Page 21 of Flint’s Fate (Silver Falls Shifters #3)

CHAPTER 20

JENNA

H e carried her up the stairs, and once they reached the bedroom, he stripped her with deliberate precision, tracing his hands over her body, checking for anything other than perfunctory wounds. Finding none, he led her into the steamy shower, where they engaged in an almost sacred exchange of cleansing, their bodies entwined in unspoken devotion.

"You're so breathtaking it nearly hurts to take you in," he murmured in a raw, husky tone as he held her tight.

Leading her into the bedroom after they’d dried one another, he laid her gently on her back, his strong hand caressing her breast with a firm yet tender squeeze. As Flint’s low, animalistic purr filled the air, Jenna felt an intense stirring—a warmth that dissolved every scrap of tension even as desire surged powerfully through her veins. Within her, delicate butterflies erupted into a frenetic storm, their wings aflame with consuming lust.

Reclining on his side, Flint rested his head against his bent arm while his fingers traced intricate, mesmerizing circles around her areolas, patterns that echoed the complexity of the ancient runes that had brought them together. His measured, concentric movements took him tantalizingly near her hardening nipples without ever quite connecting—until finally, his expert digits rolled them between his thumb and forefinger before delivering a delicate pinch. Though the pressure was sharp, it unleashed a torrent of relief and deep, abiding longing that left her craving even more.

When he positioned his mouth over her sensitive tip, Jenna’s head fell back in surrender and her eyes closed in ecstatic bliss. Soft, rhythmic moans filled the space as she savored his relentless attention—his lips lavishing her breasts with a mix of delicate licking, fervent sucking, and teasing nips that alternated with exquisite precision. Every inch of her areola and nipple was worshiped with unyielding passion.

Her breathing grew erratic and shallow as his mouth wandered from her breasts upward along her neck, playful nibbles igniting sparks until he reached her own inviting mouth. His tongue slipped in, igniting a fierce dance of desire, while his throbbing erection pressed insistently against her hip—a silent promise of the raw intensity still to come.

"Flint..." she breathed, the word a soft plea mixed with undeniable arousal.

"On your belly," he growled, his voice dark and commanding. His hand slid decisively between her legs, parting her delicate folds with possessive ease. "So wet for me," he purred, his fingers slipping inside her and beginning to stroke with expert precision.

She adjusted her position slightly, hoping to align his thumb with that singular spot that had her trembling, but he skillfully readjusted, drawing an even louder moan from deep within her. The moan swelled into a gasp as his finger traced delicate circles around her swollen nub, soon joined by his thumb which pinched her clit with an intensity that quickly transformed sharp sting into soaring, overwhelming pleasure.

Moving behind her, he hoisted her onto her knees, encircling her hips with a firm grip to steady her. In an electrifying moment, Jenna felt the head of his cock hover at her entrance before he thrust in with a force that filled her entirely. A primal scream erupted from her as his determined movement claimed every fiber of her being, shaking her to her core.

Clutching the sheets as if they were lifelines, she wrung them in perfect rhythm with Flint’s relentless thrusts. The faint barbs along his length, barely noticeable on entry, stiffened and raked her on withdrawal, only to soften again as he surged forward with renewed vigor. Each grunt and growl emanating from behind her was an unapologetic exclamation of the raw, unbridled passion that consumed them both.

His growls morphed into savage, primal roars as he drove relentlessly into her. There was no room for gentleness or languor in his lovemaking today—it was fierce and untamed, a force of nature unleashed. She envisioned herself being claimed with the raw intensity of ancient peoples—only they hadn’t known the exquisite savagery of the barbs.

Jenna pushed back with equal fervor, her body tightening around the barbs as she climaxed once more, her cries a tumultuous mix of pleasure and desperation. Flint plunged deep, a brutal withdrawal nearly breaking their connection, only to slam back into her with unyielding force.

There was nothing refined or tender in his possession of her—it was a wild, consuming fire. She felt another orgasm rising, a formidable wave far stronger than any before. As it crashed over her, she felt the piercing bite of Flint's powerful jaws clamping down on the nape of her neck. Her scream tore through the room, a blend of ecstasy, pain, and surrender that blurred into a singular, overwhelming sensation. He held her captive in his teeth, his hands a vice around her as he thrust one final time, grinding his hips against her with a feral intensity as he released his very essence into her.

