Sergeant stared through the window behind Dillon’s desk in the security office. The darkness was absolute—even the top branches of the trees at the bottom of the lawn blended into the night sky. No definition, no indication that trees were even there. He’d opted to take Dillon’s place tonight, working this shift so that Dillon could get some much-needed sleep. Both of the other security guards were ill with some kind of cold virus, and having no one keeping an eye on the Highgate compound overnight wasn’t an option. It wasn’t Sergeant’s favorite thing to do, prowling the grounds on the hour every hour and constantly checking the CCTV screens, but needs must.

A shiver rattled through him—that darkness out there went beyond black and it creeped him out. He wasn’t one to scare easily, but man, a little light on the subject was in order. He turned his back on the window—another shiver, more violent this time, colder and creeping into his bones—then jabbed a button on the keyboard. Light from the back porch flooded in, brightening the desk and the papers sitting on it.

He sighed as he glanced at one of the CCTV monitors, seeing nothing in there but the wooden porch itself, the lawn and the tree line in the far distance. Nothing appeared to be amiss. It was going to be a long night.

Why the hell does Dillon like this shift?

Sergeant supposed that Dillon’s training as a spy had something to do with his tolerance of boring hours spent keeping those on the Highgate compound safe. It was in the man’s blood, waiting out time, making sure those he was in charge of protecting were, in fact, protected. Maybe the anticipation of waiting for something to happen was what kept Dillon going. Maybe he got an adrenaline rush with the idea that at any second, everything could go wrong and he’d have to spring into action. Sergeant wasn’t getting that feeling himself right now. Boredom was setting in. He’d have to remember to give Dillon extra kudos for doing this job night after night. The man didn’t get enough praise, in Sergeant’s opinion, although he tried to compliment his lover every day. He yawned, glad that it was time to do something productive.

How he stays awake during the minutes between the hourly ground checks is beyond me.

Rising to stretch out the kinks—his muscles protested from him sitting in the same position for just under an hour—Sergeant braced himself to tour the compound. It was five to midnight—only another seven hours to go before Dillon came and joined him.

That moment couldn’t come quickly enough.

Sergeant shrugged on his jacket then patted his pocket to make sure his phone was still in there. After a swift look at the CCTV monitors again, he left the office, turning right and heading toward the back door. A couple of bunches of keys dangled from a hook beside the jamb. They were copies of the same set, in case more than one guard needed them at the same time. He took one down and opened the door to be greeted by chilly air and a bit of a stiff breeze. Another couple of hours and he’d possibly freeze his bollocks off when he did his rounds. The temperature was dropping fast. He stood on the threshold for a moment, sniffing. All he could smell was the scent of wolves. Many shifters from Highgate went out for a midnight run, preferring the darkness to sunshine, feeling safe from prying human eyes.

He stepped onto the porch and scanned the immediate area. Nothing seemed amiss, thank God. He didn’t fancy dealing with fulls—humans—who sometimes decided to use Highgate land as a shortcut to the town of Morgan’s Creek. He locked the door, readying himself for a swift jog around the compound, then slipped the bunch of keys in his pocket.

A shove of wind pressed into him, which startled him more awake, made him more alert. He hoped a tornado wasn’t on the way. They’d not had many this year, but there was still time.

This is what keeps Dillon awake, then. Damn cold nights.

It had to be below freezing already, a stark contrast to the days, which were mainly dry and humid. Still, nothing he could do about it so there was no point griping. He decided to take a left, walking down the side of the house toward the front driveway. The pack apartments sat to the right across the lawn, and he glanced at them, seeing most of the lights were out.

By the front door of the main pack house, he studied the drive, squinting as he checked that no one loitered at the end of it on the main road. Then he inspected the parked cars. Nothing had changed since the last time he’d been out here, so he continued left until he reached the other corner of the house. The tree line started a little way ahead, and it skirted the lawn out back, creating a walled enclosure of sorts. He turned left again and walked beside the trees on his right, happy that no one was on the lawn but expecting someone to be in the forest—a wolf, most definitely, a member of Highgate he’d recognize in an instant. Most wolves who chose to run at night stopped roaming around two a.m., returning to their apartments and flaking out until morning.

