Page 12 of Flint’s Fate (Silver Falls Shifters #3)

CHAPTER 11

FLINT

F lint hadn’t slept—not that he needed much sleep, but what little he usually took had been ruined by worrying about Jenna being back at the orchard. He could’ve followed her. Should have. But he hadn’t. Jenna Hartford wasn’t the kind of woman who enjoyed being chased.

Instead, he’d spent the rest of the night prowling the perimeter of the cider mill—his lion restless. The scent of the intruders from the orchard still lingered in his memory—distinct, unfamiliar. Lynx. It gnawed at him, an itch he couldn’t scratch, a puzzle missing too many pieces. Lynx-shifters had been gone from Silver Falls for centuries.

By dawn, Flint gave up trying to force sleep and made his way downstairs, heading for the one person who might have answers—his sister.

Sybil was already in the back office, hunched over a stack of old books and papers, her dark hair twisted into a messy bun, glasses perched on the end of her nose. His younger sister had always been the smartest of them—sharp, quick, and relentless when something caught her interest.

She didn’t bother looking up as he walked in. “I assume you’re here for an update and not just to glare at my research like an overprotective caveman.”

Flint ignored her jab and leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “Tell me what you found.”

Sybil sighed, rubbing at her eyes before sitting back in her chair. “You’re not gonna like it.”

“I already don’t like it. What are we dealing with?”

She pushed a book across the desk toward him. It was old, leather-bound, the edges worn from years of use. Flint glanced at the faded title— Legends of the Valley.

Sybil tapped a page filled with ancient runes, their symbols eerily similar to the ones Flint had uncovered at Cold Creek Orchards. “These aren’t just old. They’re Ghost Walker markers.”

His chest tightened. Damn it.

“You sure?”

Sybil shot him a look. “Would I say it if I wasn’t?” She tapped the book again. “The Ghost Walkers were protectors of something buried deep beneath Cold Creek Orchards. Something important enough that they marked the land, tied their bloodline to it. And if they’re still around or have returned?” She exhaled slowly. “They haven’t forgotten.”

Flint ran a hand through his hair, his mind working fast. The Ghost Walkers were a myth, a story whispered among shifters. But if they were real, if they were back… What the hell were they protecting?

“You think Jenna’s run-in last night was with one of them?” he asked.

Sybil nodded. “Or someone working for them.”

Flint clenched his jaw. “And what exactly do they want?”

“That’s the real question, isn’t it?” Sybil leaned forward. “If Jenna’s aunt found something she wasn’t supposed to, that could explain why she was killed. And why Jenna was suddenly a target.”

His gut twisted at the thought. Jenna didn’t deserve this. She sure as hell hadn’t asked to inherit a land war that went back generations. But whether or not she liked it, she was in the middle of it now. That meant he was in the middle of it too.

Before he could respond, the scent of something foul curled through the air. McVey. Flint turned, muscles coiling as Connor McVey strode into the cider mill like he owned the place. He wore one of his too-perfect suits, the kind that belonged in a boardroom, not a small town nestled in the Colorado Rockies. His slick confidence set Flint’s teeth on edge.

McVey’s gaze swept the room before landing on Flint, his expression smug. “Well, well. Fancy running into you here, Mercer.”

Flint didn’t move. “It shouldn’t be all that surprising. I own the place. You’re trespassing.”

McVey chuckled, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Relax. I just came to have a little chat.”

Flint’s patience wore thin fast. “I’m not in the mood for your bullshit, McVey.”

McVey tilted his head, pretending to be hurt. “Bullshit? Flint, I thought we were friends.”

Flint’s lip curled. “You thought wrong.”

McVey sighed, pacing a few steps. “Pity. Because I’d hate for things to get ugly between us.”

Flint stepped forward, close enough that McVey had to tilt his head up to meet his gaze. “You threatening me?”