Flint collapsed onto her back, a heavy, anchoring weight. For a fleeting moment, he seemed to be utterly content and completely satiated, and she reveled in the knowledge that she could bring him to such a state. His weight pressed her further into the mattress, and for that sweet, suspended moment, they were an inseparable unity. He nuzzled her neck, tenderly kissing the mark he had left. She drifted into sleep with him still embedded within her, his exhausted form draped over hers, his hands cradling her breasts with a possessive tenderness.

FLINT

Flint stood at the edge of the orchard as the first rays of morning light stretched across the valley, painting the land in muted gold and soft violet. The air smelled like damp earth, lingering smoke, and blood. The battle was over, but the war wasn’t finished. Not yet.

Jenna walked beside him, her steps steady, her shoulder wrapped in fresh bandages, but she wasn’t moving like someone nursing an injury. She carried herself like a warrior, like a woman who had just faced death and come out the other side sharper, harder, more certain than ever.

He’d barely left her side since carrying her into the farmhouse hours ago. He hadn’t been able to. She had slept—fitful but deep. He had watched over her, unwilling to close his eyes until the last of his adrenaline had burned itself out. Now, with the sun rising and the chamber still wide open, they had one last move to make before they could breathe.

The others were already gathered at the stone threshold. Ridge stood near the entrance, his massive frame still streaked with dried blood, his eyes scanning the tree line. Ember was next to him, her gaze locked on the sky, her dragon instincts still wound tight from the battle. Wes and Sybil were positioned near the trees, rifles slung over their shoulders, looking like they hadn’t slept at all.

Ridge turned as they approached. “We’ve been rotating guards all night,” he said, his voice gravelly. “One dragon, one mountain lion at all times. We wanted to make sure no one got near that thing without us knowing.”

Flint nodded. “Good.”

Jenna stepped up to the chamber’s entrance, eyeing the still-open stone doors, the pulsing artifact at its center. The power inside hummed in the early morning quiet, waiting, watching.

“It’s still open,” she said, more to herself than anyone else.

Wes snorted. “Yeah, we noticed. You going to close it now or let it sit there glowing like a ‘come rob me’ sign?”

Jenna lifted her chin, ignoring the jab. “We have to seal it right,” she murmured. “Permanently. If McVey or anyone else detects a weakness in the seal, they’ll find a way to force it open again.”

Flint didn’t argue. He knew she was right. This wasn’t just about stopping McVey anymore. This was about making sure no one—Ghost Walkers, Calloway, anyone—could use this power ever again.

She turned to Ridge. “And the Ghost Walkers?”

He rolled his shoulders. “What’s left of them scattered. Calloway’s gone, probably licking his wounds somewhere, but I don’t think he’ll be dumb enough to come back. Their numbers are too low to risk another fight.”

“So that just leaves McVey,” Flint said.

The name alone sent a fresh surge of anger through him. That bastard was still out there, and until he was dead, none of them could lower their guard.

“I don’t like that he’s quiet,” Ember muttered. “Feels wrong.”

“Because it is wrong,” Sybil said, flipping the safety off her rifle. “He’s waiting for something.”

Jenna’s expression darkened. “Or he’s planning something.”

The words had barely left her lips when the shot rang out.

The crack of gunfire shattered the morning stillness. Flint moved on instinct, shoving Jenna aside as a bullet hissed through the air, missing her by inches.

“Get down!” Ridge roared, his dragon senses reacting faster than sight, scanning the trees. Wes dove behind the stone ruins, Sybil already lifting her rifle, searching for the shooter.

Flint rolled, pressing Jenna against the ground, covering her body with his own. “You good?” he rasped.

She nodded, her breath coming fast. “Where…”

Another shot. It sparked against the stone behind them. Flint’s muscles coiled. He caught movement near the tree line—just enough for his sharp shifter vision to pick up the gleam of a rifle barrel tucked between the branches.

McVey—the sonofabitch wasn’t done yet.

Flint’s blood boiled. His lion roared inside him, clawing for release. No more games. No more near-misses. He was ending this. Now.

“I see him,” Ridge growled. “Southwest tree line, thirty meters out.”

