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

CHAPTER 2

FLINT

F lint’s paws pressed silently into the damp earth as he prowled the perimeter of Cold Creek Orchards, his golden fur blending seamlessly into the landscape. The air carried the scent of apples past their prime, their sweetness tinged with decay. Beneath it, something darker lurked, an undercurrent of wrongness that made his hackles rise.

He moved like a ghost between the trees, each step calculated, each breath controlled. The instincts of his mountain lion demanded he stay low, wait, watch. Years of experience had honed those instincts into something deadlier. He was an apex predator, and this evening he hunted for whatever or whoever it was that had marked Jenna as prey.

A whisper of sound. Flint halted, ears swiveling. The orchard stretched before him, a tangled mess of neglected branches and overgrown weeds. The farmhouse sat just beyond the trees, its porch light already lit. Inside, Jenna was waiting—probably with a weapon close at hand if he knew anything about her.

His gaze cut through the twilight searching. The malevolent presence he’d sensed earlier had retreated, but it hadn’t gone far. It was watching. Waiting.

Something prowled these woods, something that had left those deep claw marks on Jenna’s door.

A low growl built in Flint’s throat, but he didn’t release it. Instead, he crouched, scenting the air, sifting through the layers of evening smells—earth, pine, the lingering trace of rain. Then he caught it. A scent that didn’t belong.

Blood.

Not fresh, but old enough to carry meaning. It came from the eastern part of the orchard, near the abandoned cider mill. Flint pivoted, moving with fluid grace as he cut through the orchard’s wild undergrowth. The further he went, the stronger the feeling grew—like the land itself remembered something violent.

Maribel’s warnings echoed in his mind. ‘There’s more to this land than people know, Flint. Some want it for what’s on the surface. Others… they want what’s underneath.’

He had brushed it off at the time. Maribel had always been superstitious, claiming the land had power, that something old ran through its roots. But as Flint neared the cider mill, he felt the hairs along his spine bristle.

There was something here.

The cider mill stood like a forgotten relic, its wooden structure grayed from years of neglect. The massive stone wheel, once used to press apples, lay cracked and covered in moss. Ivy crept along the mill’s foundation, wrapping around its pillars like it was reclaiming what man had abandoned.

Flint padded closer, the scent of blood thick now, leading him to the entrance. Someone had wrenched open the door. Not by time, but by force.

His muscles coiled, ready to strike. He stepped inside.

The fading light streamed through the broken windows, illuminating the dust dancing in the air. The scent was stronger here, pooling in the corners, staining the wooden floor. Flint shifted back to human form, the transformation seamless. The moment he was upright, he scanned the interior.

Dried blood smeared the area near the millstone. It hadn’t been an accident. Someone had been injured—or worse—here. The blood wasn’t old enough for it to be a forgotten remnant of the past.

Flint crouched, running his fingers through the dark stain. His gut twisted. This was recent. And that meant whoever—or whatever—had been bleeding here had left a trail.

He stood, every sense on alert. The orchard had always been a piece of Silver Falls’ heart, a lifeline to the town’s history. But Maribel believed something deeper lay there, something people shouldn’t disturb.

Flint hadn’t believed her—now he wasn’t so sure.

A flicker of movement caught his attention through the broken window. He spun, already shifting before his mind fully processed the threat. His lion surged forward, fur replacing skin, muscles tightening as his claws dug into the old wooden floor.

A figure stood at the edge of the trees, barely visible, cloaked in shadow.

Flint growled, his feral gaze locking onto the intruder. But instead of fleeing, the figure nodded. A slow, deliberate acknowledgment… then it disappeared.

Flint launched forward, bounding through the mill’s broken doorway, tearing through the underbrush in pursuit. His heart pounded, his lion roaring inside his head. But by the time he reached the tree line, the scent had all but vanished.

The intruder was gone.

Flint remained in his animal form, prowling the edge of the woods, his sharp gaze scanning for any sign of where it had gone. But there was nothing. Only the whisper of wind through the trees and the distant creak of the farmhouse’s porch swing.

Jenna.