McVey’s smirk widened. “Of course not. I’m just saying… Jenna’s out of her depth. She’s playing with forces she doesn’t understand. And if she’s not careful?” He shrugged. “She might end up like her aunt.”

Flint snapped.

In one swift move, he grabbed McVey by the collar and slammed him against the nearest wall—the sound echoing through the mill. Sybil barely flinched, but the tension in the room crackled like a live wire.

McVey let out a strangled laugh. “Touched a nerve, did I?”

Flint’s voice was a deadly growl. “You don’t get to say her name.”

McVey’s grin didn’t falter, but his pulse thrummed wildly against Flint’s grip. “Careful, Mercer. You wouldn’t want to do something you’ll regret.”

Flint leaned in, his voice low, lethal. “The only thing I’d regret is letting you walk out of here in one piece.”

McVey’s bravado slipped—just for a fraction of a second. Then he forced a chuckle. “Jenna isn’t yours to protect.”

Flint’s grip tightened. “She’s mine to protect whether or not she likes it. And I’ll tell you the same thing I told your buddy the mayor: if anything happens to her—if she so much as gets a damn paper cut—I will come for you.”

McVey swallowed hard. For the first time, a sliver of uncertainty flickered in his eyes.

Flint shoved him back. McVey stumbled, adjusting his suit with exaggerated care. “Noted,” he murmured, rolling his shoulders. He met Flint’s gaze, his smirk creeping back. “But let’s be honest, Mercer. You and I both know this isn’t about business.”

Flint narrowed his eyes.

McVey’s grin sharpened. “You’re just pissed because Jenna’s slipping through your fingers.”

Flint took a step forward, but Sybil’s voice cut through the thick air. “That’s enough.”

Both men turned. Sybil hadn’t moved from her chair, but her expression was ice.

McVey let out a low laugh. “Fine. I’ll go.” He straightened his suit, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. “But just remember, Mercer—I’m not the only one watching.”

With that, he turned and walked out—the door swinging shut behind him.

Flint let out a slow, controlled breath, his hands still curled into fists.

Sybil shook her head. “You keep threatening people like that, and you’re going to end up in a shallow grave before Jenna even gets the chance to shoot you herself.”

Flint exhaled through his nose. “If McVey so much as looks at her wrong, he won’t have to worry about a grave. There won’t be anything left to bury.”

Sybil sighed. “So we’re going with the overly possessive, neanderthal angle. Good to know.”

Flint ignored her and grabbed his phone. Jenna was at the orchard, alone. Now, more than ever, he needed to be there.

McVey was a problem.

A problem Flint wanted to eliminate, but throttling the bastard in broad daylight wasn’t going to do Jenna any favors. Sybil watched him closely as he stared at the door McVey had just sauntered through. She didn’t say anything at first, just leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, waiting.

Finally, she sighed. “You’re running hot, big brother.”

Flint forced his muscles to relax, adjusting his posture to release the tension. “Yeah, well, people keep threatening my mate. Hard to stay calm.”

“Your mate, huh?” Sybil teased.

Flint clenched his jaw. “You know damn well she is.”

Sybil tapped her fingers against the desk, considering him. “Does Jenna know that?”

“I’ve told her, but she doesn’t believe. Not yet.”

Sybil snorted. “So, you’re just gonna growl at every man who looks at her until she figures it out? Great plan. Real enlightened.”

Flint didn’t bother answering. Instead, he grabbed the go-bag he always kept stashed under the counter, slinging it over his shoulder. It had spare clothes, a knife, and a burner phone. He wasn’t about to hunt in his human form.

Sybil straightened. “Where are you going?”

“Hunting.”

Her expression turned serious. “You think they’ll come back?”

“I don’t think they ever left.”

He pushed open the back door of the mill, stepping into the cool air. The sun was climbing in the sky. His blood hummed with the need to move, to run, to find them.

Sybil’s voice followed him. “Be careful.”

