Page 19 of Flint’s Fate (Silver Falls Shifters #3)

CHAPTER 18

FLINT

F lint’s knuckles ached from clenching the steering wheel too tight. The headlights of the SUV cut through the darkness, casting eerie shadows against the towering trees lining the winding road back to the farmhouse. Jenna sat beside him, silent, staring out the window, her fingers absently rubbing at her wrist where McVey’s men had bound her.

She hadn’t spoken much since they’d escaped. Since she’d saved his damn soul from tearing McVey apart with his bare hands.

Flint was still vibrating with the need to hunt that bastard down and finish the job. The only thing stopping him was the woman sitting next to him, bruised but unbroken, her stubborn chin lifted, her fire still burning despite everything McVey had tried to do.

She was his. He knew it, felt it in every inch of his body. But she didn’t belong to him. Not completely. Not yet. And that gnawed at his insides worse than any wound.

The farmhouse came into view, the porch light casting a warm glow in the cold night. Ridge’s truck was already parked outside. The dragon shifter had beaten them back.

The second Flint parked, Jenna threw open the door and climbed out without waiting for him. He watched her stretch, shaking out her muscles like she was trying to shake off the night itself.

“Wes, you good?” Flint asked as the younger man climbed out from the back seat.

Wes cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders. “I’ve had worse nights. Not by much, but hey, gotta keep life interesting, right?”

Flint huffed, shaking his head, but his attention was already back on Jenna. She was headed for the porch, boots hitting the wooden steps like a woman with a purpose. He followed, his gut warning him that the next few hours weren’t going to get any easier.

Inside, Ridge stood by the fireplace, arms crossed, his eyes darting toward Jenna the moment she stepped inside. Relief flashed across his face, but it was buried quickly beneath something heavier.

“We’ve got a problem,” Ridge said.

Jenna pulled off her leather jacket, tossing it over a chair before pouring herself a drink. “No kidding,” she muttered, knocking back a sip of whiskey like it was water.

Flint took a step toward her, but Ridge’s voice stopped him.

“The Ghost Walkers made contact.”

Jenna’s hand froze mid-pour.

Flint’s stomach went tight. “What do you mean, ‘made contact’?”

Ridge exhaled sharply. “They came to me.”

Jenna turned, her eyes sharp. “You?”

Ridge nodded. “Dragons and Ghost Walkers once shared this valley. They recognize my kind as part of the old world.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “Which means they don’t see me as an outsider like they do the rest of you.”

Flint wasn’t liking where this was headed. “What did they say?”

Ridge’s gaze cut to Jenna. “That Cold Creek belongs to them. That your family never should have had it. And that they’ll take it back—no matter what.”

The room went dead silent.

Jenna set her glass down with deliberate care. “And by ‘take it back,’ you mean…?”

“They want you,” Ridge said, his voice low but certain. “They need you to open that chamber, just like McVey does. The difference is, they don’t plan on letting you walk away afterward.”

“I have a hot news flash for them, neither does McVey.”

Flint’s hands fisted at his sides. “Over my dead body.”

Ridge didn’t blink. “That’s exactly what they said might happen.”

A muscle ticked in Flint’s jaw. “You tell them to come try?”

Ridge’s golden eyes darkened. “I told them if they wanted to start a war, we wouldn’t be the ones bleeding first.”

Flint’s chest burned with something deep and territorial.

Jenna leaned against the table, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “So what’s their timeline? When do they make a move?”

Ridge sighed. “Soon. They’re watching. Waiting. They want you scared. They want you isolated. They want you to make a mistake.”

Jenna snorted, shaking her head. “I hope they’re holding their breath because it’ll be a long time before I do and they can suffocate.”

Flint admired the hell out of her fire, but he wasn’t fooled. She was still processing everything.

Wes, who had been unusually quiet, ran a hand through his hair. “This just keeps getting better and better.”

“Then we stop waiting. McVey and the Ghost Walkers want the same thing? Fine. Let’s make sure neither of them get it.”

Flint folded his arms. “We can’t just blow the place sky-high. That chamber exists for a reason. We need to know what’s inside before we start burning things down.”

Jenna’s lips twitched. “For once, we agree, but I think we all need to get some rest tonight.”

Ridge stepped away from the fireplace, rolling his shoulders like the weight of this whole damn mess was settling deep in his bones. “I’ll take first patrol over the orchard,” he said, heading out the door. “I’ll fly it. Make sure we don’t have any uninvited guests creeping too close.”

Jenna raised an eyebrow. “Won’t that be a little obvious?”

Ridge grinned, teeth flashing. “Let them see me. Let them wonder.”

Flint liked that plan just fine. Let the bastards know what was waiting for them if they thought about coming any closer.

Wes grabbed his jacket. “I’ll head to the cider mill. Ember and Sybil are holding things down there, and I want to check in.”

Ridge clapped him on the shoulder. “Stay sharp.”

Flint waited until the door closed behind them before turning back to Jenna.

