Page 10 of Bound to the Griffin (Hillcrest Hollow Shifters #3)

Jackson

The cold hit me harder when I shut the door behind us, like I could still feel the storm trying to claw its way in.

Gwen was trembling in my arms, her hair damp against my coat, her lips pale from the wind.

I wanted to wrap her up and never let go.

She was right where she belonged, in my arms, in my nest.

Instead, I carried her toward the couch and gently put her down.

“Sit,” I told her, voice low and steady.

She didn’t argue—just sank into the cushions, the silver thermal blankets I’d asked Drew to fetch crinkling and rustling around her.

I even pulled the old quilt off the back of the couch to tuck it around her, and I pulled off her boots so she could tuck her cold toes beneath the blankets.

The fire was next. I dropped to one knee at the hearth, striking matches until sparks caught and curled into flame.

The smell of cedar rose into the room, and I let it fill the silence while I stole a glance at her.

She looked small like that, bundled up, watching the firelight dance.

It made her dark hair seem shadowed, with a hint of gold at the edges, and her eyes reflected the flames.

So beautiful, and so very much meant to be mine.

I’d tried keeping my distance before, after Grandma Liz had come in here warning me not to make a mistake.

I had tried telling myself it was for her own good, and mine.

Now, with her in my cabin, there was no distance left in me.

She was mine. That truth sat in my chest like a steady drumbeat.

I hadn’t been mistaken that day when our eyes collided inside Luther’s store.

The truth had spoken then, as it did now.

She was my soulmate, the other half of me, odds be damned.

Four couples weren’t any stranger than three at this point; we were already an anomaly.

“Cold?” I asked, because I’d been away from my cabin all day and hadn’t stoked the fire.

Even though my small home would heat up fast just from the fireplace, I went across the room to turn up the thermostat as well, catching her slight, wobbly nod as I passed.

She looked so tiny and worn down, nothing like the spirited girl from before, who’d defiantly told me she wasn’t leaving.

“I’ll get you something dry,” I said, swallowing roughly. I went to the bedroom and grabbed one of my flannels and a pair of sweats. She’d drown in them, but that was fine; better, even. She took them from me without meeting my eyes, her hand shaking.

Arden had warned me she was slipping toward hypothermia, and he hadn’t been kidding.

She needed more heat, but the dry clothing should help.

I helped her up without comment and guided her toward the bathroom.

She limped, refusing to put weight on her bandaged ankle, though I knew it shouldn’t be hurting her.

If it did, I needed to have a word with Arden, if I could get ahold of the troll again.

As soon as the door shut, I moved, rushing to prepare things to help her get warm and comfortable. All while keeping a sharp ear out for any noises she made. If she fell or collapsed, I needed to hear it.

I heated some leftover stew in the small kitchenette and put the kettle on.

My hands knew the motions, but my mind kept circling the same thought: the man who’d done this wasn’t from here.

I’d seen enough in my years as sheriff to tell my own from strangers, and this one…

this one would regret setting foot in Hillcrest Hollow.

He’d really regret messing with my mate; of that, I was certain.

The griffin side of me—both lion and eagle—wanted to tear him to pieces and scatter them in the woods for the buzzards.

The bathroom door opened. I looked up and, just for a second, forgot about the burglar.

She was wearing my clothes, her damp hair curling around her face and smelling faintly of my soap.

The flannel hung loose on her, but I could see the shape of her under it, soft in the places where my hands wanted to be.

I gripped the counter hard enough to make the wood creak.

“Here.” I set the bowl of stew in her hands before I did something stupid.

“Eat. You missed dinner.” Then I was guiding her back to the couch and tucking her into the blankets again.

She was not so shaky now, and to my eye, already looking a little less pale.

There was less of a limp, too, but the bandage appeared undisturbed, so she hadn’t taken a peek. That was good.

