Page 6 of Falling for My Shifter Guardian (Wild & Forbidden Mates #5)

Olivia

The photo feels heavier than it should in my hands. It’s just a cheap frame, the kind you pick up in a discount bin, but right now, it’s holding a piece of my past that feels like it might slip through my fingers if I don’t grip it tight enough.

It’s been three years. Three years since that knock on the door, since the folded flag, the stiff uniforms, and the words I still can’t forget: We regret to inform you…

I trace a finger over the glass, over my dad’s face, his arm slung around my shoulders like the whole weight of the world could bounce right off just because he was there. His grin is wide, toothy, like he’s mid-laugh. He always laughed with his whole face, his whole body. A BBQ king, a backyard football ref, the guy who taught me to parallel park and never let me quit anything, no matter how hard it got.

Next to him in the photo is Ben, holding up that stupid football like he’s posing for a Wheaties box. His other hand is on my back, casual and familiar, the way it always was back then. He was my constant, the one who kept me steady when my world tilted.

I set the photo down carefully, like it might shatter if I breathe wrong. “You’d know what to do,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. My throat tightens as I swallow. “You always did.”

The knock at the door snaps me out of my thoughts, and I blink, brushing at my eyes quickly, just in case.

When I open the door, Ben’s standing there, a paper bag in one hand and two steaming cups of coffee in the other. He’s wearing that lopsided grin of his, the one that always used to make me feel like everything was going to be okay.

“Thought you could use a pick-me-up,” he says, holding up the bag like it’s a peace offering. “Your favorite—blueberry donut, no glaze, extra sprinkles. Took me three stops to find one.”

I can’t help it—a small smile tugs at my lips. “You’re too good at this,” I say, stepping aside to let him in.

“Yeah, well, some habits die hard.” He walks in like he belongs here, setting the coffee and bag on the table before his eyes catch on the photo I left sitting there.

He picks it up, and for a moment, the usual lightness in his expression softens. “I remember this day,” he says quietly. His fingers brush over the frame, and the way his voice dips pulls at something in me. “Your dad kept yelling at me to stop tossing the football near the grill. Said I was gonna knock over the burgers.”

I let out a laugh, the sound warm and unexpected. “And you almost did. Twice.”

Ben grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yeah, well, he still let me have two burgers, so he wasn’t that mad.”

We sit down at the table, the coffee cups between us, the photo still in his hands. For a moment, neither of us says anything. It’s… comfortable, in a way I hadn’t realized I missed. But then his voice shifts, a little lower, a little more serious.

“Your dad… he was one of the good ones, Liv. The kind of man who made you want to be better, you know?”

I nod, my throat tightening all over again. “He was. He always knew how to make things feel… safe. Like no matter what went wrong, he’d figure it out.”

Ben sets the photo back down carefully and reaches across the table. His fingers brush mine, just for a second, before he pulls back. “You’ve got that in you too. He’d be proud of you.”

The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard, and something in my chest aches. For a moment, it feels like the old Ben is sitting across from me—the one who always knew what to say, who always made me feel strong, even when I didn’t believe it myself.

I clear my throat, trying to break the moment before it swallows me whole. “Thanks,” I say, my voice softer than I mean it to be.

He nods, his smile faint but warm. “Anytime.”

We talk for a while, mostly about nothing—work, the diner, the usual small-town stuff. It’s easy, familiar, like slipping into a pair of old sneakers.

"So, any plans for today?" he asks.

“I’m heading to Maya's place for a game night after my shift,” I say, popping the last bite of donut into my mouth.

“Maya, huh?” Ben’s tone is light, but there’s something under it, faint and sharp, like a splinter you don’t notice until it’s too deep to pull out.

I shrug, not thinking much of it. “Yeah, she’s great. It’s nice to have someone to hang out with who doesn’t mind my terrible card game skills.”

He chuckles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “As long as you’re happy. That’s all that matters,” he says, his voice soft. “I should get going,” he says. “Don’t want to make you late for work.”

“Thanks for stopping by,” I say, following him to the door.

He turns back as he steps outside, his blue eyes catching mine for just a moment. “You ever need anything, Liv… you know where to find me.”

I nod, watching him walk away. For a second, I feel lighter, like maybe today won’t be so heavy after all.

**

The Howling Pines Pack’s community room hums with life as I step inside, clutching my bag tightly against my side. Laughter echoes from one corner, someone groans in mock defeat over a card game, and there’s the soft clatter of dice rolling on a table. The warmth of it all—voices layered in camaraderie, the golden glow of overhead lights, the faint scent of pine and woodsmoke—wraps around me like a soft blanket. It’s a world so different from the quiet stillness of my apartment.

