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D r. Slate makes a choking sound and Dr. Whitlock’s eyes widen, though she manages to hold in her mirth and recovers the fastest. “Bone…town?” She asks hesitantly.

One hand rubs the back of my neck as I answer. “Uh, yeah. I know we’re technically in the Ekdoti Sands, but a lot of the guys out here have been calling it Bone Town because the only thing around for miles is sand, and…well, bones.”

“Real mature.” Dr. Slate mutters under his breath. Dr. Whitlock, however, snorts out an unexpected laugh, snagging both my and the other professor’s attention. That sound shouldn’t be attractive, but I find it endearing coming from Dr. Whitlock.

“Sorry! Sorry.” She reins in her amusement. “It’s just that of course a bunch of men jumped on the opportunity to give it an inappropriate nickname. Honestly, we should be glad it was bones and not something else, or they would have tried naming it Pound Town.”

Dr. Slate pinches the bridge of his nose as if he’s frustrated and trying to tune her out, but I think there’s a hint of a smile hiding under his large hand. We’re toeing the line of professionalism, though, so I need to change the subject. The last thing I want is one of my idols in the field thinking I’m an immature beta with nothing to contribute to this dig.

“I read your last paper on Lunara, Dr. Whitlock. It’s an honor to have you on this project.” I hold out my hand to Dr. Whitlock first, then Dr. Slate. They seem haggard and tired after traveling, but the way they’re both looking around tells me they’re as eager to be here as I am.

“Thank you.” She smiles, but there’s a slight scrunch to her nose like she’s embarrassed by the compliment. I’ve followed the woman’s work for awhile—even seen a talk or two of hers online—so I knew she was attractive. But she’s also surprisingly… cute? There’s not really another word for it. Her cheeks are pink, she’s chewing on her lip, and she keeps stuffing her hands in her pockets, then taking them out, like she doesn’t know what to do with them. It’s adorable. And familiar. She looks about as nervous as I feel.

“A paper on Lunara? Who published it?” Dr. Slate asks.

All that awkwardness vanishes as she glares at him. “Oh, because no one would possibly publish a paper of mine, is that it?”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just didn’t know.” He huffs and crosses his arms. If he wasn’t such a massive man he would almost look petulant.

“It was the National Academies of Omega Sciences,” I offer, trying to be helpful before turning my attention back to Dr. Whitlock. “Your hypothesis revolving around the exact role Lunara played as the omega goddess was truly fascinating.”

Dr. Slate scoffs. “Everyone knows the myths that Lunara created omegas.”

“Of course, but that’s not what my hypothesis was.” She doesn’t elaborate.

His jaw tightens like he’s trying not to ask, but his curiosity is as obvious as a penicillin microbe in a petri dish. It’s almost comical.

I’m tempted to explain the thesis to him and put him out of his misery, but Dr. Whitlock shoots me a look that makes it clear I shouldn’t. Seems like she wants to make him work for it and ask for himself, which I can appreciate.

Having grown up around a lot of alphas, I like that she doesn’t bend to him. She’s got some fire under that nervousness. I think working with her is going to prove to be a lot of fun.

Dr. Slate picks up one of my thermal infrared cameras. I snatch it from his hand, then sheepishly set it on the table. I don’t like people touching my equipment, but there was probably a subtler way to do that. My things shouldn’t even be in here. This is the headquarters tent, and all the forensics equipment should be in the smaller tent next to it. Whoever the buffoons were who unloaded everything got it all mixed up. It’s an organizational nightmare that’s had me on edge since I got here last night.

“Uh… why don’t I show you both around a little?” I motion back the way they came and let the two of them go out first.

Despite the late hour, crew members are working diligently to get the site set up because during the day it’s too hot to do anything laborious. The main tent is set in the middle of camp, but we’re headed to the west side where the mess tent and sleeping quarters are. Well, less sleeping quarters and more a field of identical tents made to provide us with the bare minimum to sleep and change.

You’d think with the millions of dollars they’re spending on this project they could afford to give us something slightly better than a dorm-room mattress, but it is what it is.

It doesn’t take long to get the two anthropologists situated. As of right now the site is still relatively small, and there’s not much to say about tents and dirt.

There’s plenty to say about bones, but with the sun setting and the flood lights not up yet, there isn’t much we can do tonight.