“I got him,” Wes said, already sighting down his scope.

Jenna pushed against Flint’s chest, trying to sit up. “Let me up.”

“No.” His voice was a low snarl, primal. He wasn’t letting her go until McVey was dead.

Jenna glared at him. “Flint...”

He ignored her, twisting to Sybil. “Circle around. Ridge, give us cover.”

Ridge nodded, his pupils flashing reptilian before his body shimmered and was enshrouded in a swirling mist that crackled with power and light. In a single breath, Ridge was airborne, his dragon form launching into the sky, wings slicing through the dawn. He let out a warning growl, loud enough to shake the trees.

McVey fired again, but Ridge’s presence had rattled him. His shot went wide, giving Sybil time to move.

Flint turned back to Jenna. “Stay here.”

She scoffed. “Like hell.”

Before he could stop her, she rolled away, grabbing her own weapon. Flint swore under his breath, rage and admiration warring inside him. He should have known she wouldn’t stay put. Fine. Then they’d end this together.

He took off, staying low as he moved toward the trees, his feet silent against the damp earth. Jenna was at his side, moving just as fast, her blade already in her hand.

McVey must have seen them coming. He dropped his rifle, retreating deeper into the woods.

Flint chased him down.

Branches snapped beneath his boots as he ran, closing the distance between them. McVey was fast for a human. He must have known shifting to a coyote wouldn’t help at all. No coyote had ever been the victor in a contest with a mountain lion. If McVey was fast, Flint was faster. His lion was rising, his instincts tuned to the kill.

McVey stumbled, panting, blood streaking down his arm from where one of Wes’ bullets had clipped him. He turned, a knife flashing in his hand. “You really think you’re going to win, Mercer?” he spat. “You think this ends with me?”

Flint bared his teeth. “No. It ends with you dying.”

McVey lunged. Flint sidestepped, catching his wrist, twisting it hard enough to hear the snap of bone. McVey howled, but Flint wasn’t done. He drove his knee into the bastard’s gut, sending him crashing to the ground.

Flint was on him in a second, his boot pressing against McVey’s chest, the blade at his throat. “You put a knife in my mate,” he said, voice cold. “Did you really think I’d let that slide?”

McVey’s breath came fast, his face twisted in pain, but he still had the nerve to laugh. “You kill me, and someone else will take my place.”

“Maybe,” Flint replied. “But whoever it is won’t be you.”

And with that, he drove his blade deep. McVey gasped, choking, eyes wide as blood bloomed across his chest. Jenna didn’t move, didn’t look away as the life bled from his body.

Then, it was over.

Jenna pulled him back, wrapping her arms around him as he stood. Flint didn’t resist—just breathed, staring down at the man who had tried to destroy his mate.

It was done. McVey was dead, and they were still standing.

Jenna cupped his face, forcing him to meet her gaze. “You with me?”

Flint swallowed, his eyes burning. “Yeah.”

She pulled him in, holding him close. “It’s over.”

The earth was still humming beneath his feet, vibrating with the remnants of power from the chamber, from the battle, from whatever the hell Jenna had just done.

McVey was dead. Calloway was gone. The Ghost Walkers had scattered, their ancient claim shattered by the blood they’d spilled. But the fight wasn’t over yet—not until she sealed the damn thing for good.

Jenna stood at the chamber entrance, wind lifting strands of her hair, her shoulders squared as she faced the glowing artifact one last time. She was steady, but Flint saw the way her fingers curled, the tightness in her jaw.

For all her bravado, for all her sharp edges, Jenna had been through hell, and she wasn’t coming out unscathed. Neither was he, but they were coming out of it together.

“You sure about this?” Flint asked, stepping up beside her, their arms brushing.

Jenna inhaled deeply, her gaze never leaving the artifact. “Yes.”

She crouched down, brushing dirt off the worn leather-bound journal she’d carried with her into the chamber. It had been Maribel’s once. Now, it belonged to Jenna. Inside were the notes her aunt had hidden, scribbled warnings, half-finished translations—everything Maribel had pieced together over the years about what lay beneath Cold Creek.

The chamber had always been waiting for Jenna, but not to be used. To be protected.

Jenna flipped through the pages, fingers trailing over the faded ink. “She knew,” she murmured. “Maribel knew what the artifact really was. What it could do.”

