Chapter One
RILEY
Riley had thought living on the paper’s dime meant no more roach-infested, bottom-of-the-barrel motels. The sour smell of burnt coffee and the rack of faded tourist brochures in the lobby suggested otherwise, and his soul shriveled a little. But he forced a smile. No matter how much he hated it here, he’d have to play nice if he wanted the locals to talk.
“Can I help you, son?” The gray-haired woman behind the desk watched him with a shrewdness that suggested she was filing away every detail. Riley had been on the end of that look too many times before, but he couldn’t blame her. A place like this probably saw all kinds of strangers, and not all of them harmless.
“Riley Clark,” he said. “I’m booked for a week, maybe longer if I need it.”
As his car was the only one in the lot, it was clear a reservation hadn’t been needed. But everywhere else in town was out of his price range, and he couldn’t risk not getting a room.
“I’ve got you,” she said, finger stabbing a penciled entry in the page of an honest-to-God spiral-bound appointment book. She turned to take a metal key from a row of hooks behind the desk. He knew he’d left civilization miles ago, but he hadn’t realized he’d moved thirty years into the past when he’d passed the sign welcoming him to Elk Ridge.
“Room Seven,” she said. “What brings you to Elk Ridge?”
He gave a smile, the one he’d been practicing in the mirror. It made him look bashful yet a little proud at the same time. “I’m writing a travel guide,” he said. “Trying to get people to check out the real America, not just the tourist traps.”
Calculation flickered in her eyes. He was pleased with the cover story he’d invented—he could poke around and ask questions without raising suspicion. Every business owner in town would be dying to talk to him if they thought he could give them free advertising.
“When you made your reservation, I forgot to mention we’ve got a special offer going,” she said apologetically. “Three nights for the price of two.” She smiled at him for the first time, doubtless imagining the five-star write-up he’d give the motel.
“Thanks,” he said, biting back a smirk.
When she passed him the key, he noticed the nicotine-stained skin of her hand was rough and cracked, her knuckles swollen, and he pictured her scrubbing the floors of the motel herself, saving every last dime. He shouldered his bag. Wasn’t his problem. He was already doing enough, lettingThe Daily Sentinelfoot the bill for this place.
Stepping out into the bright sunshine, he went looking for his room. The motel was a shabby one-story building, with weeds growing through cracked asphalt. The far end of the lot was marked by a crumbling brick wall, and he wasn’t surprised to seethat no one had bothered to clear away the broken bricks and lumps of mortar strewn over the ground.
Expecting the worst when he unlocked his door, on which the number seven hung crookedly by one rusty screw, Riley was relieved to find the interior was clean. The grout in the bathroom was stained an unappealing brown in the corners, the curtains looked as if they’d once been cream rather than the dingy gray they now were, but the worn carpet had been vacuumed recently, and the shower and sink had no stains.
The chair looked safer than the bed, so he sank down into lime green vinyl, rubbing at the back of his neck and trying to ease his growing tension. The one thing he hadn’t expected when choosing his cover story was that it would bring back memories.
When he’d mentioned his travel guide to that old woman, it had crashed back in on him—the hours he’d spent planning scenic drives, hiking trails, the whole Great American Road Trip itinerary. The document that had taken him the best part of a year to finalize, sharing it excitedly with his dad, who’d promised him they’d take the trip together once he graduated high school. Back then, Riley had still thought he’d be a performer. An actor maybe, or a model, or something. He’d definitely besomeone.Planning that trip had felt just as thrilling. It had taken a year to create and seconds to destroy, once his dad found out the truth about Riley.
It had hurt, but it had taught him something important—even the people who were supposed to love you only stuck around if you were what they needed. Better not to get sucked in again.
And he had no business thinking about the past. Not when he was sitting on the kind of lead most journalists would kill for—the alleged sighting of an Argent shifter. He pulled a battered notebook from his bag, thumbing through the pages until he found the sketch he’d made of a wolf with an eerie silver sheen, half-concealed by forest shadow. It had helped him visualize what he was searching for.
Argents were supposed to be extinct. Ancient rulers of the shifter world, they’d been wiped out centuries ago. Maybe they’d been real, maybe they were just campfire stories. But if one had survived, and if the local alpha, Urban, was hiding it...
Riley glanced toward the window, half-expecting something to be watching him. With a shifter that rare under his thumb, Urban could unite the packs and challenge the government. Start a war between shifters and normal people.
If Riley could prove it, he wouldn’t just break a story. He’d make history. He’d matter. Enough that maybe his father would finally see what he’d walked away from.
But that would only happen if Riley kept his head down and didn’t get himself torn apart by wolves in the process. Urban was both sheriffandalpha in a one-horse town, a recipe for corruption and abuse of power. Riley would need to be careful.
He breathed out slowly and ran a hand through his hair as he stood, checking his reflection in the brown-speckled mirror. Small town or not, appearances mattered. Maybe he was being unfair, basing everything he knew about places like this on bad TV shows. But if they were even half right, all he had to do was let his story drop, go to ground for a day or two, and the town would do the rest. When he next emerged, everyone would know who he was and why he was here.
His skin itched at the prospect of having to spend even a day longer in this place than he absolutelyhadto. He needed to be back in the city where, even if he were on the outside, everyone was too busy to notice that fact. They’d buy his act that he was successful, unshakeable, and—well, happy. And once he broke this story, damn right he’d be all of those things.
* **
The size of the town meant it was only a couple of minutes before he was cruising down Main Street. It wasn’t exactly down-at-heel, but it gave the unmistakable impression the world had moved on and left it to fade gently into obscurity with its few shops and gas station.
A diner sat on the corner of a block, its red awning faded to pink. Looked like a place that served meatloaf and pre-made pies, probably drowned in gravy. Fantastic. He was going to have to eat like a trucker for a week.
He turned into the diner’s parking lot and killed the engine. Time to start work. He’d put his story out there and find out if anyone had a loose tongue.
JASON
