Page 13 of Malcolm (The Sunburst Pack #1)

T HE ACRID STENCH OF fear clung to Hannah like a second skin as she crouched in the shadows at the edge of pack territory. The cool night air, on the other hand, carried the scents of home—dust, sage, creosote, and the underlying musk of wolf—making her throat tight with longing.

Beside her, Gregory’s breathing was controlled, measured, but Hannah could sense the tension coiled within him. One wrong move, one misplaced step, and everything would be over.

They both knew it.

Hannah’s ears pricked at the sound of voices carried on the wind. Her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of two figures in the distance, their silhouettes unmistakable even in the moonlight.

“Malcolm and Larissa,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“On patrol,” Gregory murmured back. “We need to time this perfectly.”

Hannah watched as the two figures drew closer, their usual bickering drifting toward them on the night breeze. But there was something different in their voices tonight, an undercurrent of tension distinct from their usual rivalry.

Malcolm’s deep chuckle echoed through the desert night. “Since when do you back down from a challenge?”

Larissa put her hands on her hips and cocked her head. “I never back down.”

They stood frozen, the air between them crackling. Hannah’s breath caught as Larissa stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Malcolm. Then, in a move that made Hannah’s jaw drop, Malcolm pulled Larissa into a passionate kiss.

A pang of jealousy and resentment shot through Hannah, bitter as bile. She remembered a time when she had been at the center of the pack, when her opinion had mattered.

Now she was reduced to skulking in the shadows.

“They’re distracted.” Gregory’s urgent whisper snapped her back to the present. “This is our chance.”

Pushing aside her emotions, Hannah nodded. They moved swiftly through the scrub brush as quietly as possible, every sense on high alert.

Each rustle of branches, every snap of a twig under her foot, each tiny piece of gravel rolling away from her footstep, sounded like a gunshot in the quiet night.

But Malcolm and Larissa remained oblivious, lost in their embrace.

As she and Gregory slipped past the patrol line and made their way into town, the full force of pack territory scents washed over Hannah.

It was like a punch to the gut, memories flooding back with each familiar smell.

The dust of the training grounds where she had once proven herself.

The lingering scent of the communal fires where pack bonds were forged and strengthened.

The faint traces of individual pack members—some she had called friends, others rivals, all now potential enemies.

They navigated through the shadows, avoiding well-lit areas and potential encounters.

Hannah’s mind raced with each landmark they passed.

The stand of cottonwood trees where she had first shifted.

The Desert Sunrise Diner, where she had gossiped with packmates on lazy summer days.

The rocky outcropping where Vincent had first noticed her potential.

Vincent. Tears sprang to her eyes. Their destination loomed before them—Vincent’s former home, its imposing silhouette a symbol of the power she had once been so close to grasping.

Gregory tested the electronic lock. No one had bothered to change the code.

They exchanged a look of grim satisfaction before slipping inside.

Almost immediately, the lingering scent of Vincent and his mate Karla hit Hannah’s sensitive nose. It brought back a flood of memories—strategy meetings, clandestine conversations, promises of power and position.

All turned to ash now.

Inside, they moved through the opulent living room, their footsteps echoing against the slate floors beneath the vaulted ceilings.

Other than the scent of disuse permeating the place, Vincent’s home, which had always seemed a fortress of brick and power in the heart of Sunburst, hadn’t changed much.

Not physically, anyway.

In Vincent’s study, Gregory immediately began searching for hidden compartments or safes. Hannah took up position by the window, scanning for any sign of movement.

She caught another glimpse of Malcolm and Larissa in the distance as they returned from their patrol. They had separated now, but the tension between them was visible even from afar.

A sneer curled Hannah’s lip. Let them have their moment of passion. It would make their downfall all the sweeter when the time came.

“Got ’em.” Gregory’s triumphant whisper drew her attention. He held up a stack of documents.

Hannah moved closer, her curiosity piqued. “What are they?”

“Insurance,” Gregory replied, quickly leafing through the papers. “Blackmail material, financial records, details of alliances with other packs. Vincent was always prepared for every eventuality.”

A thrill of excitement ran through Hannah.

This was more than she had dared hope for. With this information, they could begin to rebuild their power base. They could—

A sudden noise from outside froze them both in place.

Hannah peered out the window, certain they had been discovered. But it was only a desert cottontail. The rabbit darted across the xeriscaped yard, and Hannah blew out a relieved breath.

“We need to go,” Gregory said, tucking the documents into his jacket. “We’ve pushed our luck far enough tonight.”

Hannah nodded, taking one last look around the study.

Her eyes fell on a small, framed photograph.

