Page 4 of Flint’s Fate (Silver Falls Shifters #3)

CHAPTER 3

JENNA

J enna stood on the farmhouse porch, inhaling the crisp mountain air as the sun crested the treetops, bathing Cold Creek Orchards in gold. The place looked almost peaceful in the early morning light, but she knew better. The marks on her door, the threatening note, the shadowy presence Flint had sensed in the woods—none of it had been a coincidence. Someone wanted her gone, but they’d have to drag her off this land before she gave it up.

Flint had stayed the night again. She hadn’t heard him leave yet, which meant he was probably still somewhere inside, prowling her house like he had every right to. Part of her bristled at his presence—his intrusion—but the deeper part of her, the part that had felt untethered since Maribel’s death, wasn’t as resistant as she probably should’ve been.

She needed to clear her head. Jenna stepped down off the porch and into the orchard. The moment her boots hit the cool grass, her she-cat stirred, pressing at the edges of her control, restless.

It had been too long since she’d let her beast run free. New York had been nothing but a prison for that part of herself. There were no wild mountains in the city, no vast stretches of untouched land where she could run without fear of being seen. Her control had been absolute, but here? Here, the land called to her.

She walked deeper into the orchard until she was certain she was alone. With a steadying breath, she let go. She removed her clothing, placing it in a neat pile where she’d be able to find it easily.

A swirling mist of thunder, lightning, and shifting color enveloped Jenna, wrapping around her like a living force. A deep, long-suppressed pull coursed through her, and for a brief moment, it was as though her body melted, one form effortlessly giving way to another. As the mist dissipated, her mountain lion stood in her place, powerful and free.

Her she-cat roared to life. The world sharpened in an instant—vivid greens, deep browns, the scent of damp earth flooding her heightened senses. The breeze carried a thousand unfamiliar scents—apple blossoms, rich soil, distant wildlife—each one more distinct, more alive than it had been before.

Jenna launched forward, powerful limbs propelling her across the orchard floor. The grass and fallen leaves whispered beneath her paws as she wove through the twisted trees, reveling in the sheer freedom of it. It had been years since she’d run like this, and damn if she hadn’t missed it. The sensation intoxicated her—her body was built for speed and precision.

She leapt over a fallen branch, landing smoothly before digging her claws into the earth and pushing off again, picking up speed. The wind rushed past her face, the scent of apples and pine filling her lungs. The orchard was alive, buzzing with energy she hadn’t noticed before.

Her instincts were stronger here. More powerful.

Jenna slowed, breathing deep, her ears twitching at the rustling of leaves in the distance. Her she-cat sensed something, but it wasn’t danger—it was… familiarity.

She padded toward the heart of the orchard, moving silently between the trees. The ruins of an old storage shed stood ahead, long abandoned, its wooden beams cracked and covered in ivy. Maribel had mentioned it once, in passing—said the place had been there before she’d even taken over the orchard.

Jenna returned to where she’d left her clothes, reluctantly relinquishing her lion form and becoming human once more. Rising to her feet, the cool morning air was a stark contrast to the heat running through her body. She pulled on the clothes rolling her shoulders as the human world settled around her again.

Wanting to explore the old shack alone, she returned to it, familiarizing herself with the layout of the orchard. Even though she had a vague idea of where she was, it was a surprise when she all but stumbled upon it. That was when she saw it—carved into the thick bark of an ancient oak was a name. Maribel.

Jenna’s stomach clenched as she stepped closer, running her fingers over the weathered letters. The carving was old; the edges softened by time, but below it, in newer, jagged strokes, were three more words.

Trust no one.

A chill slid down her spine. This wasn’t just some teenage graffiti. This was a warning, but from whom? The mayor? The developer? Flint? Maribel herself? As she studied it, she had the feeling it might be from Maribel herself and if it had been from Maribel, why had she left it here and for whom did she leave it. Someone deliberately left it here, regardless of who left it or why.

Jenna glanced over her shoulder, scanning the orchard for any sign of movement. The land stretched out before her, deceptively peaceful, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had been watching.

She turned back to the carving, her fingers pressing into the grooves. Maribel had been smart, careful. She hadn’t left things to chance. Jenna stepped back, crossing her arms as she studied the message. Maribel had known something, and whatever it was, it had gotten her killed.

