Page 10 of Falling for her Guardian

“I’m human.”

“I’m aware,” he said. “You’re not in trouble. Now the witch that wasn’t paying attention? She’s in trouble. But not you.” He lowered his voice. “Never you.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. He was close to her. She could feel the heat from his body through the two coats. She wanted to bury her face in his neck and burrow close to him. Instead, she gripped his coat tighter around herself and nodded.

She walked into the building. It was dark inside. She could only see little lights on the floor that reminded her of the lights down the aisle of an airplane.

When the door shut behind them, the low lights hummed to life, illuminating a long hallway.

“Welcome to Northernmost, Seren,” he said. “Let’s get you something hot to drink and then we’ll see about getting you back to safety in Ohio.”

She was speechless.

The last time she’d been speechless was when she’d been confronted with the truth of her ex’s philandering and the harsh blame he’d placed on her being human and having curves.

But this was not the same kind of speechless that she’d had when humiliation had burned her cheeks and she’d wanted to shrink into a ball or run away.

This was the sort of speechless brought on by finally seeing Storm. Really seeing him.

Dark hair cut short and swept across his brow.

Icy blue eyes that were ringed with gold.

The most kissable lips of any guy she’d ever seen.

Holy crap did she want to kiss him.

Her mouth actually watered at how good he smelled.

He was wearing tight jeans and a black thermal shirt that hugged every single muscle on his upper body.

Every freaking feminine urge in her body demanded she reach out and touch, but she wasn’t about to do that. He was a shifter, and shifters stuck to their own kind. Humans couldn’t trust them, and no matter how good-looking Storm was, she needed to just get the hell out of Northernmost and make it back home so she could put the night far behind her.

He made a gesture down the hall and she fell into step beside him. They turned left at the end of the hall and hung an immediate right before walking down a set of steps that spilled out into another hall. This one had thick red and gold carpeting. The wood-paneled walls made the whole space feel homey and warm. Portraits of elves with their pointed ears hung on the walls between flickering sconces. At the end of the hall was a large portrait of Santa himself.

She stopped and looked at the painting.

She’d seen him on TV and social media over the years.

He was nearly seven feet tall by all accounts, with a head of white-blond hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Santa was the job position title. His name was Saint of the Nicholas family line.

The Nicholas family, whom she’d studied in one of her paranormal history classes in high school, were the guardians of the Well of Magic. The eldest child of the current Santa took over the mantle, bringing toys for good children across the world, and leading the elves and shifter Guardians who protected the Well of Magic.

“He’s an impressive male,” Storm said quietly. “It’s a dangerous time of year for him.”

“Because of his brother?” she asked.

“Yep. And his brother’s followers.”

The history she’d learned said that Jack Frost, the younger brother, wanted to be Santa and control the Well of Magic. He’d attacked his brother and had been kicked out of Northernmost. In another battle, Jack’s wife had been killed and he blamedSanta, even though, from all accounts, she’d been killed accidentally by one of his own followers.

Every year, Jack attacked the Well when Santa was the weakest—Christmas Day.

“I thought he only attacked on Christmas Day?”

Storm hummed. “He tries throughout the month, so we have to be careful.”

“Did you think I was a bad guy?” she asked.

---