Sergeant stopped at a corner where the trees grew along the bottom of the lawn. He had the urge to shift and run himself, and he toyed with that idea. It would not only give him a chance to be his wolf but he could also check out the forest and the rest of the lands quicker than if he were human.

He nodded. Yeah, he’d damn well shift. Maybe it would kill the lethargy still lingering in his bones. Kill the boredom too. He undressed, leaving his clothes in a pile at the foot of a tree trunk. The cold air bit his skin, and he shivered. Then he shifted, shrugging into his new form with ease, glad of his fur coat. Fuck, he loved being a wolf. It gave him such a sense of freedom and belonging. As though he was who he was supposed to be—in the form he was supposed to be in.

Scenting the air once again, he cocked his head. There was a wolf out here all right, but he didn’t recognize its smell. His hackles went up and he strained to listen for any sounds that indicated rogue animals were in the near vicinity. A gust of wind brought with it another whiff of a stranger, and he entered the tree line, darting his head from left to right, eager to spot a wolf hiding in the shadows. There had been many strangers here of late. They’d turned out to be nice people who’d ended up making their home at Highgate, but that didn’t mean tonight’s uninvited guest or guests were welcome. Highgate’s policy was to surround any trespassers as wolves, standing in a circle around them, not letting them walk free until Dillon or Sergeant had checked them out on the shifter database and deemed them safe.

If he caught up with the newcomer now, Sergeant would have to howl and hope any Highgate shifters were in the vicinity to come and help him. Approaching an unknown by himself wasn’t something he relished, but if he had to, he’d do it. Fight if it was called for, too—anything to protect his pack. That was what alphas did, and he prided himself on being one of the best.

The scent wasn’t strong, which led him to believe the wolf—and he sensed it was only one stranger—hadn’t ventured close to the lawn yet. No, this interloper was still in the forest, undercover and possibly spying. Of course, the wolf could just be having a run and had accidentally stepped onto Highgate land. Or maybe one of the pack had met their mate, someone who lived elsewhere, and they were meeting up in the forest.

Out of the three scenarios, Sergeant wished for the latter. At least then it would just be a case of introducing himself, giving the Highgate wolf a stern talking to about not alerting Sergeant that he or she had an out-of-Highgate mate, then returning to the house after finishing his tour of the grounds. The other two situations could be a little tricky. Explaining to a foreign wolf that he couldn’t just trample over pack lands when he felt like it had proved awkward in the past—wolves that belonged to no pack didn’t care for rules. And as for someone spying, out there to potentially cause the pack harm…

Well, that fucker will soon see the sharp side of my teeth and it won’t be because I’m smiling.

Sergeant padded into the forest, following the scent. The closer he got to the pond in the clearing at the center of the forest, the stronger the smell became. So maybe the stranger was resting—or, as he still hoped, two mates had met and were spending time together at the water’s edge. It was a favorite spot for Highgate wolves to gather. Many a time, Sergeant and Dillon had stopped there, stretching out to stare at the night sky sprinkled with stars, or indeed the daytime blue dotted with puffy white clouds.

He sighed, wishing they were doing that now. They didn’t get enough R & R together, the pair of them being devoted to the pack, the needs of the other wolves always coming first. Sometimes, Sergeant wished he wasn’t an alpha—just for a day, maybe even a week—so that he and Dillon could fuck off somewhere and take a break.

But what else would Sergeant do if he wasn’t alpha?

Nothing. There’s nothing I’d rather do for a job. Highgate is my life. Everyone here is my family.

As he drew closer to the clearing, the scent intensified. Oh yeah, the wolf was around here somewhere, no doubt about that. There was something musty about the smell, as though the wolf’s fur was smothered in the aroma of old books. Did the wolf work as a human in a library? That sounded stupid, but the idea of that wouldn’t leave Sergeant’s mind. Was he picking up on the other wolf’s thoughts? Sergeant wasn’t mated to anyone but Dillon, so reading another’s mind was out of the question. So why did he feel that was what was happening here?

It made him uneasy.