Later that day, after she’d returned to the farmhouse and discovered Flint gone, Jenna wiped the sweat from her brow, glaring at the stubborn pile of debris blocking the entrance to one of the old outbuildings. Neglect had overtaken the orchard for too long; why hadn’t she known that? Why hadn’t her aunt asked her for her help? If she wanted to bring the orchard back to life, she had to start somewhere. Cleaning up the outbuildings seemed like a logical place to begin—at least until she’d stumbled upon the mess inside.

Jenna cleared away the debris only to find stacks of old wooden crates, broken ladders, and rusted tools filling the dimly lit space. Although she had already removed the worst rot, several precarious stacks of crates leaned against the back wall. One wrong move, and she would be buried by a mountain of splintered wood.

Jenna pressed her hands to her hips, taking a steady breath. “Alright, let’s do this.”

Grabbing one of the top crates, she hauled it forward, ignoring the creak of the unstable pile as she tossed it toward the doorway. The next one came down easier, dust swirling in the beams of sunlight filtering through the cracks in the walls.

She barely had time to react when the entire stack lurched forward.

Her instincts screamed, but she wasn’t fast enough to jump clear. The heavy wooden crates came crashing down, a blur of movement in her peripheral vision.

Then, suddenly—arms.

A solid, unyielding body slammed into her, knocking her sideways and out of harm’s way. The impact sent them both to the ground, and Jenna barely registered the sound of wood splintering inches from where she had just been standing. For a moment, all she could hear was her own breathing and the echo of her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

Then she felt him—not just physically, but in a deep primal way she had only read about in shifter lore.

Flint pressed his body against hers, the heat of his skin searing through the thin fabric of her shirt. He braced his arms on either side of her, shielding her from the last of the debris. His chest rose and fell in deep, steady breaths, his gaze locked onto her.

Jenna’s fingers curled against the dirt floor, her entire body aware of the way he hovered over her—too close, too warm, too dangerous.

“Are you hurt?” His voice was low, rough.

“I’m fine,” she said, forcing her own voice to stay level, despite the way her pulse thundered.

His eyes flicked over her, as if assessing for himself whether she was telling the truth. He didn’t move, didn’t retreat, and Jenna became acutely aware of the way his weight still pinned her down.

The scent of him filled the air—earthy, wild, completely intoxicating.

She swallowed, forcing herself to focus. “You can get off me now.”

Flint’s lips quirked—not quite a grin, but close enough to make her temper flare. “You sure you don’t want to stay like this a little longer?”

Jenna shoved at his chest, and he let out a deep chuckle before pushing himself upright. He offered her a hand, but she ignored it, climbing to her feet on her own.

She brushed the dirt from her jeans, ignoring the way her skin still burned from where he had been touching her. “What the hell are you even doing here?”

Flint crossed his arms, looking entirely too satisfied with himself. “Making sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

Jenna let out a slow breath through her nose. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“You keep saying that,” he said, stepping closer. “And yet, every time I turn around, you’re in danger.”

Jenna refused to back down. She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze head-on. “I had it under control.”

Flint’s eyes darkened, his expression shifting from amusement to something heavier. “No, you didn’t.”

The air between them crackled—not just with frustration, but with something more. Jenna hated the way a thousand bees seemed to buzz in her skull, how aware she was of him, how the warmth of his body still lingered, how the scent of him had wrapped around her like a second skin. Even though she was normally hard to rattle, Flint Mercer unsettled her in ways she refused to acknowledge.

And worse? He knew it.

“I can take care of myself,” she repeated, her voice sharper this time.

Flint watched her for a long moment, his jaw ticking as if he was biting back whatever he really wanted to say. Then, finally, he stepped back. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that, Jenna.”

Jenna gritted her teeth, but before she could snap back, he was already turning toward the door, his broad shoulders filling the space as he moved.

He paused just before stepping outside, glancing over his shoulder. “Next time, don’t go into a collapsing building alone.”

Then he was gone, leaving her standing in the middle of the wreckage, fuming. Jenna kicked one of the broken crates, flinching as it resisted before skidding across the floor. That had hurt. She could still feel Flint’s presence like an imprint against her skin, the heat of his body a memory she didn’t need. She didn’t need Flint Mercer to save her.

She just wished her body would stop reacting like it wanted him to.

