Page 1 of Falling for My Shifter Guardian (Wild & Forbidden Mates #5)

Olivia

The scent of coffee and sizzling bacon clings to my clothes as I weave through the crowded diner, balancing a tray of plates in one hand and a coffee pot in the other. It’s been a long day—double shifts always are—and I’m running on caffeine and sheer stubbornness. The bell above the door jingles again, and I bite back a groan. Whispering Pines Diner never slows down, especially on Friday nights.

“Table six is staring at you like you’re dessert,” Maya calls out as I pass her at the counter. Her dark curls are piled into a messy bun, and she’s wiping down a sticky spot with the kind of efficiency that only comes from years of practice.

I glance over my shoulder and catch Ethan’s grin from his usual booth. He lifts his coffee cup in a lazy salute, his amber eyes twinkling with mischief. I roll my eyes, fighting a smile. Ethan’s harmless enough, but his playful flirting isn’t exactly what I need in the middle of an eight-hour shift.

“He’s not staring at me,” I mutter, setting down plates at table four.

“Oh, he’s definitely staring at you,” Maya says, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. She leans on the counter, smirking. “You know shifters don’t do subtle, right? If he had a tail, it’d be wagging.”

I laugh despite myself. “Well, he can keep wagging from over there. I don’t have time for a lovesick wolf.”

Maya snorts. “Suit yourself, but don’t act surprised when he starts showing up with flowers or something. Shifters don’t give up easily.”

I shake my head, still smiling, and pour a fresh cup of coffee for a customer at table two. Maya follows me to the counter, leaning on it as I grab a fresh pot.

“So, what are your plans this weekend?” she asks, her voice casual but curious. “Don’t tell me you’re working another double.”

I sigh, setting the coffee pot down. “Not this time. I actually have the whole day off tomorrow.”

Maya raises her eyebrows in mock surprise. “A miracle. So, what’s the plan? Netflix marathon? Sleeping until noon?”

I grin. “Tempting, but no. I was thinking about taking my camera out and finally getting some shots around the park. The light is amazing this time of year, and I haven’t had a chance to do any real photography in months.”

Maya’s face softens, her teasing replaced with genuine interest. “Yeah? That’s awesome. You’ve been talking about getting back into it for ages.”

“I know,” I admit, a little sheepishly. “It’s just hard to find the time between shifts here and, you know… life.”

“You mean supporting yourself while chasing the dream?” she says knowingly. “I get it. But seriously, Liv, you’re good. Like, really good. You should be out there doing more with it.”

“Thanks, Maya,” I say, feeling a warm flush of gratitude. “I just need to save up a little more before I can make it happen. The camera equipment alone costs a fortune, and don’t even get me started on editing software.”

“Well, you better make time for it,” she says, wagging a finger at me. “The world needs more of your artsy sunset shots and cute squirrel close-ups.”

I laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

I shake my head and head back toward the kitchen. Maya’s one of the few people in town I trust, and she doesn’t shy away from what she is. I’ve always respected that about her.

What’s harder to figure out is Ben.

When my dad died, Ben was the one person I could count on. We moved to Whispering Pines together, both looking for a fresh start, though for different reasons. He was my anchor back then—my best friend, my constant. Growing up, he always seemed larger than life: the boy who could talk his way out of trouble, who could make me laugh when I thought I’d forgotten how.

The bell jingles again, and I know it’s him before I even turn around. Ben walks in, holding a brown paper bag from the deli down the street. He spots me immediately, his blue eyes lighting up as he waves. For a second, it feels like the old Ben—the boy who used to make me laugh until my sides hurt.

“Brought you dinner,” he says, setting the bag on the counter with a proud smile.

I grin. “Thanks, Ben. You didn’t have to do that.” I work at a diner, but it's nice to have a meal that isn't deep fried.

“You’ve been here all day,” he says, his tone a little sharper than I expect. “You need to eat.”

The words feel more like an order than a suggestion, but I nod anyway. I can feel Maya’s eyes on us, her expression unreadable. It’s like she’s weighing something, though I don’t know what.

Ben leans closer, lowering his voice. “Do you have to be so friendly with everyone? That guy at table six hasn’t stopped staring at you.”

I blink, caught off guard. “Ethan? He’s just a regular. It’s not a big deal.”

Ben’s jaw tightens, and he glances over his shoulder at Ethan, who’s now chatting with Maya at the counter. “You should be more careful around people like him.”

“People like him?” My irritation flares, but I keep my voice low. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ben shrugs, his expression guarded. “You know what I mean. Just… be careful.”

