in his tracks.

Her scent, presumably.

Mine , his inner wolf announced.

Wait. What?

Anders shook his head.

Granted, Etta’s scent was like nothing he’d ever encountered—sweet and spicy, with an underlying note of wolf that was…different, somehow.

But there was something else. Something other than that…

Mate!

The word exploded through his consciousness as his wolf surged forward, desperate to claim the woman Anders had been sent to surveil.

Anders’s whole body trembled with the need to howl, to announce his claim, to wake her and—

No .

He shut down the instinct ruthlessly, forcing his wolf back under control.

This woman was a potential threat to his pack. He could not—would not—let his wolf’s instincts override tactical necessity.

But oh, how his wolf fought him. Every fiber of his being yearned to go to her, to wake her, to help her understand what she was, what they could be together.

She’s dangerous , he reminded himself. A security risk. Focus on the mission .

Through sheer force of will, Anders backed away from the house.

His wolf whined, physically pained by each step that took him further from his mate. But Anders had not become head guardian by letting instinct override duty.

Still, he couldn’t help casting one last look at her bedroom window, where his mate slept, unaware of both her true nature and his presence.

The thought made his chest ache.

Tactical assessment first , he told himself firmly. Evaluate the threat. Protect the pack. Everything else is secondary .

But as he turned to head back to his command center, Anders knew he was lying to himself.

Nothing about this situation would ever be secondary.

He forced himself to run, to focus on the tactical aspects of what he’d learned.

The house’s vulnerabilities. The sight lines that needed to be blocked. The security measures that needed to be implemented, the new cameras he needed to install.

Not the way his mate’s scent still filled his nose, making his wolf want to howl in frustrated need.

Not the way his entire body hummed with the urge to turn back, to go to her, to claim what his wolf knew was his.

Focus. Plan. Protect .

Those were the words Anders repeated to himself as he ran through the desert night, his wolf’s agony a constant counterpoint to his forced discipline.

He would do his job. He would protect his pack.

Even if it meant denying his own mate.

Even if it killed him.

The Old Packhouse came into view, its familiar bulk a stark reminder of his duties.

Anders paused at the tree line where he’d left his clothes but didn’t shift back immediately.

Instead, he allowed himself one long moment to feel everything his wolf was experiencing—the pain, the longing, the bone-deep certainty that he’d found his mate.

Then he locked it all away.

He had a report to prepare for Malcolm. Security measures to implement. A pack to protect.

Everything else would have to wait.

No matter how much his wolf howled in protest.