Flint didn’t answer. He moved into the trees and stripped, tucking his clothes into his go bag and letting his lion take over. A low growl rumbled in his chest as the heat of his shift coursed through him. A swirling mist enveloped his body, crackling with lightning and shards of color as thunder rumbled through the air. The transformation was near-instantaneous—one moment, he stood on two legs, the next, the mist dissipated, revealing the powerful form of his mountain lion. His senses were sharpened with colors becoming richer and scents flooding his nose.

He galloped toward the orchard, carrying his go bag. When he was close, he dropped the bag and prowled toward the tree line, his large paws silent against the earth. Seek. Hunt. Find.

He started along the edges of the orchard, where the forest thickened. The scent trails from the fire had mostly faded, but something else lingered. Something was wrong.

It was faint but unmistakable—shifter, but not one with which he was familiar… at least not a local one. Not a mountain lion. Not a bobcat, but it was vaguely familiar.. Flint’s ears twitched, muscles tensing as he followed the scent, winding deeper into the woods. He’d smelled it before, but he couldn’t quite place where.

The trail led toward the northern edge of the property, near the ridge overlooking the valley. The undergrowth thickened, the trees closing in, casting long shadows across the ground.

Then he heard it. A footstep—too light for a human, too heavy for prey.

Flint went still, every muscle locked as he waited. A figure moved just ahead, slipping between the trees. He didn’t hesitate. He lunged, bursting from the underbrush in a blur of tawny fur, aiming to take the bastard down before he could run. But the intruder was fast. Too fast. It dodged at the last second, rolling to the side as Flint’s claws raked through the empty air.

The shifter sprang to its feet, revealing a lithe form—a lynx. Ghost Walker.

Flint snarled, lunging again, but the shifter twisted away, its movements fluid, almost unnatural. It didn’t fight, didn’t make a sound. Just ran.

Giving chase, his powerful legs ate up the distance. The lynx darted through the trees, faster than any natural creature had a right to be, but Flint was bigger, stronger. He closed in, jaws snapping—almost—when the shifter suddenly leapt straight up.

Flint skidded to a halt, growling in frustration as the lynx landed on a low-hanging branch, crouching just out of reach. Its glowing eyes met his, unblinking, assessing.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The lynx’s mouth formed what could only be called a grin. Flint’s hackles rose.

Before he could make another move, the Ghost Walker twisted, launching itself higher into the canopy, disappearing into the dense branches. Flint snarled, leaping after it, but the lynx was already gone, vanishing into the forest like a damn ghost.

Flint stood in the middle of the forest, heart pounding, claws still extended, his eyes scanning the trees. Every instinct in him screamed to chase the Ghost Walker down, to run them to ground and force them to answer for why the hell they were hunting Jenna.

But another instinct was louder. Jenna. His lion roared inside him, demanding he go back, that he make sure she was safe, that she wasn’t alone out there with shadows circling her.

Grinding his teeth, Flint forced himself to turn away from the direction the lynx had vanished and sprinted back toward the farmhouse. His paws barely made a sound against the damp earth, his muscles burning as he pushed himself faster. By the time the house came into view, he could see the porch light glowing in the darkness.

He knew Jenna would be inside, probably pacing, stubborn as ever, thinking she had control of this situation. She didn’t.

He stalked to where he’d left his bag behind a tree, shifting back and yanking on his jeans as he stormed toward the front door. He didn’t bother knocking. He shoved it open, stepping inside like he owned the place.

Jenna was in the kitchen, her gun on the counter beside her, a fresh cup of coffee steaming in her hand. She barely flinched at his sudden entrance. Instead, she lifted an eyebrow, casually taking a sip. “Well, you’re still alive. Guess that means you didn’t find them.”

Flint slammed the door shut behind him. “I found one.”

That got her attention. She straightened, eyes sharpening. “Who?”

He crossed the room, his movements controlled but barely. “A Ghost Walker. One of the lynx shifters.”

