Page 13 of Flint’s Fate (Silver Falls Shifters #3)
CHAPTER 12
JENNA
T he morning sun cast golden light through the farmhouse windows, but Jenna had been awake for hours, staring at her phone. She’d spent the night locked in her own head, running over every revelation, every warning, every damn sign that she wasn’t just fighting to keep an orchard—she was fighting a war that had started long before she was born.
And yet, for all the ancient shifter politics, for all the whispers of Ghost Walkers and bloodlines, there was one very human element to this whole damn mess: Connor McVey.
Jenna had spent years navigating corporate boardrooms, picking apart contracts, and digging through financials to expose weaknesses. McVey played the part of a smooth real estate mogul, but she wasn’t fooled. He was a predator in a custom suit, and predators had patterns.
She tapped out a message to an old contact—Nola Whitmore, one of the best forensic accountants she’d ever worked with.
Jenna: Need a favor. Dig into Connor McVey. Corporate holdings, past land deals, anything shady.
Nola: Damn, girl. Straight to business, no hello? I haven’t heard from you in months.
Jenna: I’ll buy you a bottle of Macallan next time I’m in New York.
Nola: Make it one-hundred-year-old, and you’ve got a deal.
Jenna smiled despite herself. Nola didn’t do favors—she did trades. That’s why she’d always liked her.
Jenna: Done.
She set her phone down and ran a hand through her hair. Flint was probably still brooding somewhere—the farmhouse, the orchard, the mill—pacing like the overprotective beast he was. After their argument last night, she’d needed space and had headed upstairs without another word. But space didn’t mean she wasn’t still thinking about him—about the way he’d looked at her, about the way he’d said her name like it meant something more.
Damn him.
A notification popped up on her screen. Nola was fast.
She opened the message, her pulse kicking up as she scanned the attached file.
Nola: You were right to be suspicious. McVey has a pattern. Every few years, he targets landowners, forces them out—sometimes legally, sometimes not. Shell companies, backroom deals, and a few “mysterious” fires along the way. Some of the people who refused to sell? They disappeared.
Jenna’s stomach twisted. Maribel.
Nola: Whatever this guy is after, he doesn’t stop until he gets it. And once he does, people stop asking questions.
Jenna’s grip tightened around her phone. She’d known McVey was dirty, but this? This was something else entirely.
Her aunt had been one of the last holdouts, refusing to sell. And now she was dead. The burn of rage simmered low in Jenna’s gut. McVey had played this game before. The difference was, this time, he wasn’t going to win.
She needed to get to the library. If McVey had been playing a long game, she had to find out what he was really after.
Jenna had slipped out the back door of the farmhouse before Flint knew what she was about. She was willing to work with him, but right now she needed space. The Silver Falls Public Library smelled even more like parchment and secrets, and Marian looked like she hadn’t slept. She was hunched over an ancient-looking ledger, peering through her reading glasses, flipping through pages with quick, sharp movements.
Jenna barely made it through the door before Marian waved her over.
“You’re going to want to see this,” the librarian said without preamble.
Jenna pulled up a chair and scanned the ledger. The handwriting was old-fashioned, the ink faded, but the name Calloway stood out like a damn warning sign.
“This is a land deed,” Marian said, tapping a finger against the brittle paper. “Cold Creek Orchards wasn’t always part of your family’s holdings.”
Jenna frowned. “I know my great-great-grandparents claimed the land. It was homesteaded…”
Marian shook her head. “It wasn’t just claimed and homesteaded. It was won.”
Jenna’s pulse kicked up. “Explain.”
Marian turned the page, revealing another document tucked inside the ledger. It was older, the edges crumbling with age, but the words were clear.
The land had originally been part of the Calloway estate. But the Hartfords—her ancestors—had claimed it through a blood-right challenge.
Jenna inhaled sharply. “They fought for it?”
Marian nodded. “Back then, shifters didn’t just sign deeds. Blood-right was a legitimate form of land transfer. It meant one family claimed dominance over the land, and the losing family had to relinquish it.”
Jenna stared at the page, the implications sinking in.
“Calloway lost,” she murmured.