It showed her—along with several other pack members—standing beside Vincent, everyone smiling at some long-forgotten pack event.

She picked it up, her fingers tracing the image of her younger, more naive self.

“We don’t have time for sentimentality.” Gregory’s voice held a note of warning.

She knew he was right, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave the photo behind. It was a reminder of everything she had lost—and everything she was fighting to regain. With a series of quick movements, she pulled it out of its frame, folded it in half, and slipped it into her pocket.

They made their way out of the house as silently as they had entered, the stolen items safely hidden. They made their way around to the back of the home, and as they reached the edge of the property, Hannah paused, unable to resist one last look back at the town and the pack grounds.

The moon hung low in the sky, bathing everything in a soft, silvery light. The houses stood silent and dark, their occupants unaware of the intruders in their midst.

In the distance stood the silhouette of Sunburst Mesa, its dark height looming over the town, where she had once dreamed of standing as Vincent’s second-in-command.

Someday, she vowed silently, she would reclaim her place, no longer an outcast but a leader in her own right.

“We need to move.” Gregory’s voice was soft but insistent.

As they crossed the open land toward the far western boundary of the pack’s territory, Hannah caught a fresh scent on the wind. Her blood ran cold as she recognized it—Conall, one of the twins. He was close, too close, and moving in their direction.

She grabbed Gregory’s arm, pulling him to a stop. “Conall,” she breathed, her voice barely audible. “He’s coming this way.”

“We split up,” he whispered. “I’ll lead him away. You get clear of the territory with the documents.”

“But—” Hannah began to protest, but Gregory cut her off, shoving her down onto her knees in the dirt and stuffing the files they’d taken from Vincent’s home into her hands.

“No arguments,” he said. “You’re faster than I am, and we can’t risk losing what we came for. Go north, to the old Caledonia mine. I’ll meet you there.”

Before Hannah could respond, Gregory was gone, crashing through the scrub brush with deliberate noise.

Conall gave a startled shout, followed by the sound of pursuit fading into the distance.

For an instant, Hannah continued crouching, frozen, divided between the instinct to flee and the urge to help Gregory. But she knew he was right—the documents were too important to risk. Gritting her teeth, she staggered to her feet and ran, practically flying over the familiar terrain.

She didn’t stop running until she was well clear of pack borders, the nighttime sounds of the desert giving way to the windswept quiet of the high plains.

Only then did she allow herself to slow, gulping in great lungfuls of the cool night air.

The Caledonian silver mine loomed before her, the remains of the old hoist house now a dilapidated silhouette against the star-strewn sky.

Hannah approached cautiously, alert for any sign of other shifters. But everything was still, the only movement the gentle swaying of scrub brush in the desert breeze.

Carefully, she made her way into the hoist house, relying on her lupine eyesight to guide her in the dark. Hannah wrinkled her nose at the stale air even as a wave of relief washed over her.

They had done it. Against all odds, they had infiltrated pack territory and escaped with valuable intel.

She sank onto a rickety chair in one corner of the room, finally allowing the tension to drain from her body.

Her hand brushed against her pocket, and she pulled out the photograph she had taken from Vincent’s study.

In the dim moonlight filtering in through the gaps in the building, she stared at the image of her younger self.

She had been so naive then, so sure of her path. Vincent had promised her power, position, a chance to be more than just another packmate. And she had believed him, had done whatever it took to stay in his good graces.

Now here she was, an outcast, a fugitive from her own pack. And yet… Hannah’s grip tightened on the photo. And yet she was still fighting. Still clawing her way toward power, toward a future where she would never again be at anyone’s mercy.

A noise outside snapped her out of her reverie. Hannah was on her feet in an instant, her body tensed. But then Gregory’s scent reached her, and she let out a breath.

Gregory stumbled through the door, his clothes torn and dirty, a fresh cut oozing blood on his cheek. But his eyes were bright with triumph.

“Told you I’d make it,” he said, a wry smile twisting his lips.

Relief so strong it made her knees weak washed into her. She hadn’t realized until then how much she had come to rely on Gregory, how lost she would have been without him.

“What happened?” she asked, guiding him to the chair she had vacated. “Did Conall recognize you?”

Gregory shook his head, wincing slightly at the movement. “No, I managed to keep ahead of him until I could circle back. Lost him in that ravine near the eastern border.”

Hannah nodded. “What’s our next move?”

“We need to go through the documents,” he said finally. “See exactly what we’re dealing with. Then we can start making plans.”

Hannah nodded, pulling out the stack of papers. “And after that?”

A cold smile curved his lips. “After that,” he said softly, “we start taking back what’s ours.”