Page 7 of Flint’s Fate (Silver Falls Shifters #3)

CHAPTER 6

FLINT

F lint’s paws hit the damp earth with silent precision as he prowled the orchard’s edge, every muscle coiled, every sense sharpened. The wind carried a mix of scents—apple wood, rain-dampened soil, and something else. Something wrong; something that didn’t belong.

He had felt it before he’d seen them—two sets of glowing eyes in the woods, watching Jenna.

The second she challenged them, daring them to come closer, Flint had launched into action.

His mountain lion tore through the shadows, a silent predator slicing across the orchard in a deadly sprint. He wasn’t alone. Whatever had been lurking bolted the second it caught his scent, vanishing into the thick forest like a ghost.

But Flint was faster.

The scent hit him like a punch to the gut. Shifter. Not from Silver Falls. Lynx. Lynx-shifters had not been in Silver Falls for centuries. Outsiders. His instincts burned. Intruders weren’t welcome here.

He relentlessly pursued the outsiders—one male, one female—through the dense, tangled underbrush, the chase transforming into a ferocious and primal battle of predator and prey. Tension electrified the air, snapping like a taut wire as they split, each darting in separate directions like panicked deer. Flint's instincts locked onto the male, perceiving him as the more immediate threat. The stranger sprinted with desperate speed, his feet pounding the earth, but he wasn't fast enough. Flint closed in with predatory precision, his senses acutely zeroing in on the scent—male, alien, a sharp metallic tang mingling with the musky odor of sweat and adrenaline.

Flint's snarl erupted, a deep, resonant roar that reverberated through the forest and ignited his muscles with explosive power. The intruder barely vaulted over a fallen log before Flint collided with him, his claws slicing through the outsider’s flank with savage ferocity. The lynx's growl was guttural and raw as they twisted mid-air, their bodies a whirlwind of motion crashing into the dirt with a bone-crushing impact.

The stranger clawed at him with frantic desperation, but Flint was a force of nature—stronger, larger, more ruthless. He drove his massive shoulder into the other cat’s ribs with relentless force, sending him sprawling sideways and propelling them both down a small embankment. They hit the ground hard, a chaotic maelstrom of limbs, snapping jaws, and raw, untamed fury.

The outsider landed at a brutal angle, hissing with sharp pain, but before Flint could deliver the lethal blow, the shifter clawed into the earth, launching himself backward with a powerful thrust. He didn’t flee toward the town. He didn’t seek the safety of any roads. Instead, he plunged deeper into the looming, shadowy mountains.

Sonofabitch.

Flint started to give chase, but something in his gut told him to stop.

The stranger could wait.

Jenna couldn’t.

He turned sharply, sprinting back toward Cold Creek Orchards, his lion moving like wildfire through the trees.

By the time Flint reached the barn, Jenna was standing at the entrance, gun still in hand, eyes scanning the woods like she expected a full-scale battle to drop into her lap.

She hadn’t run. Hadn’t called for help. Of course, she hadn’t.

Flint shifted back the second he hit the shadows of the barn, the mist of transformation rolling over him. He didn’t even stop to breathe. He just grabbed the emergency stash of jeans near the back wall, yanked them on, and strode toward her.

Jenna spotted him immediately, assessing him with a sharp gaze.

“Well?” she asked, lowering the gun slightly but not putting it away. “Did you catch them?”

Flint clenched his jaw. “No.”

She raised her eyebrows slightly, as if surprised. “That’s not the answer I expected.”

Flint ignored that. “You saw them?”

Jenna nodded. “Two of them. Watching.”

“They weren’t human,” he said, stating what they both already knew.

Jenna didn’t flinch. “No, they weren’t.”

Flint took a slow step closer, lowering his voice. “Both of them are shifters, one of them is a lynx.”

She tilted her chin, something defiant sparking behind her eyes. “And?”

Flint hated that part of him liked the fight in her. Liked that she wasn’t afraid.

“It means this isn’t just about the orchard,” he said. “It’s bigger than land deals and property rights.”

“Care to clue me in?”