Marian’s expression was grim. “And I’d bet every book in this library that they never forgave your family for it.”
Jenna sat back, trying to process it all. This wasn’t just about money. This was history. This was power.
And McVey? He was Calloway’s ally. Which meant he wasn’t just trying to buy the orchard—he was trying to take back something the Calloways thought was stolen from them.
Jenna’s mind spun. “Is this even legal? Could they…”
Marian cut her off. “Legally? In this day and age? No, but legality doesn’t matter when people are willing to kill for what they believe is theirs.”
A cold dread settled in Jenna’s chest. McVey had a history of making people disappear. The Calloways had never accepted losing the land. And Maribel had been sitting on secrets that had gotten her killed.
Jenna rubbed her temples. “This is bigger than I thought.”
Marian’s gaze softened. “You sure you’re ready for this fight?”
Jenna met her eyes. “I don’t think I have a choice. They killed my aunt. They came after me. They burned my barn. They tried to scare me out.” She closed the ledger, steadying herself. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Marian smiled, a flicker of approval in her eyes. “Good. Because my guess is they’re just getting started.”
Jenna exhaled slowly, pushing back from the table. She needed to tell Flint.
Jenna hadn’t wasted time after leaving the library. Armed with the knowledge that her family had taken Cold Creek Orchards by blood-right and that the Calloways had never truly let it go, she knew one thing for certain—Maribel had been keeping something hidden.
And she was going to find out what it was.
Flint was waiting for her at the orchard, leaning against his truck with his arms crossed, his eyes unreadable. The wind rustled through the apple trees, carrying the scent of earth and something older, something beneath the land itself. She hadn’t told him much over the phone—only that Marian had found something big—but he must have sensed the urgency in her voice because he’d waited for her.
Jenna stalked toward him. “We’re looking for an entrance.”
Flint didn’t blink. “To what?”
She shook her head. “That’s what we’re going to find out.”
His gaze flicked over her face, assessing. “You’re sure?”
Jenna clenched her jaw. “My family didn’t just own this land—they fought for it. And they didn’t win because of the orchards. There’s something buried here, something that scared Maribel and everyone before her enough to keep it hidden for years.”
Flint straightened, his muscles tensing beneath his T-shirt. “Then let’s go.”
They set out through the orchard, winding between gnarled trees as the sun climbed higher. Jenna had spent enough time walking these fields as a child to know every inch of the land, but now, it felt different. Like something unseen was watching, waiting.
Flint moved beside her, his presence steady, controlled. “You think this has to do with the Ghost Walkers?”
Jenna nodded. “Marian said they were protectors of something buried here. And if they’re back, my guess is it’s because that something is waking up.”
They reached the spot where she had found the runes—etched into the stone beneath the soil, ancient and untouched for who knew how long. Flint crouched, running his fingers over the markings, his expression darkening.
“These aren’t just warnings,” he murmured. “They’re a seal.”
Jenna frowned. “A seal?”
Flint traced the lines with his fingertips. “Shifter clans used to carve these into sacred ground. To bind something inside.”
The words sent a shiver down Jenna’s spine. She crouched beside him, brushing loose dirt away, and felt it—the faintest vibration beneath her palm.
A low growl rumbled in Flint’s chest. “There’s something below us.”
Jenna’s she-cat stirred violently, slamming against her control with a suddenness that took her breath away. Recognition. Hunger. A need she didn’t understand.
Her vision blurred for half a second, and suddenly she wasn’t kneeling in the dirt anymore—she was somewhere else. Somewhere dark and ancient, the scent of blood and stone thick in the air. Voices whispered in the shadows, distant and mournful.
‘Blood calls to blood.’
Jenna sucked in a sharp breath and snapped back to the present, her fingers digging into the earth as the sensation faded.
Flint was watching her, his expression taut. “Jenna?”
She shook her head, pushing past the lingering haze in her mind. “Something’s here.”
Flint’s jaw ticked. “I know. I can feel it too.”
They stood, scanning the area. Then Jenna spotted it—a depression in the earth, partially obscured by a tangle of roots. Flint must have seen it at the same time, because he was already moving.