He turned back toward the house, his mind already made up. Whoever had been here wasn’t done. The note on the table had been a warning. The scratches on the door had been a promise. He wasn’t about to let anything happen to Jenna.

He took off at a run, his massive paws eating up the distance between the orchard and the farmhouse. His day was far from over, and this fight was just beginning.

Maribel had often left clothes hidden around the property for him. He found the stash—button-up jeans, cowboy boots and a sweater in a color Maribel particularly liked, a kind of muddy purple. He banished his mountain lion to the recesses of his mind and allowed his humanity to return. The mist swirled up around him and once he was fully human, he stretched before dressing and heading to the farmhouse.

Flint’s boots struck hard against the wooden porch as he stepped into Maribel’s—now Jenna’s—farmhouse, his lion still prowling just beneath the surface. The encounter at the cider mill hadn’t given him answers—only more questions. Whoever had been watching him had left their mark, and it wasn’t the first time.

Inside, Jenna sat at the kitchen table, legs crossed, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. The way she looked at him—assessing, challenging—sent something hot curling through his gut. The woman had the kind of presence that demanded attention, and she wasn’t the type to scare easily.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said, tilting her head.

Flint grabbed a mug from the counter and poured himself some coffee. “Could’ve been.”

She looked at him skeptically, but he didn’t elaborate. Not yet. The less she knew about what had been stalking the orchard, the better. At least until he had something more solid than gut instincts and the scent of blood in the dirt. Before he could steer the conversation, a knock at the door made them both turn. Flint’s stomach clenched. He knew that knock.

Jenna shot him a questioning glance, but he didn’t bother answering before heading to the door and yanking it open.

Mayor Thomas Calloway stood on the porch, his usual politician’s smile firmly in place. He was a broad man in his sixties, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed, his crisp button-down shirt and vest making him look every bit the respectable town leader. But Flint knew better.

“Flint,” Calloway greeted, his smile never faltering. “Good to see you. Mind if I come in?”

Flint glanced over his shoulder at Jenna. She gave a slow nod, setting her cup down with deliberate care.

“Not at all,” Flint said, stepping aside.

Calloway entered like he owned the place, his sharp gaze sweeping over the kitchen before landing on Jenna. “Ms. Hartford, I wish we were meeting under better circumstances. Maribel was a fine woman, a pillar of our community.”

Jenna’s expression didn’t flicker. “She was. And now she’s gone. So let’s skip the small talk and get to why you’re really here.”

Flint fought the urge to grin. Damn, he liked her; she was a lot like her aunt.

Calloway’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes gleamed with calculation. “Straight to business. I respect that. I came to offer you a solution, Ms. Hartford. I know you’re new to town, and an orchard isn’t the easiest business to manage—especially one that’s been struggling for years.”

Jenna leaned forward, her fingers drumming against the table. “What are you suggesting?”

“That you sell.” Calloway folded his hands in front of him. “There are interested parties who’d love to see this land put to good use.”

Flint crossed his arms, his jaw tightening. “You mean Connor McVey.”

Calloway’s expression remained composed, but something flickered behind his eyes. “Connor’s made it clear he’d be willing to take the orchard off Ms. Hartford’s hands. A generous offer, considering its current condition.”

Jenna’s lips curled slightly. “Generous, huh?”

“More than fair,” Calloway assured her. “Silver Falls is changing, Ms. Hartford. We need new development, new business. The orchard—it’s a relic. And frankly, without Maribel, it doesn’t stand much of a chance.”

Flint clenched his fists. Calloway had been trying to push Maribel out for years, always backing whatever McVey was scheming.

Jenna, however, didn’t so much as blink. “I appreciate your concern, Mayor, but I’m not selling.”

A flicker of irritation crossed Calloway’s face before he smoothed it away. “I understand you want to honor your aunt’s memory. But think about the long term. You’re an outsider here, Ms. Hartford. Owning this orchard—it won’t be easy.”

Flint stepped closer, his voice low and dangerous. “She’s not alone.”

Calloway exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. “I see.” He straightened his vest, glancing between them. “If you change your mind, my door is always open.”