Flint watched as she traced a section of script, her expression tightening.

“She spent her whole life keeping this buried,” Jenna continued, her voice steady, but Flint could hear the emotion underneath. “Calloway and the Ghost Walkers wanted to claim it. McVey wanted to twist it into something else. But it was never meant to be theirs.”

Flint’s chest ached at the quiet pain in her words. He wanted to tell her she wasn’t alone, that she didn’t have to carry the weight of all this by herself. But Jenna wasn’t the type to accept empty reassurances.

Instead, he reached out, sliding a hand over the small of her back, grounding her. “So, let’s finish it,” he said.

Jenna nodded. She rose to her feet, stepping closer to the artifact. The power inside pulsed brighter, sensing her presence, responding. The chamber walls shuddered, the runes along the stone flaring with golden light.

She lifted her hands, speaking the words Maribel had left behind. The ones written in a language lost to time, one that only a Walker, from whom Jenna descended, could call upon.

The moment the last syllable left her lips, the chamber reacted.

A rush of energy burst from the artifact, racing up the walls, sinking into the stone-like veins of molten gold. The air thickened, vibrating with unseen force. The entrance began to close. Jenna stumbled back, breathing hard. Flint caught her, pulling her against his chest as he removed her from the chamber.

Standing at the entrance, just outside the doors, they watched as the artifact pulsed one last time, before it dimmed and then faded into nothing as the doors sealed themselves shut. The last of the chamber’s power was buried beneath the earth, locked away forever.

Jenna sagged against him, her body warm, her pulse rapid beneath his touch. “It’s done.”

Flint’s grip tightened around her. “It’s done,” he echoed.

And this time, there were no more threats waiting in the dark.

Silver Falls Cider Days Festival

Several Weeks Later

The town was healing.

The wreckage McVey had left behind—both physical and emotional—was slowly being rebuilt. Calloway’s influence had been stripped away, leaving Silver Falls to finally breathe. The Ghost Walkers had retreated, their claim on Cold Creek broken.

And Jenna? She had taken her place, not as some hidden heiress; not as a pawn in someone else’s game. She was Cold Creek Orchards now. The last of the Walker/Hartford line, the only rightful guardian of the land.

Flint had never given a damn about destiny, but if he did, he’d say the orchard had been waiting for her just as much as he had.

The festival lights twinkled across the town square, lanterns glowing in the crisp autumn air. Music floated through the streets, the scent of cider and warm cinnamon twisting around them.

Flint leaned against the wooden railing of the town’s center gazebo, a fresh beer in one hand, the other wrapped around Jenna’s waist. She stood between his legs, her back pressed to his chest, her body fitting against him like it was made to be there.

The tension that had been knotting her shoulders since she’d arrived had finally eased. There was still healing to do—there always would be—but for now, she was here, warm and his.

Jenna sighed softly, her fingers tracing idle patterns along his forearm where it rested against her stomach. “So what now?” she murmured.

Flint grinned against her hair, pressing a kiss just behind her ear, inhaling the scent of apples and the lingering spice of her perfume.

“Whatever the hell we want,” he murmured back, his grip tightening.

He kissed her, slow and deep, pouring everything into it—the battles they’d fought, the things they’d survived, the promise of everything still ahead of them. Jenna kissed him back, stealing his breath, his thoughts, his damn soul.

And Flint knew, without a doubt, that this? This was exactly where he was meant to be.

RIDGE

Thick, acrid smoke filled Ridge Lawson’s lungs as he shoved through doors of the abandoned barn just outside of town. The place was supposed to be unused, but the inferno inside suggested otherwise. Flames chewed through wooden crates, climbing the metal shelves like hungry vines. The heat pressed against his skin, even through his turnout gear.

He shouldn’t have gone in alone, but as the only paid firefighter in Silver Falls, he didn’t have much choice. Protocol demanded he wait for backup, but the fire had been spreading too fast. The Silver Falls Volunteer Fire Department was still five minutes out, and in that time, the whole building could collapse and could start a forest fire. If someone was inside, they didn’t have that kind of time.

Crouching low, Ridge moved deeper into the blaze, his boots crunching over debris. His radio crackled.

“Ridge, hold your damn position! We’re almost there,” Ember’s voice snapped through the speaker.