Flint shook his head. “There’s a legend that long before Silver Falls was a town, before roads carved through the forests and steel and stone claimed the land, there was a proud clan of lynx-shifters, known as Ghost Walkers. They roamed the misty valleys and shadowed peaks of this area, their lives woven into the rhythms of the wild. The land was their sanctuary, the spirits of their ancestors whispering through the trees, guiding their hunt, blessing their young.”

“I’m not going to like how this ends, am I?” she asked.

“Probably not. Similar tales can be told of most indigenous people and shifters. When the settlers came, the Ghost Walkers watched from the edges, wary but unseen. But when settlers felled trees and dammed rivers, when they burned sacred groves and destroyed dens, the Ghost Walkers knew they would never again possess the land. Silver Falls rose where their elders had once gathered beneath the moon, and with its rise came blood. Hunters, fearing the unknown, branded them monsters. They slaughtered those who resisted. Those who survived scattered into the deep wilderness.”

“That’s horrible.”

Flint snorted. “That’s the price of civilization and manifest destiny. For generations, people said the Ghost Walkers roamed, never lingering too long, never calling any place home. People thought the Ghost Walkers extinct, but some say whispers still linger in the trees, shadows remain on the ridgeline, and eyes gleam in the dark. Some say they dream of taking back what they believe was stolen from them. Others believe they are nothing but a legend.”

“Do you think the Ghost Walkers are connected to the orchard?”

“Could be,” he said with a shrug.

Jenna held his gaze, unshaken. “I thought there was more to it than just a land deal when I found my name on a file in the cellar.”

Flint bristled. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I just found it. I was planning to.” She met his glare without hesitation. “But you were busy playing bloodhound in the woods.”

Flint didn’t blink. She was impossible. Stubborn. Reckless. And, if they weren’t both careful, she was going to get herself killed.

Jenna tucked the gun into the back waistband of her jeans and stepped toward him, close enough that he could see the faint pulse at the base of her throat.

“So?” she asked. “Who do you think our new friends are?”

Flint’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “Someone who shouldn’t be here.”

Her lips curved slightly, almost like she enjoyed this—the thrill, the danger.

Flint took another step, closing the last bit of space between them. “This isn’t a game, Jenna.”

“I never said it was,” she shot back.

He ran his hands over her arms, around her waist, needing to feel that she was whole, that she was here. “Did they touch you?” His voice was gravel and thunder, barely restrained.

Jenna tilted her head up, her eyes bright and unreadable. She breathed out in a long sigh, but she didn’t push him away. “I’m fine.”

That wasn’t enough.

Flint cupped her jaw, tilting her face toward his. “I need to hear you say it.”

Something flickered in her expression. A softening, an understanding.

“I’m fine,” she said again, slower this time. “They didn’t come near me.”

The way she looked at him—like she was challenging him to prove something—sent something hot through his blood. Jenna didn’t fear the fight. She welcomed it.

The question was, who was she more dangerous to? Him? Or whoever had just trespassed into his territory?

Flint let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, but he didn’t let go. His fingers still framed her face, his thumb tracing over her cheekbone. She was fire in his hands, and he was too damn close to burning alive.

Jenna didn’t step back. She stood her ground, chin raised, body pressed against his in a way that sent heat curling through his blood.

He should move. He needed to move. Instead, he slid his hand down to the curve of her waist, holding her there. Holding her still.

Her pulse thrummed against his fingers.

He lowered his head, his breath fanning against her skin. “I should be furious with you,” he muttered.

“This is you not furious?” Jenna snorted. “Remind me to avoid you when you are furious.”

Damn her. “This isn’t funny.”

She was fearless. Reckless. Addictive.

Flint was half a second away from doing something they’d both regret. Then, from deep in the woods, a low howl shattered the quiet.

Jenna’s gaze snapped toward the sound, and Flint instantly went rigid, his protective instincts slamming back into place. The enemy hadn’t left. They’d circled back and were still watching… still waiting.

He let go of Jenna, but his promise was clear. This wasn’t over. Flint’s pulse still pounded like a war drum, his muscles tight, his instincts screaming at him to do something.

Jenna stood in front of him, stubborn, steady, and completely unfazed, despite the fact that two unknown shifters had been circling her property like wolves at the edge of a firelight.

The woman had no sense of self-preservation, and it was slowly driving him insane.