I know exactly what he’s hinting at—Ethan being a shifter. Ben’s been acting strange about them for a while now, but it doesn’t bother me. Why would it? My father’s best friend was a wolf shifter, and I practically grew up around them. I’ve always liked shifters. They might be different, but they’ve never given me a reason to fear them. Maya’s a wolf shifter too, and she’s my best friend. If anything, I trust shifters more than I trust most humans these days.

Before I can respond, Maya clears her throat loudly. “Hey, Liv, your shift’s almost up. Go eat your sandwich before I get stuck covering for you.”

I give her a grateful smile and grab the bag, muttering a quick “thanks” to Ben. I watch him leave, his shoulders tense, his gaze darting to Ethan with a glare that lingers too long, I can’t shake the feeling that something is fundamentally wrong.

I retreat to the break room. The sandwich is good, but the knot in my stomach doesn’t loosen. Ben’s always been protective, but lately, there’s an edge to it—sharper, heavier. I don’t know when things started to shift, when that easy friendship turned into something uncomfortable. Maybe it was gradual, like the way cracks creep across glass—so small at first you almost don’t notice, until one day, the entire thing splinters and falls apart.

**

After my break, the diner starts to slow down, the buzz of the dinner rush fading into a quieter hum. I wipe down tables and refill coffee cups, letting my thoughts drift.

Ben wasn’t the only one who moved to Whispering Pines after my dad passed away. Derek Mercer did too. My dad’s best friend from the military. The man who’d been like a shadow in the background of my life ever since.

It’s been three years, and I still don’t understand why he’s here. His reasoning was vague—something about wanting a quiet place to settle down after years of military work. At least, that’s what I tell myself. That he moved here for the fresh start, not because of me. But sometimes, when I catch him looking at me, it feels like there’s more to it. Something deeper. Something I can’t quite name.

I shake my head, trying to focus on the task at hand. Derek’s always been an enigma—quiet, stoic, impossible to read. And yet, there’s something about him that draws me in. It’s not just his looks, though there’s no denying he’s attractive in that rugged, salt-and-pepper, ex-military way. It’s the way he makes me feel... safe. Like no matter what happens, he’ll always be there.

But then there’s the other side of him—the distance he keeps, the way he always seems to hold himself back. It’s frustrating, and it makes me wonder if I’m imagining things. Maybe he doesn’t see me at all. Not the way I see him.

The clock above the counter ticks loudly as I count down the minutes to the end of my shift. By the time I clock out, the diner is quiet, the kind of stillness that makes the night feel heavier. I step outside, the cool air brushing against my skin, and take a deep breath.

I’m halfway down the block when I see him.

Derek.

He’s here. Again. Just like always. He has a way of appearing when I’m on the verge of needing him—and sometimes even when I don’t.

Leaning casually against his black truck, his arms are crossed over his broad chest like a shield. The streetlight above flickers slightly, throwing jagged shadows across his sharp, weathered features. Somehow, the interplay of light and shadow only makes him look more imposing, more untouchable. My breath hitches, the familiar reaction settling in my chest like a drumbeat I can’t control.

“You shouldn’t be walking home this late,” he says, his voice low and steady, with that unmistakable edge of authority that always sends a shiver down my spine.

“I’m fine,” I reply, though my pulse quickens under his gaze. “It’s only a few blocks.”

“Get in.” He nods toward the passenger side of his truck. “I’ll take you home.”

I hesitate, caught between wanting to argue and the strange pull I always feel around him. Finally, I nod and climb into the truck. The scent of leather and pine fills the cab, and I try not to fidget as he starts the engine.

The drive is quiet, the kind of silence that feels heavy with unspoken words. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, taking in the hard set of his jaw and the way his hands grip the steering wheel. He’s always like this—calm, controlled, like nothing could shake him. But there’s something else there, something I can’t quite name. A fragility, maybe. Like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say softly as we pull up in front of my apartment complex, the hum of the truck’s engine filling the silence between us.

Derek nods, his steel-gray eyes flicking to mine before shifting away, as if the weight of my gaze is too much. His fingers tighten on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening. For a second, I think he’s going to say something, but instead, he exhales sharply, his jaw visibly clenching. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says, his voice low and gruff. “I’ll always be there when it matters.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and unspoken things lingering beneath them.

I open the door and step out, my pulse thrumming in my ears as I turn back to look at him. “Goodnight, Derek,” I say, my voice quieter than I intended.

He doesn’t respond right away, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his expression unreadable. Then, with a brief, almost imperceptible nod, he puts the truck into gear and drives off, the taillights disappearing into the night.

The stillness that follows feels deafening, and his words replay in my mind.

I’ll always be there when it matters.

Does that mean I matter?