Page 14 of Flint’s Fate (Silver Falls Shifters #3)

CHAPTER 13

FLINT

A fter their intimate encounter on the porch, where the night air had cooled their skin after their primal embrace, Flint had effortlessly lifted her into his arms. Once they reached the sanctuary of the bedroom, they had surrendered to the magnetic pull between them, losing themselves in a world where only they existed, wrapped in each other's presence.

Jenna’s warmth was curled into his side, her bare skin pressed against his, her scent filling every damn part of his senses. The mate bond pulsed between them—stronger, undeniable, and completely unrelenting. It was more than lust, more than want. It was fate. And yet, he sensed her resistance.

Even in sleep, her body had molded itself to his, her hand resting against his chest, her fingers curled like she’d held onto him in the night and forgotten to let go. But she would. The moment she woke, she’d put distance between them, shove those walls back up like she hadn’t shattered them just hours before.

Flint exhaled through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair as he stared at the ceiling. He knew what this was. He’d known the second he laid eyes on her the day she arrived in Silver Falls. She was his, and she knew it, even if she wouldn’t say the words.

Jenna stirred, and he felt the second she realized where she was. Her body tensed for a fraction of a second before she forced herself to relax, pulling away just enough to create space.

“Morning.” Her voice was low, husky, still thick from sleep, and he wanted nothing more than to drag her right back under him, to keep her where she belonged.

Instead, he turned his head to meet her gaze. “Morning.”

She was already pushing up, reaching for the robe she’d left at the end of her bed.

“You planning on running?” His voice was rougher than he meant it to be, but he didn’t care.

Jenna shot him a look as she tugged the fabric over her head. “Not running. Just not lying around all day like some lovesick teenager.”

Flint sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist. “That what you think this is?”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. He saw it in her eyes—the refusal to acknowledge what they both knew was happening.

Flint pushed forward, bracing his hands on either side of her hips, crowding her against the edge of the mattress. “You can keep pretending, Jenna. Keep telling yourself this is just lust, that it’s nothing more than a temporary distraction.” He leaned in, breathing against her skin as he dragged his mouth just shy of her ear. “But it won’t change the fact that the bond is forming.”

Jenna swallowed hard, her pulse kicking up, but she still met his gaze without backing down. “Maybe it is. But that doesn’t mean I have to do anything about it.”

Flint let out a low, humorless chuckle. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Before she could respond, his phone vibrated on the nightstand. He swore under his breath, snagging it and glancing at the screen. Sybil.

Jenna took the opportunity to slip off the bed, and he let her go—because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from dragging her right back into it.

He answered, his voice still thick from the night before. “What?”

Sybil sighed. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

Flint ran a hand through his hair, already irritated. “Unless you have news, I don’t need this call.”

“Oh, you need it,” Sybil shot back. “Because Wes, Ridge, and I are all standing at that place in the orchard, and we think we might know what’s behind that damn door.”

That got his attention.

Flint met Jenna’s gaze across the room, reading the same curiosity and suspicion in her eyes. “We’re on our way.”

The air at Cold Creek Orchards was thick with the scent of damp earth, the lingering smoke from the burned barn still faint but present. The orchard stood tall, stretching in all directions, but Flint’s focus was on the group gathered near the rune-covered stone door buried in the heart of the land.

“You’re late,” Wes drawled, crossing his arms as he leaned against a tree. He glanced between Flint and Jenna, a knowing grin creeping up his face. “Busy morning?”

Flint ignored him, but Jenna shot Wes a look that could have made a lesser man take a step back.

“What do you have?” Flint asked, getting straight to the point.

Sybil crouched by the stone door, brushing dirt from the markings. “This thing is old. Older than the Calloways, older than the town itself. And it’s tied to a bloodline.”

“What bloodline?” said Jenna, stiffening beside him.

Ridge sighed. “That’s the thing. It should be Calloway’s, right? The land was originally part of their family holdings before Maribel’s ancestors claimed it through blood-right. But this?” He gestured toward the door. “This isn’t Calloway’s. It’s something else.”

Flint frowned. “The Ghost Walkers.”

Sybil nodded. “That’s what we think. This door is a seal—meant to keep something in. Or keep people out.”

Jenna took a step closer, her gaze locked onto the stone like it was calling to her. “Then why does my she-cat feel like it knows what’s inside?”

Flint snapped his attention to her, watching the way her breath shallowed, her fingers twitching at her sides. He could feel her energy shifting, her instincts clawing at something unseen.