Jenna stood, her posture commanding. “Noted.”

Calloway gave a stiff nod and turned on his heel, heading for the door. Flint followed him out onto the porch, stopping him just before he reached his car.

“I know you’re not just here to play messenger,” Flint said, voice quiet but firm.

Calloway met his gaze. “I’m here because Silver Falls needs progress. You know that as well as I do.”

“Silver Falls needs its soul more.”

Calloway let out a dry chuckle. “Then let’s hope Ms. Hartford doesn’t lose hers trying to hold on to something that’s already gone.”

Flint didn’t move until the mayor’s car disappeared down the road. When he turned back, Jenna was leaning against the doorframe, watching him.

“Subtle,” she said.

Flint ran a hand through his hair. “Calloway’s been pulling strings for McVey for years. He’s got half the town believing McVey’s the future of Silver Falls.”

Jenna folded her arms. “Then I guess I’m the past.”

Flint let out a low chuckle. “You’re something else entirely.”

She didn’t respond, just held his gaze, unflinching, unshaken. Damn. He was in trouble.

The following day, Flint pushed open the glass doors of McVey Development, stepping into the sleek, modern office space that reeked of money and ambition. The receptionist jumped up and tried to intercept him, but she failed. Flint strode past her, without breaking stride, heading straight for the office at the end of the hall.

Connor McVey sat behind a massive desk, all polished wood and leather. He was in his late forties, clean-cut, expensive suit, the kind of man who thrived on handshakes and backroom deals. He looked up from his computer, a slow, practiced smile spreading across his face.

“Well, well,” McVey said, leaning back in his chair. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Flint shut the door behind him. “Cut the bullshit, McVey. I know you want the orchard.”

McVey spread his hands. “Can you blame me? It’s prime real estate.”

“Maribel wouldn’t sell to you. Jenna won’t either.”

McVey sighed, shaking his head. “That’s unfortunate.”

Flint stepped closer, bracing his hands on the desk. “Stay away from her.”

McVey met his gaze, unbothered. “That sounds like a threat, Mercer.”

Flint’s voice dropped to a dangerous growl. “Not a threat, a warning, and a promise.”

McVey chuckled, leaning forward. “I wouldn’t get too attached, Flint. That orchard is a sinking ship, and eventually, Jenna’s going to realize she’s better off letting it go. She doesn’t belong here. She’s a New York City financial hot shot. One hunky alpha and an orchard will never hold her interest.”

Flint’s mountain lion prowled beneath the surface, itching for a fight. But not here. Not yet.

Instead, he pushed off the desk, his expression cold. “Let me make something clear. If anything happens to her—if I even suspect you had a hand in it—I’ll make sure you regret ever setting foot in Silver Falls.”

McVey didn’t answer. He just smiled.

Flint turned and walked out, already planning his next move.

Flint stood outside Silver Mist Cider Mill, his family’s pride and legacy, watching the steam rise from the vents in the old barn-style building. The scent of fermented apples filled the crisp evening air, mingling with the ever-present smell of pine and earth. The mill had stood for three generations, and as long as he was breathing, no developer, politician, or outside force would take it from them.

It contributed little to the bottom line of his clan, but it was a source of pride to him, and it gave him a place to try to bring along future artisans within the clan—brewers, artisanal cheese makers, bakers and the like. McVey and the mayor were right. The town needed to grow. Just being a once-in-a-while tourist stop was not enough. If the town and the various shifter clans were going to survive and thrive, there needed to be more here to keep the younger generation in place.

Inside the mill, the hum of machinery and the rhythmic clang of metal against wood filled the space. The cider press was in full swing, workers moving with expert precision as they processed the latest batch of apples. But Flint wasn’t here for production. He was here for her.

Sybil Mercer—his younger sister and the brains behind their business—was already waiting for him in the office, arms folded across her chest. She was as fierce as she was smart, her honey-brown eyes sharp as she watched him step inside.

“I heard you paid McVey a visit,” Sybil said, arching an eyebrow.

Flint sat on the edge of her desk, crossing his arms. “Word travels fast.”