Jenna exhaled hard, setting her coffee down. “That explains the glowing eyes.”

He nodded, jaw clenched. “They were toying with me, Jenna. And they’ve been watching you.”

She didn’t look surprised, but her lips pressed together like she wasn’t happy about hearing it out loud. “Why?”

Flint ran a hand through his hair, his muscles still vibrating with adrenaline. “That’s what I wanted to find out, but the bastard escaped before I could get answers.”

Jenna tilted her head, studying him. “And why aren’t you out there hunting them down?”

Flint stepped closer, the frustration he’d been holding back finally boiling over. “Because you were here. Alone.” His voice was low, edged with the growl of his lion. “I figured he’d be coming here next.”

Jenna narrowed her eyes, but he didn’t miss the way her pulse jumped. “I can handle myself.”

Flint let out a rough sound, closing the distance between them in a single step. “Damn it, Jenna. Would you stop saying that like it changes anything?”

She straightened, her jaw tightening, fire flashing in her eyes. “It does change things. I’m not some fragile little thing that needs you running in to save me.”

“No,” Flint agreed. “You’re not. But that doesn’t mean you should be out here alone while an entire clan of Ghost Walkers stalks you like prey.”

Jenna crossed her arms, refusing to back down. “So what? You’re going to play \bodyguard? Move in? Keep me on a leash?”

Flint’s fingers curled into fists at his sides, his control hanging by a damn thread. “I’m going to make sure you don’t get killed, Jenna.”

She glared up at him. “I never asked for that.”

Flint leaned in, his voice dropping lower. “Doesn’t matter.”

Her breath hitched just slightly, but her stubborn streak kept her from backing off. “And what, exactly, is your plan?”

Flint exhaled sharply through his nose. “We work together.”

Jenna scoffed. “That’s what I’ve been doing.”

“No, it’s not,” he said, frustration clawing at him. “You’ve been running into fire—literally—without telling me what the hell you’re thinking.” She clenched her jaw but said nothing. Flint forced himself to rein in his temper. “This isn’t a game, Jenna. You keep charging ahead like you don’t have a target on your back, and it’s going to get you killed. And I’m not letting that happen.”

Jenna’s gaze flickered, something unreadable passing through her eyes before she looked away.

Flint took a slow breath, forcing himself to calm down. “We figure out what the Ghost Walkers want. We find out what’s buried on the land. And we deal with Calloway and McVey before they get the chance to make another move.”

Jenna tapped her fingers against the counter, then sighed. “Fine. We’ll work together, but I won’t let you shut me out and set me aside where you think I’ll be safe.

Flint held her gaze. “I can agree with that.”

But she wasn’t done. “And I decide how much protection I need, not you.”

Flint’s lip curled. “That I won’t agree to.”

Jenna muttered something under her breath and turned away, but Flint wasn’t about to let her shut him out again. Before she could take another step, he caught her wrist, spinning her back toward him. Her breath hitched as she collided with his chest.

Flint didn’t let her go. His eyes locked onto hers, his grip firm but not unyielding. “You can deny it all you want, Jenna,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “But the bond between us? It’s already forming.”

Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came out.

Flint leaned in, just enough that his breath brushed against her lips. “You feel it. I know you do.”

Jenna’s pulse pounded against his fingers. “That doesn’t mean I’m ready to accept it.”

Flint’s jaw tightened, but he nodded once. “Whether or not you accept it has no relevance. It’s already happening.”

Jenna swallowed hard, but she didn’t pull away. She held his gaze, stubborn and unyielding, but for the first time, he saw something else behind her defiance. Fear. Not of him. Not of the fight ahead. But of this. Of them.

Flint released her wrist slowly, his fingers lingering for half a second before he stepped back. “Get some sleep, Jenna.”

She blinked, her walls snapping back into place. “Yeah,” she said, voice tight. “You too.”

Flint didn’t answer. He just watched as she turned and headed for the stairs. He let her go—for now. But this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.