The firelight cast shadows across her face, highlighting the bruises forming along her cheekbone, the faint smear of dried blood at her temple. She looked like hell. She looked perfect.

“You should rest,” he said, knowing damn well she wouldn’t.

Jenna met his gaze, something sharp and stubborn flashing in her eyes. “So should you.”

Flint closed the distance between them, crowding into her space. “That’s not how this works, Jenna.”

She arched an eyebrow, unshaken. “No?”

Flint’s fingers curled around the back of her chair. “You were taken. You were hurt. And now, we’ve got two separate factions gunning for you.” His voice dropped to something low and dangerous. “You think I’m letting you out of my sight?”

Jenna’s lips parted, and for a second, he thought she’d argue. But then her expression shifted. The sharp edge softened just a fraction, and that damn heat between them sparked hotter. Flint’s grip on the chair tightened. If he stayed too close, if he touched her the way he wanted to, he’d claim her.

Not just with words. Not just with the truth he already knew in his bones. But with teeth. With the kind of mark that meant no other man would dare touch her.

His control was stretched thin. Jenna must have seen it, must have felt it, because she inhaled sharply and took a step back. Flint let her go.

“Get some sleep,” he murmured. “Tomorrow, we finish this.”

Jenna nodded once, but as she turned away, Flint knew they weren’t done. And when the time came? He wouldn’t let her walk away.

After she had retreated to the kitchen telling him she’d make them something to eat, the farmhouse seemed quiet. Too quiet.

Wes was gone, heading for the cider mill to check in with Sybil and Ember. Ridge had taken to the skies, his dragon form patrolling the orchard like a silent guardian. That left Flint and Jenna alone inside.

She hadn’t said much since the others had left. She stood by the kitchen table, arms crossed, her jaw tight as if she was bracing for a fight.

Flint locked the door, double-checking the security system before stepping back into the dimly lit room. His body still hummed with adrenaline, his instincts raw from everything that had happened. He’d almost lost her.

Jenna laid two plates on the table heaped with some kind of scramble and perfectly browned toast. Her whole body was tense —not from fear, but with something that told him she was just as wired as he was.

“We need to talk,” Flint said.

Jenna’s gaze flicked up to meet his. “Talk?” she repeated, her voice flat. “That’s what you want to do?”

He took a slow, measured step toward her. “I want a lot of things, Jenna.”

She didn’t move away. Didn’t so much as blink. “Then say it.”

His muscles coiled tight. “You almost died tonight.”

Her lips pressed together. “I handled myself.”

Flint moved fast, closing the distance between them in two strides, his chest nearly brushing hers. “Is that what you think this is about? That you ‘handled’ it?” His voice was a low growl, his control hanging by a thread. “I watched them drag you away, Jenna. I watched them put their hands on you. And you think I should just let that slide?”

She lifted her chin, her eyes sparking. “I knew you’d come after me. I never doubted it.”

His breath came sharp, his pulse hammering as his restraint snapped thread by thread. “You think that matters?”

Jenna’s nostrils flared. “You’re acting like I was some helpless damsel in distress, Flint. I got out.”

“Because I was there,” he shot back.

Her eyes narrowed. “So now you’re taking credit?”

Flint let out a sharp, humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair as he paced away from her before turning back, his chest rising and falling with barely contained fury. “That’s not what this is about, and you damn well know it.”

Jenna folded her arms, her stance unyielding. “Then what is it about?”

He strode forward again, towering over her. “It’s about the fact that you’re making it impossible for me to protect you.”

The words landed between them like a lit match on dry kindling.

Jenna’s breath hitched, her pupils dilating. “You’re trying to cage me.”

Flint snarled, slamming a hand against the wall beside her. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”

Flint’s control cracked. He pressed her back against the wall, his body caging hers in. The heat between them ignited, molten and consuming, every nerve in his body screaming at him to take her. To claim her.

Jenna didn’t shove him away. She didn’t flinch. She met his gaze, chin lifted in challenge, eyes burning with something just as reckless as his own need.

“Go on,” she dared, voice husky. “Prove it.”

Flint’s breathing turned ragged. “You want me to prove it?” His voice was thick, dangerous.

Jenna tilted her head, exposing the soft line of her throat. “You’re all growl, Mercer, and no bite.”

A dangerous sound rumbled from deep in his chest. His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around her wrist as he flipped her around to face the wall. His other hand landed on her hip, his grip bruising, his control barely holding together as he leaned in, his breath hot against her ear.

“You have no idea how close you are to pushing me too far,” he warned.

Jenna shivered beneath him, but not in fear. Flint could smell it—the sharp, unmistakable scent of her arousal, of her body responding to his dominance like she was born for it. His lips grazed the sensitive spot at the nape of her neck. Jenna let out the softest sound. Flint nearly lost himself right then and there. Nearly.