I linger near the doorway, scanning the room. A part of me feels like an outsider here, a human in a shifter’s world. But before I can second-guess my decision to come, a familiar voice cuts through the noise.

“Liv! Over here!” Maya waves dramatically from across the room, her dark curls bouncing as she weaves through the crowd to meet me.

“Hey,” I say with a small smile as she pulls me into a quick, warm hug.

“You made it!” she exclaims, thrusting a glass into my hand. “Here. It’s basically juice, I swear. But it’ll help you relax.”

I glance down at the pale pink cocktail, skeptical but willing. One sip, and the sweetness of strawberries washes over my tongue, light and harmless. The tension in my shoulders eases just a little.

Maya grins, looping her arm through mine. “Come on, let me introduce you to some people. You’re gonna love it here.”

I let her guide me through the crowd, meeting pack members who are all friendly and welcoming. But beneath the laughter and smiles, I can sense it—the tension. It’s subtle, the way their eyes dart to the windows or the door when they think no one’s looking, the way their laughter sometimes feels a little too loud, like they’re trying to drown out unease. The hunters are weighing on everyone, even during moments like this.

Still, it’s good to be here. Better than sitting alone in my apartment, letting today drag me down. Three years. Three years since Dad died, and the ache hasn’t lessened. But tonight, I refuse to let it consume me.

I’m mid-sip of my drink when I feel it before I see it—that pull, that unmistakable awareness of him. My eyes drift across the room, and there he is. Derek.

He’s leaning against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest, his steel-gray eyes locked on me. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t wave, but his presence is magnetic, drawing my focus like a moth to flame.

There’s something in the way he looks at me—a quiet intensity that makes my heart stutter. It’s maddening. Exhilarating. And utterly confusing.

I force myself to look away, pretending I’m unaffected, but my pulse betrays me, thudding in my ears.

“Hey, Olivia!” Ethan’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. He’s standing by the dartboard, a cocky grin plastered on his face. “Feel like showing us what you’ve got? Or are you too chicken to take me on?”

I laugh, grateful for the distraction. “Oh, please. I could beat you with my eyes closed.”

“Big words,” he teases, holding out a dart. “Let’s see if you can back ’em up.”

I roll my eyes but step up to the board. The crowd gathers, the energy shifting into something lively and competitive. Ethan’s easy charm makes it impossible not to smile, and before long, we’re trading playful jabs with every throw.

When I land the winning shot, cheers erupt, and I can’t help but grin wide. Ethan clutches his chest dramatically.

“Fine, fine, you win,” he says, shaking his head in mock defeat. Then, with a smirk, he adds, “But how about a rematch? Double or nothing.”

I arch a brow, amused. “Double or nothing? What’s the bet?”

Ethan leans casually against the dartboard, his grin turning mischievous. “If I win, you owe me a date.”

I open my mouth to respond, but before I can, a voice cuts through the silence like a blade.

“That’s enough.”

The crowd parts as Derek steps forward, his expression dark and unreadable. His steel-gray eyes aren’t on Ethan—they’re on me.

Ethan raises his hands in mock surrender, but his smirk doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Relax, Beta. Just having some fun.”

Derek doesn’t even glance at him. Instead, he steps closer to me, his presence overwhelming. Before I can react, his hand wraps around mine—not roughly, but firm, commanding—and he pulls me away from the dartboard without a word.

“Derek!” I protest, stumbling to keep up as he leads me to a quieter corner of the room. When we finally stop, I yank my hand free, glaring up at him. “What the hell was that about?”

His jaw tightens, his broad shoulders tense. “You don’t need to be making bets with guys like Ethan,” he says, his voice low and gruff.

“Guys like Ethan?” I repeat, incredulous. “He’s my friend. And what does it matter to you anyway?”

His hands clench into fists, his whole body taut with tension. The air between us feels charged, like lightning about to strike.

“You don’t need to know everything right now,” he says, his tone firm. “Just trust me, Olivia.”

I shake my head, tears stinging my eyes. “You keep saying that, but how can I trust you when you won’t let me in? You’re always pushing me away, Derek, and I don’t understand why.”

The space between us shrinks as he steps closer, his presence overwhelming. I can feel the heat radiating off him, the intensity in his gaze pinning me in place.

“Olivia,” he says, his voice rough and low, like it’s barely keeping something primal at bay.

When he doesn’t say anything else, just stands there, staring at me like he’s fighting a battle I can’t see, I let out an exasperated huff. “You know what? Forget it,” I say, throwing my hands up. I turn sharply, intending to walk away, but before I can take two steps, his hand shoots out, firm and unyielding, wrapping gently around my wrist.