She grabbed a piece of broken wood and tossed it to the side with more force than necessary. Damn him. The way he had hovered over her, that cocky edge to his voice, like he had single-handedly prevented her untimely demise.

It had been nothing but a freak accident, but Flint didn’t see it that way.

She turned toward the open doorway, expecting him to be gone, but of course, he was still there. Standing just outside, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching her with that unreadable look.

“You gonna stand there all day, Mercer, or are you planning to help?”

He didn’t move. “That stack didn’t just fall, Jenna.”

She blew out a breath and yanked another crate upright. “Wood rots, things crumble. Pretty sure that’s how decay works.”

“That’s not what happened here.”

Jenna looked up, locking eyes with him. “Let me guess. You think it was sabotage?”

Flint didn’t blink. “Yeah.”

She snorted, pushing hair from her face. “Who would go out of their way to kill me with vintage storage crates?”

He stepped inside, boots crunching against the debris as he crouched near the remains of the fallen stack. He ran a hand over one of the larger pieces, his fingers skimming over jagged splinters. “We don’t know if it was meant for you, but these weren’t just rotted through,” he said. “Someone loosened the base, probably knowing that the second you, or Maribel, touched it, the whole thing would come down.”

Jenna crossed her arms, suddenly aware of just how serious he looked. Flint didn’t seem like a man prone to paranoia, at least not in a way that wasn’t earned. Still, she refused to let fear dictate her next move.

“If someone’s trying to kill me, they’re going to have to do better than a pile of wood,” she said, keeping her voice steady.

Flint’s gaze snapped to hers, something feral lurking within the depths of his eyes. “You think this is funny?”

“No,” she admitted, holding his gaze. “But I also don’t scare easy.”

Flint straightened, stepping toward her, his presence too much in the small space. “Then maybe you should. Because this? This wasn’t random. First, the note. Then the claw marks. Now this? Someone doesn’t just want you gone, Jenna. They want you dead.”

The way he said it—calm, absolute—sent something sharp through her chest.

Jenna held his stare, refusing to give an inch. “Then let them keep trying.”

Flint let out a long breath, shaking his head. “You are impossible.”

She grinned. “So I’ve been told.”

He looked ready to say something else, but then his gaze flicked toward the ceiling, listening. Jenna heard nothing at first, but a second later, the faint rustling of leaves outside caught her attention. Flint moved toward the door, scanning the orchard like he expected something to jump out of the trees.

“Problem?” she asked, keeping her voice casual.

“Maybe,” he muttered, but after another moment, he stepped back inside. “I’m not letting you stay out here alone.”

Jenna barked out a laugh. “You planning to move in, Mercer? Because I don’t recall inviting you.”

“I don’t need an invitation,” he shot back, his voice edged with warning. “This isn’t a game, Jenna.”

Something in his intensity sent heat licking up her spine, but she forced herself to ignore it. “I’ll be fine.”

Flint didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he turned toward the exit, his muscles coiled like he was waiting for something to happen.

Jenna forced herself to ignore the lingering chill of his words as she returned to clearing the wreckage.

That night, the farmhouse was too quiet.

Jenna sat on the back porch, feet propped up on the railing, a thick blanket draped over her shoulders. The whiskey bottle beside her remained mostly full, but she needed something to anchor herself.

The orchard stretched beyond the house, endless and shadowed beneath the silver glow of the moon. It should have felt safe. It didn’t.

Flint’s warning played through her mind, and for the first time since she’d arrived, she let herself consider that maybe he was right. Maybe someone was trying to scare her off—or worse.

She lifted the whiskey bottle, tilting it toward the sky. “Nice try,” she murmured, as if whoever was out there could hear her.

Then she saw them—glowing eyes from the darkness between the trees.

Her stomach tightened, every instinct in her body screaming danger. But she forced herself to remain still, her pulse steady. It wasn’t Flint. He was inside; besides, she knew his presence, could recognize his energy anywhere.

This was something else. The eyes didn’t blink, didn’t move. They just watched.

Jenna’s fingers curled around the neck of the bottle, her other hand gripping the butt of the gun that sat in her lap. Flint might think she was incapable of protecting herself, but she’d lived alone in the city too long to not know how to defend herself.

A low growl rumbled from the tree line, deep and guttural, vibrating through the still night air. Then—just as suddenly—it was gone. Something was out there. Something was watching, waiting, but for what?