Page 3 of Beckett's Fate

He shrugged off his shirt, the cool air teasing across his bare skin as he toed off his boots and shed the rest of his clothing. He folded them neatly and set them inside one of the containers strewn throughout their territory for just that purpose. The wolf inside him stirred, eager and impatient, clawing for release. A deep breath steadied him, and then, with practiced ease, he let the shift take over.

His body tensed, muscles rippling as the swirling mist encompassed him—lightning, thunder and shards of color allresulting in his wolf coming forward with a rush of primal energy. The familiar burn of transformation was fleeting, replaced by the exhilaration of the wolf’s power taking hold. When it was over, Beck stood on four legs, his sleek black fur blending into the shadows. His eyes caught the glimmer of sunlight filtering through the trees, his senses alive with the forest's symphony.

Without hesitation, he surged forward, paws digging into the soft earth as he raced into the woods. The freedom of the run was intoxicating, a rare escape from the weight of his responsibilities. The forest blurred around him, the wind rushing past his ears as his wolf reveled in the primal joy of movement.

Here, he wasn’t the sheriff of Silver Falls or the alpha of the pack. He wasn’t the man burdened with decisions, laws, and the delicate balance of peace in a town brimming with shifters and secrets. Here, he was simply a wolf—wild, unrestrained, and utterly free.

Beck’s run took him through familiar trails, his paws instinctively finding paths he had walked most of his life. The scents of the forest filled his nose—pine resin, damp moss, the faint trace of deer nearby. His ears twitched at the rustle of leaves, the flutter of wings overhead. Everything felt sharper, more alive in this form.

He slowed as he reached a ridge that overlooked the valley, the town of Silver Falls nestled below like a hidden gem among the trees. From here, he could see the sleepy streets, the rooftops of buildings just beginning to catch the light of the rising sun. His wolf huffed softly, the sound almost like a sigh.

This was his home now. For better or worse, he had returned.

As the sheriff, he had a duty to protect this place, to ensure its safety not just for the humans who might venture to visit here, but for the shifters who called it their home. It had been that wayfor more than a century. The balance was fragile, and the people of Silver Falls trusted Beck to maintain and protect it.

But for now, at least, the town was quiet. The wolf within him could sense it—the peace of the morning, the stillness before the day began. Beck let himself soak in the moment, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding him.

He turned and began the run back, his pace easy but deliberate, savoring the simple joy of running free. By the time he reached the clearing where his clothes waited, the sun had climbed higher, its warmth cutting through the lingering chill. Beck shifted back, the wolf retreating as the man resumed his form. The transformation left him breathless, his skin tingling as he stood under the open sky.

Dressing quickly, he let his senses linger on the forest for a moment longer before turning toward his SUV. Responsibility waited for him back in Silver Falls—laws to enforce, people to protect, and the ever-present undercurrent of pack and clan politics to navigate. But after the run, he felt ready. Grounded. Alive.

He strode toward his truck, the demands of the day ahead already settling on his shoulders. But deep down, the wolf inside him remained steady and strong, a reminder of the wild freedom that would always be waiting for him in the woods.

2

IRENE

The jagged peaks of the Superstition Mountains loomed high above the small village Irene Blakiston called home. There were no permanent buildings per se, but the pack had set up semi-permanent yurts and had installed the infrastructure to give them running water and sanitation, as well as a meeting hall of sorts.

Beneath the fading light of the setting sun, she sat on a boulder at the edge of the clearing, a map spread across her lap. The tattered parchment was a mess of faded lines and cryptic notes—clues to the legendary Lost Dutchman’s mine. But her green eyes were fixed on a different piece of paper. A newer map, its edges crumpled from time and marked with carefully drawn notations and a single, tantalizing word:Silver Falls. It was the handwriting of her ancestor, Isaiah Blakiston.

“Irene!” A sharp voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

Irene looked up as Sophie strode into the clearing, her blonde hair catching the last rays of sunlight. Sophie was the pack’s unofficial second-in-command, her sharp instincts and sharper tongue keeping everyone in line.

“What is it, Sophie?” Irene asked, folding the map before the other woman could get a good look.

Sophie crossed her arms, arching a brow. “The others are waiting. You said you had news.”

Irene stood, brushing dirt off her jeans. “I do.” Her tone carried enough of an edge to draw a flicker of curiosity from Sophie’s otherwise skeptical expression.

The two women made their way to the heart of the camp, where the rest of their pack had gathered around the fire. Five women, each with her own scars and stories, each bound by the unspoken bond of survival. The mingling scents of smoke, pine, and she-wolf filled the air.

Irene stepped into the circle, her heart pounding. She’d thought long and hard about this, but now that the moment had come, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was making the right call.

“I’ve found something,” she began, holding up the map she’d folded moments before. “A new lead. A better one.”

The women exchanged glances, their expressions ranging from cautious curiosity to outright skepticism.

Sophie broke the silence first. “Better than the ones we’ve been following? That’s a bold claim.”

“It is,” Irene agreed, her eyes steady as she met Sophie’s gaze. “But the Dutchman’s mine has been a dead end for years. We, and thousands of others, have combed these mountains, followed every clue, and come up empty-handed every time.”

“That’s because we’re close,” Gwen interjected, her tone defensive. “You can’t just give up now.”

“I’m not giving up,” Irene said firmly. “But I’ve found something more promising. I was looking in some family mementos—things left to me by my ancestors. There are clues to a cache of silver hidden in Colorado, up near Silver Falls. The research is solid—better than anything we’ve ever had from the Dutchman. If we find it, it could be the answer we’ve been looking for. Enough to secure all of us, to give us real safety.”

“You’re really going to go through with this?” asked Gwen.

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