“Don’t,” he says, his voice a low growl that stops me in my tracks.

There’s a tension in the air that feels dangerous, electric. I glance back over my shoulder, and the look in his eyes is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It’s raw, unrestrained, as if something he’s kept buried for too long is clawing its way to the surface.

Before I can say a word, he pulls me toward him, his hold on me firm but careful, like he’s afraid I’ll break. His nose brushes just below my ear as he inhales deeply, and the low, guttural growl that escapes him sends a shiver down my spine. It’s not the sound of a man—it’s something primal, something wild.

“Derek,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “What are you—”

He doesn’t let me finish. Instead, he grabs my hand again, his grip still gentle but leaving no room for argument, and starts walking. I don’t even realize where we’re going until we stop in front of the elevator. My heart is racing, and I’m not sure if it’s from anger, confusion, or the way his touch makes my skin burn.

When the elevator doors close behind us, he releases my hand only to press the stop button, halting us between floors. The sudden stillness is deafening, the hum of the elevator the only sound besides my pounding heartbeat.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the tension thickening the air around us. I take a step back, but there’s nowhere to go. The small space amplifies everything—his presence, his scent, the heat radiating off him.

Derek turns to face me fully, his steel-gray eyes burning with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe. For a moment, he just looks at me, his jaw clenching and unclenching like he’s trying to hold something back.

“Making sure you understand,” he says finally, his voice low and dangerous, each word dripping with restrained emotion.

“Understand what?” I manage to say, though my voice shakes. I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, and one wrong step will send me plummeting.

He steps closer, and I instinctively press my back against the elevator wall. There’s nowhere to run, no escape from the electricity crackling between us. His hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against my skin, and I can feel the calluses on his palm—rough, like the man himself.

“Understand this,” he murmurs, his voice a rough whisper.

And then his lips crash into mine.

It’s not gentle or tentative—it’s fire and desperation, a collision of everything we’ve both been holding back. His hand slides to the back of my neck, holding me in place as his lips move against mine with a hunger that leaves me breathless. The other hand rests on my hip, his grip possessive, as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.

I don’t know how to process what’s happening—all I know is that it feels like everything in me has been waiting for this moment. My hands find his chest, the heat of him searing through his shirt, and I clutch at the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.

The kiss deepens, and I feel like I’m drowning in him—in his heat, his strength, the way he consumes every inch of my being. It’s overwhelming, and yet I don’t want it to stop.

His lips leave mine, trailing a path of fiery kisses along my jawline, down the sensitive skin of my neck. I gasp as his teeth graze my pulse point, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure mixed with a hint of pain straight to my core. His grip on my hip tightens, and a low growl rumbles in his chest—a sound that feels like it's vibrating through every cell in my body.

Derek's hand slides up my side, his fingers deftly finding the hem of my sweater. He pulls it up, breaking our kiss just long enough to tug it over my head. His eyes lock onto mine, a storm of desire raging in their steel-gray depths. I'm half-naked in an elevator with him, and yet, I've never felt more powerful—or more wanted.

His lips find mine again, hungry and demanding, as his fingers trace the lace edge of my bra. He doesn't hesitate, pulling the cup down to expose my breast. The cool air of the elevator hits my skin, making my nipple harden instantly. He groans in approval, his hand cupping my breast before his mouth descends, capturing my nipple between his lips.

The sensation is overwhelming. His tongue flicks and teases, and when he sucks hard, a moan escapes my lips. My hands tangle in his hair, holding him to me, as if he might stop. I can feel the vibration of his growl against my skin, a primal sound that sends shivers down my spine.

He releases my nipple with a wet pop, his eyes dark with need as he looks up at me. "Do you understand now?" he murmurs, his voice raw with desire.

I nod, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Yes," I whisper, though I'm not entirely sure what I'm agreeing to. All I know is that I want more—more of his touch, more of his kiss, more of him.

As if reading my mind, Derek takes my hand and guides it down his chest, over the hard planes of his stomach, until it rests on the bulge in his pants. His erection strains against the fabric, huge and hot beneath my palm. I can't help but squeeze, eliciting a groan from deep within his chest.

"This is what you do to me," he growls, his voice barely human.

Before I can respond, he's kneeling before me, his hands sliding down my thighs to bunch up my skirt. His fingers trace the edge of my panties, teasing, before he tugs them down my legs. I step out of them, my heart pounding in my chest, as he tosses them aside.

He looks up at me, his gaze intense and full of promise. "I need more," he says, his voice a low rumble. "I need to taste you."