She ate slowly, spoon trembling, until her voice finally broke the quiet. “This was them, wasn’t it? The townspeople. Trying to scare me off.” She looked so incredibly brokenhearted as she said that, my own heart clenched painfully inside my chest.

“No,” I said, sharper than I meant. I forced my tone down, letting her see the truth in my eyes.

“This wasn’t them. It was an outsider. I swear it.

” The town did want her gone, because none of them—except Liz—knew that I thought she was my mate.

They thought I’d gone nuts for helping the woman they wanted gone.

Even so, I knew none of them would ever break into a house and make such a mess.

No, this was someone looking for something, likely something Halver had left behind, or maybe even something he’d taken with him when he left.

“You can’t be sure...” she started to say, some of that previous fire returning to her voice. It sparked in her eyes, her cheeks growing pink. The spoon scraped against the edge of the now-empty bowl, then clattered down with a clang.

“I can.” I leaned in, close enough to see the firelight in her brown eyes.

“You’re not leaving, Gwen. I will keep you safe from this bastard, and I’ll talk to the town.

Once they understand, they’ll…” I trailed off, unsure how to finish that statement.

Once they understood, they’d welcome her with open arms, but such a turnabout in how they were treating her wouldn’t pass without a proper explanation.

She wasn’t ready to hear mine; I couldn’t ask that of her on a day like this.

At least I’d said enough to ease her mind.

Something shifted in her face, fear loosening its grip, though she didn’t smile.

Not yet. It was a start. Returning to the kitchen, I poured the water from the kettle into the mugs I’d prepared and came back to hand her hers.

Steam curled up between us, carrying a scent I knew she’d recognize. “This is...” she began.

“Chamomile lavender,” I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck.

“You served it to me once. I… tracked it down.” I nodded toward the neat stack of packages by the door, some still dusted with snow.

“Might’ve gone overboard.” I’d gone on a veritable online shopping spree in search of that tea because I’d been obsessed with her after that afternoon.

It was the next best thing if I had to keep my distance.

That alone should have warned me that I wasn’t living a fantasy, the mate bond was real.

Her lips twitched—the faintest sign of a smile—as her eyes took in the packages that had arrived today.

Those were what had delayed Drew tonight, because he’d stacked them inside instead of leaving them in the wet and cold on my porch.

“Maybe.” That smile—small, almost reluctant—still hit me like a gut punch.

I wanted to earn more of it. I wanted her here tomorrow, and the day after, and every damn day after that.

And as long as I was breathing, I’d make sure she was.

“Well, I could sure use something calming,” she admitted, her hands now curled around that mug of tea.

She inhaled as if just the steam alone could do the job, but she was still shaken up by what had happened.

Finally warm, I could see she was bouncing back, though, and the spark was returning to her eyes.

No, she wasn’t leaving. Not now that she felt a little better, she wouldn’t let anything scare her away.

Something was making her stubborn about this, dig in her heels, and I had a feeling she was used to doing that.

She was comfortable in the role, opposing whatever force was pushing at her. That would come in handy in this town.

“What else did you get?” she asked, curious now.

She sat up straight, and the blankets began to slide down one shoulder.

Not just the blankets either, my flannel was much too large, and even buttoned almost all the way, it began to slide too.

A pale, soft shoulder was revealed, along with the edge of her collarbone.

I couldn’t recall finding that alluring before, but the sight of her neck leading into that exposed bit of skin drove me wild.

My voice was husky and unguarded because of the distraction she posed.

When I answered, I spoke without thinking.

“More tea, flavors I thought you might like, and roofing tools and materials for the B sometimes the only way forward was to go through it.

I held her gaze, trying to portray a calm I didn’t feel, and waited.

“You ordered roofing materials for my roof?” she said in a measured voice after a long moment.

A moment that felt far more endless than the years I’d endured without her, and there were many of those.

I shrugged and got up to tend to the fire so I didn’t need to see her expression.

I shouldn’t have said what I said, and now it was too late.