“It does when you barge into his office looking ready to rip his throat out.” She grabbed a bottle of cider from the mini fridge, twisting the cap off with practiced ease. “So, are we declaring war on Silver Falls’ most powerful land developer? Because if we are, I’d appreciate a heads-up.”

Flint shook his head, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Not yet. But he’s making moves. The mayor tried to convince Jenna to sell last night—made a special trip and everything.”

Sybil grinned as she took a slow sip before setting her bottle down. “I take it she refused?”

“She shut Calloway down before he even got comfortable.” A slow grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “The man didn’t know what to do with himself.”

Sybil rolled her eyes. “Of course she did. That woman is all fire and stubbornness.”

Flint didn’t argue. Jenna Hartford was a problem in every sense of the word—one he couldn’t seem to walk away from. “And you would know that how?”

“Like you said, word travels fast, and you aren’t the only friend Maribel had.” Sybil watched him for a long moment, then sighed. “Look, I know that face, Flint. You’re getting too close.”

He scoffed. “Too close? To what?”

“To her.” Sybil leaned against her desk. “She’s not just some outsider passing through town. She’s stepping into a fight she doesn’t fully understand. And you...” She jabbed a finger toward him. “… are acting like a lion who’s already decided she’s his to protect. Could it be my big brother has found his fated mate?”

Flint’s jaw tightened, and he groaned. “I don’t believe in fated mates. Maribel was a friend. And now her niece is being hunted. She may not think she needs protection, but she does.”

Sybil’s gaze softened slightly, but her resolve didn’t waver. “You don’t want to just protect her, Flint, you want to claim her. She isn’t one of us. She may not intend to stay, and that is what worries me.”

He pushed off the desk, shaking his head. “I don’t have time for this.”

Sybil scoffed. “Of course you don’t. Just tell me one thing.” She stepped into his path, forcing him to meet her eyes. “If it comes down to a choice—protecting Jenna or protecting the clan—do you know what you’re going to do?”

Flint didn’t answer. Because for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure.

The sun had long set by the time Flint pulled up to Cold Creek Orchards. The place looked different at night—wild, untamed. The trees cast long shadows in the moonlight, their branches rustling in the cool breeze. The porch light was on, but the rest of the farmhouse remained dark.

Flint climbed out of his truck, his boots crunching against the gravel as he made his way to the front steps. He wasn’t sure what Jenna’s reaction would be when she saw him again, but that didn’t matter. He wasn’t asking permission.

The door opened before he could knock. Jenna stood in the entryway, wearing black leggings and a loose off-the-shoulder sweater, her dark hair pulled into a messy bun. She didn’t look surprised to see him. If anything, she looked amused.

“Didn’t take you for a stalker, Mercer.”

Flint leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “Didn’t take you for someone who ignores death threats.”

Jenna almost hid her sly smile, her eyes glittering with defiance. “I don’t ignore them. I handle them.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Is that what you call sleeping alone in a house that’s already been marked?”

Her expression flickered just enough for him to catch it—a split second of vulnerability before she buried it beneath what he had quickly learned was an iron will.

“I can take care of myself,” she said.

Flint didn’t move. Didn’t blink. “I’m sure you think you can, but I’m not convinced and so I’m not leaving.”

Jenna’s lips parted slightly, as if she wasn’t sure whether to argue or let him in. He watched her fight with herself, the same fire in her eyes that had drawn him to her in the first place. She wasn’t used to letting people stand beside her.

“Flint…” she started, but he cut her off.

“You can be as pissed about it as you want, but I’m staying. Until we know who’s behind this, you’re not staying out here alone.” His voice dropped, softer this time. “I won’t let them take anything else from you.”

Jenna inhaled sharply, and for a moment, he thought she might slam the door in his face. Instead, she stepped aside, lifting her chin in defiance.

“Fine,” she said, her voice like steel. “But don’t get comfortable. I’m not the kind of woman who needs saving.”

Flint stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind him. He didn’t look at her when he spoke, but the words hung between them, heavy and certain.

“I never said you were.”

But she’d find out soon enough—he wasn’t the kind of man who walked away.