After leaving Dr. Whitlock and Dr. Slate at the mess tent, I return to headquarters, anxious to get back to my task. It’s gonna take me all night to move my things. Maybe longer since whoever unloaded them did so without any rhyme or reason. They put microscopes next to shovels, the Lidar next to the sample collection kits. It’s more disorganized than the room I shared with my brothers in elementary school—and there were five of us crammed in there!

I’ve already spent all day trying to take inventory, and I’m still missing things.

Eager to set it right so I can actually get to work, I dive into my task. The main tent at least has a generator, so I can work here as late as I want. Maybe even listen to my music without disturbing anyone, as long as I keep it down.

As I shuffle through boxes of equipment, trying to set everything straight, a shadow falls to my right.

“If you’re here with the radar, set it over by the table,” I say, not looking up.

“You use radar for this shit?” The voice is deep, drawing my attention to a man in tactical gear. An alpha, if I had to guess, though everyone here is supposed to mask their scent while on the dig, so I can’t tell for sure. He’s tall, muscular, with a boy-ish grin that makes me want to know what he’s thinking. He even has dimples, which seem in complete opposition to his formidable build. I bet he could carry this stack of boxes in one hand while lifting me with the other, easy.

Not that an alpha would take much interest in lifting me.

He raises an eyebrow.

“Um…” What did he ask?

“Radar?” he prompts with a mischievous smile.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Ground-penetrating radar. It’ll give us a better sense of where to dig and what we might find. It’s pretty cool, actually. There’s this new device that uses electromagnetic pulses to generate an image of underground features and anomalies. It can even…” I stop myself before I can delve any deeper into technobabble, not wanting to bore him until he zones out. My family always gives me this droll, unfocused stare when I try to share the things I love with them, and I hate it. “Sorry.”

“No problem. You’re passionate about this.” He sounds sincere, I think. Right? It’s hard for me to tell sometimes.

“Most people don’t like listening to me talk about nerdy things.” I shuffle a few things around on the table, avoiding his gaze.

“Well, I’m not most people.” He leans against the table, making it creak and drawing my attention back to his face. “I might not understand what you were talking about, but I liked the way your whole face lit up. It’s clear you care about this stuff, and that’s…” His head gives one shake as he exhales a puff of air. He doesn’t finish the thought, but the look he’s giving me has my skin tightening everywhere.

“Are you the archeologist in charge?” He pauses like he’s trying to remember something, then snaps his fingers. “Dr. Slate, right?”

“I’m not an archeologist. Although, I do have a degree in anthropology.” And biology and forensics and chemistry. But I keep my mouth shut on all that. It tends to intimidate people. “I’m the technician. A forensics specialist. Gotta know if these bones are really as old as we think, or if this place is something to be more worried about.”

He stares off through the open flap in the tent, a wrinkle creasing between his brows. “The locals call this place the Sands of Blood. Seems with a name like that there’s cause to be cautious no matter how old the bones are.”

“You’re superstitious?” He doesn’t look the type.

He shrugs.

“The name actually refers to the way the sand changes when it rains heavily. Not often in the desert, but it does happen,” I say. “If the ground is saturated enough, localized iron oxide deposits in the sedimentary rock cause streaks of deep red to appear in the sand where the rivulets of water run. Hence, you know, the whole Sands of Blood thing.” I wave my hands to emphasize the spooky nature of the moniker.

His lips quirk up in a lopsided smile. He doesn’t respond to my explanation, though. Instead, he holds out his hand. “Bear. Head of security. Medic, too. So, if you need anything, just let me know.”

“I’m Archer. Archer Hale.” I shake his hand, warm skin heating mine, holding just a second too long before pulling back. Our eyes catch for a brief moment, his a light sandy brown like the desert behind him. His hair and beard have the slightest hint of red to them, and it makes me feel like he belongs here, amid the desert sands and hot sun. “Bear is a unique name.”

He chuckles. “It’s a nickname, but it's what I’m used to.”

“And your full name is…” I trail off, leaving the sentence open-ended in hopes he’ll fill in the rest.

“Hmm. Like I said, you can call me Bear. Maybe one day I’ll tell you, if you’re good.” He sends me a wink that has my blood stirring before continuing. “There are jackals out here at night, so be careful and stay close to the well-lit areas.” He strolls across the tent, pausing at the entrance to turn back. “It was nice to meet you, Arch.”

“You too,” I say, but the words come out soft and clipped. He’s gone before I’m sure if he heard me.