His sister was always trying to keep him in check. Too bad she knew damn well he wouldn’t listen.

“Smoke’s too thick. I need to check for victims,” he responded.

No answer, just a frustrated hiss of static. The fire roared overhead, twisting in unnatural patterns. Something about it gnawed at him—a gut instinct honed by years on the job in Denver. This wasn’t just an accident.

A loud crack split the air. Ridge barely had time to move before a flaming beam crashed down, sending sparks flying. One seared across his exposed wrist, and pain flared, sharp and immediate. He gritted his teeth, shaking it off. No time for that now.

Then he heard it. A faint coughing, past the towering flames.

“Hey!” Ridge called out, pushing forward. “I’m coming to get you!”

A figure slumped against the far wall, barely visible through the shifting orange glow. Ridge surged forward, adrenaline overriding pain. He reached the man—a middle-aged wolf shifter, by the scent of him—and hoisted him up, supporting his weight.

“Come on, let’s move.”

The man wheezed but nodded. Ridge guided him toward the exit, shielding them both as the fire raged around them. The barn groaned, metal and wood straining against the heat. Almost there.

The moment they cleared the threshold, Ridge’s team was there. Ember grabbed the injured shifter, dragging him to safety as two other volunteers took over. Ridge staggered back, chest heaving. His pulse pounded in his ears, the scent of charred wood clinging to him.

Then Ember was in front of him, hands on her hips, eyes flashing like ice over fire. “You’re a goddamn idiot, you know that?”

He exhaled sharply, bending over to rest his hands on his knees. “Yeah. Not exactly breaking news.”

Her gaze flicked to his arm. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, but the raw sting told a different story. His skin was an angry red, a fresh burn stretching from his wrist up toward his forearm where his sleeve had pulled back.

Ember crossed her arms. “You’re going to Urgent Care.”

“Not necessary,” he grumbled, but he already knew he was fighting a losing battle.

“You’re the Fire Chief,” she shot back. “Set an example, dumbass.”

Before he could argue, she grabbed his good arm and started dragging him toward her truck.

The Silver Falls Urgent Care was new, shiny, and entirely unwanted in Ridge’s opinion. It was tucked into an old storefront along Main Street so at least its outward appearance wasn’t too jarring. The town was small, the kind of place where shifters relied on their natural healing and local healers when needed. But a few bad accidents had convinced the Council they needed modern medicine, which was how Dr. Sela Mitchell had landed here.

Phoenix shifter. Medical professional. Pain in his ass.

Ember all but shoved him through the front doors, earning a curious glance from the receptionist, a young bear shifter named Callie.

“Hey, Ember,” Callie said, eyeing Ridge’s soot-covered state. “What’s up?”

“He decided to play firefighter without backup. Needs that burn checked.”

Callie winced. “Ouch. Dr. Mitchell’s available. I’ll take you back.”

Ridge sighed, but followed, knowing resistance was pointless. The small exam room smelled like antiseptic and something else—a faint, warm scent that made his shifter instincts perk up before he shoved them down.

He dropped onto the paper-covered exam table, arms crossed, jaw tight. The burn throbbed, but he ignored it.

Ember grinned. “Try not to breathe fire at the doc.”

“No promises,” he muttered.

Then the door opened, and in walked Sela Mitchell. She was fire in human form, although her scent wasn’t that of a dragon. Deep auburn hair, sharp green eyes, and a presence that demanded attention. She took one look at him and arched an eyebrow, already unimpressed.

“Well,” she said, stepping inside and closing the door. “If it isn’t Chief Lawson. Let me guess—you ignored protocol, got yourself burned, and now you’re here acting like it’s no big deal.”

Ridge huffed a laugh, despite himself. “You get all that from one look?”

Her lips quirked. “You’re predictable.”

She stepped closer, her gaze shifting to his arm, assessing. Warm fingers brushed his skin, and his breath hitched. He told himself it was just the burn, but deep down, he knew better.

Sela met his eyes, something unreadable flickering in her expression. “This is going to sting.”

Ridge held still. He could handle fire. But something about Sela Mitchell felt more dangerous than the flames he’d just walked through.

Sela, Ridge and the other residents of Silver Falls will return later this year in RIDGE’S FATE.