And then his mouth is on me, his tongue parting my folds to find my clit. The elevator walls seem to spin around me as Derek's tongue swirls around my clit, his hands gripping my thighs to keep me steady. I can barely believe this is happening—just moments ago we were standing in the hallway, and now I'm pinned against the wall, my skirt bunched around my waist as he kneels before me, devouring me like a man starved.

"Oh God," I gasp, my head falling back against the cool metal as waves of pleasure crash over me. My fingers tangle in his hair, gripping the short strands as if I can pull him closer, push him deeper. His beard scratches deliciously against my sensitive skin, and I can feel the heat of his breath mingling with my own.

He groans against me, the vibrations sending shockwaves through my core. His fingers dig into the flesh of my thighs, hard enough to bruise, and the thought of him marking me makes my pussy spasm with need.

"You taste so good," he growls, and the sound of his voice, rough and hungry, makes me clench around nothing. "I could eat this sweet honey for hours."

His words, the filthy, unfiltered desire in them, make me burn. I've never been talked to like this, never been wanted with such raw, animalistic need. It's intoxicating.

He laps at me like a man possessed, his tongue delving deep, fucking me with a fervor that leaves me breathless. My hips rock against his face, chasing the pleasure that's coiling tighter and tighter in my belly.

"Derek," I pant, my voice ragged and needy. "Don't stop. Please, don't stop."

As if in response, he doubles his efforts, his tongue flicking over my clit in rapid, practiced strokes. One hand slides up my thigh, his fingers teasing my entrance before plunging inside, curling just right to hit that spot that makes stars explode behind my eyes.

"Derek," I moan, my head thrashing from side to side as the pleasure builds to a crescendo. "I'm... I'm going to..."

My words cut off on a scream as I come undone, my orgasm ripping through me. Derek doesn't let up, his mouth and fingers working in tandem to draw out my pleasure, to make me shake and shudder and beg for more.

When the final waves crash over me, I slump back against the wall, my chest heaving, my skin slick with sweat. Derek pushes himself to his feet, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with mine as his steel-gray eyes lock onto me.

The elevator chimes, and that’s when he snaps back to reality, his expression shifting as he seems to fully register what’s just happened.

There’s still a storm of need churning in his gaze, but beneath it, I glimpse something else—guilt. Regret. It’s subtle, like the faintest crack in his armor, but it cuts deeper than anything he’s said or done tonight.

“Why are you...?” I don't even know what I want to ask him. But he seems to understand.

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think he won’t respond. But then, with a heavy exhale, he speaks. “This isn’t the place. Not like this,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough around the edges. The words linger between us, heavy and raw, carving through the charged air.

Slowly, he lifts a hand and brushes a strand of hair from my face, the gesture unexpectedly tender against the tension that seems to radiate from him. His thumb pauses on my cheek, just for a heartbeat too long, like he’s trying to commit every detail of this moment to memory. And then, with a quiet resolve, he steps back.

I’m still pressed against the elevator wall, my legs unsteady and my heart racing. My body is still thrumming with the aftershocks of what just happened. I don’t know how to bridge the chasm that suddenly feels so wide between us. My lips part, but no words come out.

Derek reaches out and presses the button to restart the elevator. The soft hum of the machinery fills the silence, but it doesn’t drown out the pounding of my heartbeat or the tension crackling in the air. His jaw is tight, his eyes locked on the numbers above the door as they start to light up again. He’s deliberately avoiding looking at me, and it makes my chest ache in a way I’m not prepared for.

“Derek—” I begin, my voice breaking slightly. I don’t even know what I want to say. Ask him why? Demand an explanation? Beg him not to shut me out again?

But he doesn’t let me finish. He shakes his head, his expression hardening, though his voice is anything but. “Not tonight,” he says firmly, the words carrying a weight that feels like a door slamming shut. His eyes finally meet mine, and for a split second, I see it—the storm raging inside him. It’s anger, longing, pain… and something deeper, something he’s not ready to name.

The elevator lurches to a stop, and the doors slide open with a soft chime. I step out slowly, the cool air of the hallway brushing against my overheated skin. My legs feel shaky, like they might give out at any moment, but I force myself to straighten, to hold my head high, even as my chest twists with frustration and confusion.

I glance back over my shoulder, needing to see him, needing some kind of reassurance that this wasn’t just a mistake, that I didn’t imagine the connection between us. Derek is still standing inside the elevator, his broad shoulders filling the small space, his hand gripping the edge of the door so tightly his knuckles are white. There’s a tension in his posture, like he’s fighting some internal war, and for a moment, it looks like he might follow me.

But he doesn’t. He stays where he is.

And then the doors slide shut, cutting him off from me, leaving me alone in the hallway with nothing but the echo of my own heartbeat and the weight of everything unsaid.