He moved closer, his body brushing against hers. “What do you feel?”

Jenna’s voice was quiet, distant. “It’s not fear. It’s recognition. Like… this place belongs to me.”

Sybil exchanged a glance with Wes before looking back at Jenna. “That’s because it might.”

Flint’s jaw clenched. He didn’t like where this was heading.

Jenna turned toward Sybil, her eyes blazing. “Explain.”

Sybil hesitated before finally saying, “Maribel’s bloodline might not just be connected to the land. It might be tied to what’s inside that door.”

Flint’s instincts roared to life, his protectiveness spiking like a damn wildfire. Jenna was tied to whatever was buried beneath them. And that meant she was in more danger than any of them had realized. Sybil’s revelation had ratcheted up the tension in Flint’s chest, and it showed no sign of letting down.

Jenna was tied to whatever was buried beneath Cold Creek Orchards. That single fact rattled him more than he cared to admit. He didn’t need another damn reason to feel protective over her. The mate bond was already digging its claws into him, making every instinct scream to keep her close, to keep her safe.

After the group had dissected every theory they could imagine, they’d all agreed on one thing—until they figured out how to get past that sealed door, standing around speculating wasn’t going to do them any good. Flint needed to burn off the frustration pulsing through his veins, and from the way Jenna’s fingers twitched, he could tell her she-cat was needing the same.

The group agreed to disburse and do some more research, then meet the following day. After serving everyone lunch at the farmhouse he stood behind Jenna, his arms on either side of her braced against the porch railing as the others left.

Nuzzling her neck he whispered, “Let’s run.”

Jenna blinked at him. “What?”

Flint tilted his head toward the woods, where the dense forest beckoned. “You need it. I need it. Let’s run.”

For a second, she hesitated. But then, something in her eyes sparked—an unspoken challenge. “Fine,” she said, already reaching for the hem of her sweater.

His blood heated.

Jenna didn’t hesitate when she wanted something. And right now, she wanted to run. She shed her clothes with effortless efficiency, the sharp autumn air doing nothing to cool the heat rolling off her.

Flint followed suit, yanking off his shirt, stepping out of his boots, shucking off his jeans and leaving behind everything but the drive to move.

Jenna met his gaze one last time before letting go. The air crackled with power as the change overtook her, a swirling mist enveloping her body. Thunder rumbled low, lightning flashing in the thick fog of the shift. Colors shattered, bending in strange, unnatural patterns. And then, where Jenna had stood, a sleek mountain lion emerged, her fur a shade darker than his own, her eyes blazing like a wildfire.

Flint called forth his own mountain lion, embracing the shift as the same crackling mist surged around him. When it dissipated, he landed on four paws, muscles coiled, senses sharper than any human could imagine.

Jenna let out a low growl, stepping closer, nudging her muzzle against his shoulder in a teasing, almost loving gesture. His lion rumbled in response, a low, vibrating sound of acknowledgment.

But without waiting, she bolted, jumping off the porch and landing in a full-out gallop. Flint didn’t hesitate. He launched after her, his powerful body cutting across the barnyard and charging toward the undergrowth in the orchard and forest. He chased her through the orchard. She was fast. Damn fast. But he’d expected that. Her she-cat had been caged too long.

She leapt over fallen logs, twisting through the trees with an agility that sent a thrill through his blood. Flint gave chase, pushing harder, his muscles flexing with every bound. He caught up to her near the ridge, their fur nearly brushing as he ran beside her, matching her stride for stride.

She let out a playful growl, bumping against his side before surging forward again, daring him to keep up. Flint’s lion rumbled with satisfaction. She was testing him, pushing him. And hell if he wasn’t going to meet that challenge.

They raced deeper into the forest, their surroundings blurring into streaks of autumn gold and evergreen. The crisp mountain air filled his lungs, the scent of pine, damp earth, and wild energy sharpening his focus.

And then he caught it. The scent. His paws dug into the dirt as he skidded to a stop, muscles tensing, his lion snarling a silent warning.

Jenna didn’t miss the change in his energy. She turned, ears flicking forward, her body going still. She scented the air, her eyes narrowing as she caught it, too.

Ghost Walkers.

Only this time, they weren’t running. A rustle in the underbrush was the only warning they got before the first attack came.

A blur of silver fur launched at Flint from the left, aiming for his throat. He dodged at the last second, twisting to avoid the lynx-shifter’s claws. But another came from behind, forcing him to spin, his own claws flashing as he lashed out.