With caution, he approached the circular tree line bordering the clearing. While he was in the shadowy shroud of the trees he was safer. Once he walked out there, on show for anyone hiding to see, he became vulnerable. Fuck. Why hadn’t he phoned Dillon before he’d shifted? Why wasn’t he howling now, asking for help? His gut told him something bad was going on here—or would be going on—yet he was resisting making the distress call. What, did he think himself able to take anyone on alone now, at his age? He wasn’t a spring chicken anymore. His days of fighting and strutting about cocksure of himself were coming to an end—he had another ten years tops before he’d need the assistance of a younger, more agile wolf who would help by dealing with shit like this for him.

He panted out a puff of air—a wry, silent laugh at how he was making himself old before his time—and scanned the area. He was approaching the fall of his life, but he wasn’t anywhere near the winter yet. He could still take on anyone who had it in mind to brawl with him.

Perhaps that was why he hadn’t called for help yet. Was he subconsciously trying to prove something on this little mission?

If it was subconscious, it isn’t any longer. Yeah, I know that’s what I’m doing. Proving something to myself. Like a jerk, because, fuck, I could be putting the pack in danger with my need to show I’m capable.

“Dillon?” He pushed the word toward his mate, hoping Dillon would wake up. “Hey, Dillon. Come on, man, I need some help here.”

Sergeant held his breath, listening not only for Dillon’s response but for any suspicious sounds around him. All he heard, though, was what he guessed was the rustling of the bed sheets as Dillon rolled over—or it might even have been the ripple of the pond water as the strengthening wind brushed over the surface. Shaking his head to concentrate better, Sergeant focused on what was going on around him, not inside his head. It was imperative that Dillon wake up and help him, but what use would Dillon be if Sergeant got caught up in a fight because he hadn’t been paying proper attention?

His stomach muscles contracted, and the hairs along his back stood on end. They danced, causing goosebumps to spring up. Something definitely wasn’t right here. An image floated through his mind, of that library he’d thought of, and in that room was the ultimate wolf leader, Alpha Newart, sitting behind a huge desk that was more like a dining table. Sergeant growled in frustration, confused as to where the visual had come from. Was he picking up on a dream that Dillon was having? Was his mate’s nighttime sleep entertainment seeping into his head? Shit, he didn’t need this distraction, had to keep his mind sharp and his thoughts clear. His situation demanded that he stopped his mind from wandering and zoned in on the task at hand.

Come on now, focus.

He looked around, sensing that the wolf wasn’t behind him or in this section of the forest but ahead, somewhere opposite, watching him. The idea of that sent a shudder through him—the second time tonight he’d felt slightly afraid and creeped out. Maybe he was closer to his winter years than he’d thought. Being out here, alone and without backup, was one of the more stupid things he’d done in his life.

“Dillon. Wake the hell up, man.”

“Sergeant?”

“Thank fuck for that.”

“What’s up?” Dillon asked.

Sergeant felt his mate’s alarm. It flung itself at him, almost making him flop to the ground.

“I’m near the clearing,” Sergeant said, annoyed that his words were shaky. “Someone’s out here—a stranger. I don’t feel so good. Like I’m coming down with something. I can’t think as sharp as usual. My mind feels muddy.”

“What the hell? Two minutes—hang on for two minutes and I’ll be right with you.”

Relief took the place of Dillon’s alarm, and Sergeant found himself lowering to the forest floor until his belly rested on the damp grass. He seemed to have no control over his actions, and that old-book stench was getting stronger. He blinked, then a mist rolled across the pond from the opposite side of the clearing, crawling toward him, a menacing swirl of gray that appeared as a massive figure.

That can’t be right. I’m seeing things.

He struggled to get up, but his legs didn’t want to play the game. There was no strength in them, and Christ, his head was getting muzzier by the second. That smell, it intensified, almost choking him. As the mist came closer, it seemed an arm reached out, a hand with curled fingers that beckoned to him, as though whoever the figure was wanted him to move forward.

No, it’s just mist. Smoke?

Sergeant shook his head. He wanted to close his eyes, to sleep, and before he could stop himself, he gave in to tiredness. Floating in the state between being awake and in slumber, he swore he heard a voice.

“That’s it, Sergeant. Sleep now. Sleep.”