Flint stepped in closer, his body crowding hers, forcing her to acknowledge the heat that still lingered between them. She didn’t back away. Of course, she didn’t. Jenna Hartford never backed down from a challenge.

“What were you thinking?” His voice came out low, barely restrained.

Jenna’s gaze flickered with something sharp. “That I don’t need a damn babysitter.”

His hands curled into fists at his sides, his entire body still coiled from the fight, from the scent of the enemy still lingering in the air. “You were standing out here, gun in your hand, challenging them.”

Her jaw tightened. “And?”

“And you don’t know what the hell you’re dealing with,” he ground out.

She lifted her chin, fire in her eyes. “Neither do you, but I’m pretty damn sure a couple of well-placed bullets would stop them in their tracks.”

Flint could barely breathe. The scent of her—apples, steel, and something entirely Jenna—wrapped around him, making it damn near impossible to think about anything but the fact that she was alive, fierce, and entirely too reckless for her own good.

His lion was still growling within his mind, demanding he do something. Mark her, claim her, remind her she wasn’t alone.

But Jenna wasn’t a woman who wanted saving, and he had no interest in taming her.

Instead, he moved even closer, so close that their breath mingled in the cool night air. “You want to fight, Hartford?” His voice was like gravel and heat. “Then fight me. But don’t stand out here alone like you’ve got a death wish.”

It was probably good that she’d put her gun away as she felt like she’d have liked to have shot him just for standing so damn close. “I can take care of myself, Mercer.”

His lips curved slightly, but there was no amusement in it. Just something darker.

“Yeah?” His voice dropped, almost a growl. “Because from where I was standing, you were damn close to being hunted.”

Something flickered across her face—not fear. Jenna didn’t know fear. But she knew what he was saying was true.

Flint pressed in, his body nearly brushing hers, the heat between them crackling like a live wire. “You might not be scared, Jenna. But I damn well am.”

For a second, just a second, something in her hardened stance wavered. Flint saw it—the way her breath caught, the way her fingers twitched like she was fighting the pull between them. Then, just as fast, she shut it down.

She pushed past him, her shoulder brushing his bare chest, and started toward the house. “I’m not your problem, Mercer.”

Flint watched her walk away, his jaw tight. That’s where she was wrong. She was his biggest damn problem.

JENNA

Jenna didn’t slam the door behind her, but it was a near thing.

Her pulse was still too high, her skin still burning from where Flint had stood so damn close, crowding her like he had every right to.

Damn him. Damn his protectiveness, his frustrating, infuriating need to throw himself between her and anything that looked remotely like a threat. She’d never needed saving before, and she wasn’t about to start now.

But the worst part? The part that made her want to throw something just to hear it break? She had wanted him to stay close. She had wanted him to keep touching her. And that? That was dangerous.

Jenna strode to the kitchen, yanked open the cabinet, and pulled out a glass, pouring herself a drink from the bottle of whiskey she’d started keeping on the counter. The glass was in her hand before she even realized what she was doing.

She poured a drink. Didn’t sip. Just swallowed. The burn didn’t make the heat inside her go away. Didn’t make her forget the way Flint had looked at her. Like she was his to protect. His to fight for. His.

Jenna closed her eyes, her fingers tightening around the glass. No. She wasn’t his. She wasn’t anyone’s, and she would not let Flint Mercer make her forget that.

FLINT

In the oppressive cloak of night, Flint lingered beneath a canopy of stars, his eyes fixated on the faint, flickering glow emanating from the house's windows. The light barely sliced through the inky darkness, casting an eerie, supernatural aura that writhed upon the walls, a haunting whisper of the life inside. It was a scene both compelling and deeply disconcerting.

Jenna believed she could defy him, defy this magnetic force, binding them together with an unbreakable chain. She felt she could wage a relentless war against the inevitable, yet her resolve faltered with every heartbeat, each moment an agonizing test of her will.

Flint had endured countless battles before—grueling wars that tested every fiber of his being, fights to shield his family and his people with an indomitable spirit. But this was unlike any conflict he had ever faced. This was about her, about them, and he was being torn apart by the clash between respecting her fierce defiance and his own relentless determination. He felt anchored here, yet uncertainty gnawed at his soul as he pondered whether his presence represented a solemn vow or a crushing burden in the face of whatever harrowing challenges lay ahead.