He yanked himself back at the last second, muscles trembling with restraint as he tore himself away from her heat, from the heady pull of her scent. As Jenna turned around to face him, her eyes were heavy-lidded, her chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

Flint’s jaw locked. “You want me to claim you?” he ground out. “You better be damn sure before you say that again.”

She didn’t look away. Didn’t back down. Flint’s hands fisted at his sides. He turned, shoving a hand through his hair as he forced himself to step back before he did something he couldn’t take back.

Jenna watched him, her lips slightly parted, something unreadable flickering in her expression. After a long, charged silence, she straightened, rolling her shoulders as if shaking off the moment. “We should get some sleep,” she murmured.

Flint’s pulse thundered in his ears as he forced himself to step back. Every muscle in his body rebelled, screaming at him to take what was his. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms.

Jenna’s scent wrapped around him, intoxicating and infuriating. The way she looked at him—daring, unflinching—made his blood burn hotter. She was playing with fire, and she knew it. Hell, maybe she wanted to get burned.

Flint had spent his life controlling the beast inside him, keeping his mountain lion on a short leash, but Jenna Hartford was tearing through every restraint he had.

If he took her now, it wouldn’t just be sex. He would leave his mark on her. It would be forever.

Flint braced a hand against the wall, dragging in a sharp breath through his nose. His gaze locked onto hers, dark and warning. “When I claim you, it won’t be in anger,” he growled, voice rough with the effort it took to hold himself back. “It won’t be because you pushed me into it. It’ll be because you beg for it.”

Jenna’s lips parted, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. He saw the way her pupils dilated, the way she clenched her fingers at her sides like she wanted to reach for him but refused to be the first to move.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then, like a storm breaking, there was a knock on the door and Ridge’s voice cut through the thick silence.

“We’ve got a problem,” said Ridge as Flint snapped his head toward the doorway. Ridge and Ember stood just inside, their expressions grim. “Baby sister insisted on joining me.”

Ember’s arms were crossed, her sharp eyes flicking between them before settling on Jenna, like she already knew exactly what the hell had been happening before they walked in.

Jenna turned away from Flint, her posture tight as she straightened. “What kind of problem?”

Ridge stepped forward, his tall frame casting long shadows in the dim farmhouse light. “It seems Calloway has decided McVey can’t help him so he’s making his own move. The Ghost Walkers are massing, and they aren’t waiting any longer. They want what they believe is theirs.”

Flint swore under his breath, his frustration with Jenna momentarily taking a backseat to the fresh surge of danger. “How many?”

“More than enough,” Ridge said darkly. “They’ve been gathering in the forests outside the orchard, waiting. Calloway is in league with them. He must’ve given the order.”

Flint’s jaw clenched. “They’re after Jenna.”

Ridge’s expression darkened. “And they’re willing to take her by force.”

Jenna crossed her arms, her stance defensive but steady. “Let them try.”

Flint’s temper flared all over again. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

She shot him a glare. “Oh, I’m taking it seriously. I just don’t plan on running.”

Flint scrubbed a hand down his face, forcing himself to focus. This wasn’t the time to get into it with her. “What else?”

Ember took a step forward. “Ridge spoke with one of their scouts. It knew what he was. It was wary but it talked.”

“Why would it talk to you?” Jenna asked Ridge, suspicion lacing her voice.

Ridge’s expression was unreadable. “Like I said, dragons are old, just like the Ghost Walkers. We shared this valley once, long before humans claimed it.”

The weight of his words settled over the room like a lead blanket.

Flint’s fingers twitched. “And?”

Ridge let out a breath, his gaze cutting to Jenna. “The Ghost Walkers think you’re the key to everything—the only thing standing between them and what was stolen from them centuries ago.”

Jenna’s voice was calm, too calm. “So what you’re saying is, Calloway’s unleashed them.”

Ember nodded. “They’ll come for you soon.”

Silence stretched between them. Flint could hear the distant wind rattling the windows, the distant sound of leaves rustling in the orchard outside.

Jenna didn’t waver. “Then we take the fight to them first.”

Flint turned to her, his frustration rearing up again. “Damn it, Jenna, you’re not an army.”

Her eyes flashed. “Neither are you, but that hasn’t stopped you from acting like one.”

Ridge cleared his throat, cutting in before the argument reignited. “We don’t have much time to decide.”

Flint pushed down the need to grab Jenna, to shake some sense into her. He turned back to Ridge. “What’s the smartest play?”

Ridge’s expression darkened. “We either fortify and fight them here…” His gaze flicked to Jenna. “Or we move before they can come knocking.”

Jenna squared her shoulders. “I’m not leaving.”

Flint swore under his breath. Of course, she wasn’t.

Ember leveled a look at Jenna. “Then you better be ready for war, because they’re bringing one straight to your front door.”

Flint glanced back at Jenna, at the fire in her eyes, the stubborn set of her jaw. This fight wasn’t just about land anymore. It wasn’t about the orchard or what lay beneath it.

It was about her. The storm was coming. And this time, no one was walking away unscathed.