When he reached it, he knelt, pulling away the loose branches and soil, revealing what had been hidden for centuries. A door—not of wood, but of stone.
The surface was weathered and scarred with deep claw marks—like something, or someone, had tried to tear it open.
Jenna’s pulse pounded. “This isn’t just an old cellar, is it?”
Flint’s gaze cut to her, sharp as a blade. “No.”
Jenna took a step closer, the energy radiating from the door crawling over her skin like static electricity. In the corners of her mind, her she-cat paced restlessly, ears flattened, fangs bared.
She reached out, pressing her palm against the cold surface. The moment she did, the symbols carved into the stone flared—not with light, but with power.
Flint’s breath came rough beside her. “Jenna…”
A sudden pulse of energy shot through her arm, and she stumbled back, her body vibrating with something old. The she-cat inside her roared, not in fear but in recognition. She wasn’t just standing in front of an ancient door. She was standing in front of something her blood remembered.
Jenna met Flint’s gaze, her voice barely above a whisper. “I think… I think this was meant for me.”
Flint’s hands curled into fists, his muscles coiled like he was seconds away from tearing the damn door off its hinges. “Then we find out why.”
Jenna swallowed hard, steadying herself. Whatever was on the other side of this door had been buried for a reason. And someone had been trying to get to it for a long time.
Maribel had protected it.
The Ghost Walkers were hunting it.
And now, it was calling to Jenna.
“We need more information,” said Flint. “I know Sybil and Marian have been working on this together as a kind of joint project. I want to make sure we have as much information as possible before we try to open this thing.”
Jenna stood staring at the hidden stone door like it personally owed her an explanation. They’d spent hours, hell, days, trying ]]]to uncover the orchard’s secrets—combing through records, consulting every resource they could find—and yet, they were no closer to opening the damn thing than when they’d first started.
Flint stood beside her, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his eyes narrowed in frustration. “Tell me again why we thought this was a good idea?”
Jenna let out a sharp breath. “Because we were idiots who thought we were onto something.”
He chuckled. his gaze fixed on the ancient markings carved into the stone. “We are onto something,” he muttered. “We just don’t know what the hell it is.”
She huffed a laugh, though there was no humor in it. “So, to summarize: we’ve spent a ridiculous amount of time and energy chasing answers, only to be standing here with nothing to show for it.”
Flint shot her a look. “Not nothing. We know it’s old. We know it’s tied to the Ghost Walkers. And we know something sure as hell doesn’t want us getting inside.”
Jenna turned to him, arching an eyebrow. “Great. That is not something new. We knew most of that when we started.”
Flint ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well. Thought saying it out loud might make it sound like progress.”
“It doesn’t.”
He sighed. “Didn’t think so.”
They stood in silence, both glaring at the unmoving door, the weight of their failure pressing down on them. Finally, Flint broke it with a muttered, “I hate this damn thing.”
Jenna shook her head. “Not as much as I do.”
Flint let out a low chuckle, glancing at her. “What now? Wanna kick it and see if it magically opens?”
Jenna rolled her eyes. “Tempting, but I think I’d rather set something on fire.”
His lips twitched, amusement flickering despite the frustration. “Let’s save that for Plan C.”
“What are Plans A and B?”
“We’re working on Plan A and Plan B is kicking it open.”
Jenna exhaled slowly, forcing herself to step back. “We’re missing something. And standing here staring at it like it’s gonna give us an epiphany isn’t helping.”
Flint nodded, cracking his neck. “Agreed. Let’s call it a day.”
She took a step back, nodding. “We better. Because if this thing wasted my time for nothing, I really am setting something on fire.”
They covered the doorway, trying to disguise what lay beneath, and headed back to the farmhouse. The rest of the afternoon was spent going back through the information Maribel had amassed, searching the internet and conferencing with Sybil and Marian.
Finally after a dinner made of blueberry pancakes and bacon, they called it a day. Jenna slipped up the stairs, going into her bedroom. She changed into her normal sleepwear—a silky camisole and boy shorts and sat on the bed in the dark. She couldn’t figure out if she wanted Flint to join her or not, so she just waited. At one point, she heard footsteps approaching her door. The knob started to turn but then stopped before she heard him retreat to the other bedroom.
