Chapter One
BRYCE
“He’s here!” Tristan skidded into the kitchen, socks sliding on tile, eyes bright with excitement. “At least, a black Lexus just came up the driveway, and no one around here drives something like that.”
“Oh, joy,” Bryce muttered, pushing himself to his feet. They’d known this visit was coming—hell, they’d invited it—but now that it was here, every instinct screamed at him to bolt out the back door.
He caught Matt’s gaze across the room. His alpha gave him a short nod, more grim than encouraging. Matt was even less thrilled than he was. But this had to happen. And as pack beta, Bryce had a role inmakingit happen.
They’d been naïve to think they could hide Jesse forever, when he lit up under the moon like a damn nightlight. Argents were supposed to be legends, shrouded in mystery. Jesse,meanwhile, was snarky, perpetually ravenous, and picked fights with chickens.
But it didn’t matter how different Jesse was from the stories—the Argent name alone was enough to draw attention. And when word slipped out about Jesse, someone with too much money decided they wanted him and didn’t care who got hurt in the process.
That was why Matt’s answer had been simple—go public. Make Jesse official. Tie him so visibly to the pack that if anything happened to him, the whole damn world would know.
The Shifter National Council was the only group with the authority to make that kind of claim stick. The problem? The buyer, the person offering a fortune for Jesse, was someone sitting on that same Council. They just didn’t know who.
All of which made dealing with the Council a double-edged sword. And now, one of their representatives was on the pack’s doorstep.
He opened the door, forcing a smile that didn’t fool anyone, least of all the kid standing on the porch. The National Council had seen fit to send them a twelve-year-old. Or maybe an eighteen-year-old—it was getting hard to tell the difference at Bryce’s age of thirty-something.
However young the kid was, his immaculate dark suit probably cost more than Bryce made in a year, and his black shoes were as shiny as his slicked-back hair. He looked like he’d wandered out of a business school brochure.
“Taylor Caddel,” he said, flashing a practiced, unconvincing smile. He offered Bryce his hand in a way that just happened to show off the onyx and gold cufflink nestling in his pristine white cuff.
“Bryce Reynolds, beta of this pack,” Bryce said. He barely touched the soft hand, and the kid couldn’t hide his relief. “You better come in.”
Caddel walked in like he couldn’t wait to be done with this flyover-state detour and back in a Washington boardroom. Bryce didn’t look back, but he’d bet good money Taylor Caddel wiped his hand on his pants as he followed Bryce along the hallway that led to the kitchen.
Bryce made the introductions, and then sat at the table where Jesse and Matt were seated with Tristan and Colby. Matt had made it clear that all members of the pack would be welcome at this meeting, but only Tristan had been interested in the visit of some low-ranking flunky. “He’s from theNational Council, here to seeus,”he’d insisted. “OfcourseI want to be there.”
From the expression on Colby’s face right now, he was only there because of Tristan and not because he had some previously unsuspected fascination with politics.
Caddel might have looked twelve, but when he spoke, he had the smoothness and condescension Bryce associated with professional politicians.
“You’ll forgive me, Sheriff Urban, if I point out that it’s a somewhat unusual claim you’re making,” he said. “The last sighting of an Argent was—”
“Centuries ago,” Matt cut in, his voice hard. “Honestly, I almost believed they were a fairy tale, right up until I saw Jesse shift.”
Caddel froze for an instant, and when he looked at Jesse, his eyes were wide. Shock swiftly turned to disdain. “You’rethe alleged Argent?”
How the hell Matt didn’t knock the disbelief off the little brat’s face for insulting his mate was beyond Bryce. Though if he were being generous, he might think Caddel’s reaction was not entirely unreasonable. When people spoke about the legend that was the Argents, they threw around words like nobility and dignity. It was said they used to rule over all shifters. And Jesse…Jesse was many things, but he didn’t much look like a ruler of anything, his shoulder-length hair tangled the way it always seemed to be, the collar of his threadbare flannel shirt fraying.
Bryce had a feeling Jesse thought letting Matt buy him new clothes would count as charity, and Jesse didn’t take charity. Not even from Matt. The only time he’d heard Jesse mention the subject was when Tristan had innocently offered to take him down to the outfitters in town if he wanted some new jeans. Jesse had just stared at him, incredulous.
“I only just got these worn in the way I like them,” he’d said. “Why in the hell would I want to start over with another pair?”
Jesse’s snark had diverted Tristan without Jesse having to say an outright no, keeping his pride. Classic Jesse.
It wasn’t only Jesse who left Caddel unimpressed. He didn’t seem to think much of any of them. He asked a few questions about how Jesse looked when he was shifted and how long he’d been with the pack, but he wasn’t interested in the answers and didn’t take any notes as the evening deepened outside.
“The moon’s up,” Matt said. “I’m guessing you’ll want to see for yourself.”
“If you wouldn’t mind, Sheriff Urban,” Caddel said. “I’m sure you’ll understand we’ve had a few of these reports over the years, and usually it’s a particularly pale wolf that’s caused someone to misidentify them as an Argent.”
“Usually?” Jesse repeated, his voice sharp.
“Excuse me?” Caddel asked, looking taken aback that Jesse had dared question him.