Jenna was already in motion. She met the first attacker head-on, slamming into the smaller shifter with enough force to send them both rolling through the dirt. Snarls and growls filled the night, the quiet forest now a battlefield.

Flint dug his claws into the earth, launching himself at the second Ghost Walker. The lynx was fast, but Flint was bigger, stronger. He slammed into the shifter mid-leap, sending them crashing to the ground. Claws raked at his side, but he barely felt it as he bit down, aiming for the shoulder.

Jenna let out a furious growl as she pinned her opponent, her powerful hind legs raking across the lynx’s belly. The shifter yowled, kicking her off, but she landed on all fours, poised to strike again.

Flint twisted, flipping his opponent onto their back, his teeth bared, ready to end this. But before he could land the killing blow, a sharp, piercing whistle cut through the air.

The Ghost Walkers froze—then, as quickly as they’d attacked, they retreated.

The lynx beneath Flint squirmed, slipping free and darting into the trees. The other followed, their agile bodies disappearing into the darkness like smoke.

Flint let out a growl of frustration but didn’t chase. He turned to Jenna, his breath still heaving, his lion still thrumming with adrenaline.

She looked just as fierce, her fur bristling, her eyes locked onto the shadows where the Ghost Walkers had vanished.

They had been testing them. But why?

Jenna let out a short, irritated chuff before padding closer, bumping her head against his flank in a silent question. He brushed his muzzle against hers, a silent reassurance. They weren’t done with this fight. Not by a long shot.

He turned toward the direction of the farmhouse, letting out a low rumble. Jenna huffed but followed, her sleek form moving beside his as they began the trek back.

Whatever game the Ghost Walkers were playing, they’d just made one thing clear. They weren’t afraid to fight. What he and Jenna had shown them was that neither were they.

Flint breathed heavily, his mountain lion demanding pursuit, demanding blood. They had come so close—so damn close—to getting answers. But those bastards were slippery. Jenna let out a low, irritated chuff beside him, her frustration mirroring his own. But beneath it, she was buzzing, her she-cat still thrumming with adrenaline. She turned toward him, her eyes locking onto his.

They loped back to the farmhouse, side-by-side, simply enjoying one another’s company and the cool, crisp air.

When they arrived at the farmhouse, Flint let out a rough breath before stepping onto the porch. The swirling mist of his change surrounded him, the crackle of lightning and shifting colors breaking through the night. When the mist dissipated, he stood naked in the afternoon light, muscles tight, breathing heavy, his body still vibrating with the need to fight.

Jenna followed a second later, her own form emerging from the mist. She barely seemed winded, but her hands clenched at her sides, her jaw locked with barely restrained fury.

“They were playing with us,” she muttered, her voice sharp.

Flint ran a hand through his hair, eyes scanning the forest. “Yeah.”

Jenna’s fingers curled, her frustration practically radiating off her. “They weren’t just looking for a fight. They could’ve killed one of us if they’d wanted to.”

Flint nodded, stepping closer, the heat of his bare skin brushing against hers. “Doubtful. As you pointed out, in a contest between a lynx and a mountain lion, mountain lion wins. I think they were just sizing us up… testing how far we’d go.”

Jenna let out a slow breath, her gaze narrowing. “They wanted us to know they’re not afraid.”

Flint’s muscles coiled. “Good.”

Jenna blinked. “Good?”

He turned, facing her fully. “Fear makes people reckless. Somewhere deep down, they must be afraid of us, which means they’re making mistakes. And mistakes?” His eyes burned into hers. “That’s how we win.”

She stared at him for a long moment before letting out a low, humorless chuckle. “You really are a cocky bastard, aren’t you?”

Flint’s lip curled. “You already knew that.”

She huffed, shaking her head, but she didn’t argue. The energy between them was still crackling, too much, too sharp. The adrenaline hadn’t fully left either of their systems, and his lion still wasn’t ready to let her go.

Flint reached out before he could stop himself, his fingers grazing her wrist. “You’re staying with me now.”

Jenna paused. “Flint…”

“I’m not asking.” His voice dropped, his grip tightening just slightly. “From now on, you’re staying with me.”

She didn’t pull away. Didn’t argue. For the first time, she simply looked at him—truly looked at him. Like she saw everything, every unspoken demand, every instinct, every need buried beneath his words. And for once, she didn’t fight it.

Her throat bobbed with a hard swallow, but her nod was firm. “Okay.”

Flint felt something settle deep inside him, something old, something permanent. His lion rumbled in satisfaction. Finally.