Crawling under the covers, exhausted, Jenna waited for sleep to claim her, but it didn’t. She had tried—tried shutting her mind down, tried drowning out the day’s discoveries, tried ignoring the burning ache under her skin that had nothing to do with danger and everything to do with the man down the hall—but it was no use.
She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the sound of the night pressing in around her. The farmhouse felt too big, too empty, despite knowing Flint was somewhere inside. But that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? Flint was always near, always watching, always in her head, under her skin, unraveling her defenses.
And now, after what they had found in the orchard—that door—she couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was about to change.
Her blood knew that place—and that terrified her more than anything.
Throwing back the blanket, Jenna pushed to her feet, slipping a sweater over her camisole before padding barefoot down the stairs. She needed air. Maybe even a drink, but mostly she just needed to breathe.
The moment she stepped onto the porch, she froze. Flint was there. She hadn’t heard him going down the stairs. He leaned against the wooden railing, facing the orchard, bare-chested, his jeans slung low on his hips. Moonlight cast silver over his skin, highlighting every defined ridge of muscle, the sharp cut of his jaw. He was still, too still, the tension in his body coiled tight as if he was waiting for something… or someone.
Her pulse kicked up. She should have turned around. Should have gone back inside. Should have done anything but what she did next. Jenna closed the distance between them.
Flint didn’t turn at first, didn’t speak, but she knew the second he sensed her. The air thickened between them, charged with something electric. He exhaled through his nose, still watching the orchard like the trees themselves held the answers.
“You should be asleep,” he said, his voice a rough rumble.
Jenna leaned against the opposite side of the railing, folding her arms as she studied him. “So should you.”
His gaze flicked to her, and damn if she didn’t feel the impact of that stare. She didn’t know what she expected him to say, but when he did speak, it wasn’t what she was ready for.
“You felt it today, didn’t you?” His voice was quieter now, but no less intense.
Jenna’s gut tightened. She could have lied. Could have played it off, brushed it aside like it was just another mystery she would solve. But they both knew better.
“Yeah,” she admitted. “I did.”
Flint turned fully toward her then, hands braced against the railing. He was so close now—too close—his body radiating heat, scent wrapping around her like a drug.
“You know what that means, don’t you?”
Jenna swallowed, refusing to break his gaze. “No. But I have a feeling you do.”
Flint’s jaw flexed. “I have theories.”
Jenna tilted her head, her own frustration bubbling to the surface. “Then why don’t you stop playing riddles and start explaining?”
His lips parted like he might actually answer, but then something shifted—not in the air, not in the night, but between them. Flint’s gaze dropped to her mouth. Jenna’s breath caught. She saw the exact second he made his decision.
Flint moved fast, closing the last inch of space between them, crowding her against the railing, his body pressing against hers. One arm came up, gripping the wood beside her head, trapping her there—but it wasn’t just about physical dominance.
It was about possession. A warning. A demand.
Jenna should have pushed him away. She should have fought back. She didn’t.
Instead, she lifted her chin, challenging him with her eyes. “What are you doing, Mercer?”
Flint’s lips curled—not a smile, not even close. “Something I should have done the second you walked back into this town, and that I should have been doing since that night in the loft.”
Then he kissed her. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t slow. It was fire, all-consuming, searing her from the inside out. Flint kissed like he fought—with purpose, with strength, with a demand Jenna wasn’t sure she wanted to deny.
She kissed him back just as fiercely, digging her nails into his shoulders, feeling the raw power in his body coil under her touch. Flint growled into her mouth, biting at her lower lip, forcing her head back as he devoured her.
The railing dug into her back as Flint lifted her, forcing her legs apart until she was straddling his hips, her thin sleep shorts doing nothing to shield her from the thick, hot press of him.
She moaned, the sound swallowed by another kiss. His hands gripped her thighs, fingers digging in, leaving no room for second thoughts.
“Tell me to stop,” he rasped against her throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. “Tell me now, Jenna.”
She couldn’t. Wouldn’t.
Instead, she arched into him, rolling her hips against his hardness, reveling in the way he hissed through his teeth. Flint cursed. Then he lost control completely. Reaching between them, he unbuttoned his jeans, freeing his cock, before ripping her shorts off in one fluid motion.
He lifted her just enough to line himself up before thrusting inside her in one deep stroke. Jenna gasped, her nails raking down his back, her body clenching around him like she’d been made for this. For him. Flint groaned, head dropping to her shoulder, his entire body shuddering as he stilled inside her.
“Fuck,” he ground out.
Jenna barely heard him over the pounding of her own pulse. Then he moved. He pulled back and then slammed into her, hard, deep, claiming her with every drive of his hips. The porch railing creaked under the force of their passion, but neither of them cared.
Jenna’s legs locked around his waist, her hands gripping his hair, pulling him down to kiss her again—all teeth and tongue and wild, untamed hunger.
“Mine,” Flint growled against her lips. “You’re fucking mine, Jenna.”
Jenna should have fought the words, should have argued.
Instead, she clenched around him, dragging him even deeper, and whispered, “Prove it.”
Flint did as the predatory instincts of his mountain lion took over and he tore away the last vestiges of Jenna’s clothing, exposing her raw, trembling skin to the unforgiving glare of the night. His hands roamed over her bare breasts with feral intent, pinching her hardened nipples as if they were a coveted prize. He lowered his head, sucking each one into his mouth and suckling before giving it the edge of his teeth. He inhaled deeply, the mingled scent of her arousal fanning the flames of their ravenous, untamed lust.
In one savage, decisive motion, he flipped her around and bent her over the cold, jagged railing. The impact sent shockwaves through her body, igniting shudders as his two forceful fingers plunged into the sultry heat between her thighs. Her tortured, involuntary moan rent the night air—a raw, unfiltered sound that both betrayed her inner torment and exalted the relentless passion raging between them.
Without a single word, Flint gripped her hips, delivering a brutal kick that forced her legs apart as he positioned himself between them. In that suspended heartbeat, Jenna’s mind churned with conflicting torrents—a fleeting, desperate impulse to resist clashing with a surging, overwhelming adrenaline that only magnified her need for him.
Every nerve in her body screamed for the commanding touch she craved. Her already aching nipples demanded not tender coaxing but the savage, unremitting force of dominance. She did not yearn for gentle affection, but for the raw intensity of the man who had placed himself in danger to protect her. The splintered, biting wood of the railing dug into her hips with every movement, a constant reminder of the stark, brutal reality of their encounter, even as the wild, primal desire inside her eclipsed every other sensation.
Deep within, a searing heat built like a pulsing inferno—a wet, relentless invitation longing for the conquest she knew loomed ahead. Her body trembled with a kind of twisted desire at the thought of his overwhelming presence, of the way his virile arousal might mercilessly scrape along every hidden contour of her being.
Flint’s calloused hands burrowed deeper into her hips, pinning her with unyielding force against the harsh railing as he stepped up and with one savage, unbridled thrust, he mounted her, erasing any trace of tenderness. Instead he answered her challenge with an all-consuming, primal dominance steeped in the ancient language of fierce desire. Their collision was animalistic and merciless—a torrential meeting of raw need that scorched away any veneer of civilized restraint.
A guttural cry tore from Jenna as the first searing wave of orgasm overwhelmed her. Even as he launched into a frenzied series of long, relentless strokes, each crushing thrust drawing her closer to the abyss of submission, her body convulsed uncontrollably in a cascade of shattering, successive eruptions of raw ecstasy. Her ragged gasps and desperate cries punctuated the primal rhythm of their union, each movement more forceful than the last.
In that brutal, terrifying moment, every shred of doubt disintegrated under the relentless surge of need to be utterly consumed by him. Each grunted command and searing cry from him heralded an inevitable climax. Finally, with one last brutal thrust that shattered all remaining restraint, she felt the overwhelming force of his release—a molten, devastating flood that spilled into her, merging irrevocably with the pulsing echoes of her own fierce desire.
Flint lay over her back, breathing heavily into her ear, as they both tried to catch their breath until neither of them could deny what had already been written in fate.