Page 15 of Falling for My Shifter Guardian

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The Howling Pines Pack’s community room hums with life as I step inside, clutching my bag tightly against my side. Laughter echoes from one corner, someone groans in mock defeat over a card game, and there’s the soft clatter of dice rolling on a table. The warmth of it all—voices layered in camaraderie, the golden glow of overhead lights, the faint scent of pine and woodsmoke—wraps around me like a soft blanket. It’s a world so different from the quiet stillness of my apartment.

I linger near the doorway, scanning the room. A part of me feels like an outsider here, a human in a shifter’s world. But before I can second-guess my decision to come, a familiar voice cuts through the noise.

“Liv! Over here!” Maya waves dramatically from across the room, her dark curls bouncing as she weaves through the crowd to meet me.

“Hey,” I say with a small smile as she pulls me into a quick, warm hug.

“You made it!” she exclaims, thrusting a glass into my hand. “Here. It’s basically juice, I swear. But it’ll help you relax.”

I glance down at the pale pink cocktail, skeptical but willing. One sip, and the sweetness of strawberries washes over my tongue, light and harmless. The tension in my shoulders eases just a little.

Maya grins, looping her arm through mine. “Come on, let me introduce you to some people. You’re gonna love it here.”

I let her guide me through the crowd, meeting pack members who are all friendly and welcoming. But beneath the laughter and smiles, I can sense it—the tension. It’s subtle, the way their eyes dart to the windows or the door when they think no one’s looking, the way their laughter sometimes feels a little too loud, like they’re trying to drown out unease. The hunters are weighing on everyone, even during moments like this.

Still, it’s good to be here. Better than sitting alone in my apartment, letting today drag me down. Three years. Three years since Dad died, and the ache hasn’t lessened. But tonight, I refuse to let it consume me.

I’m mid-sip of my drink when I feel it before I see it—that pull, that unmistakable awareness of him. My eyes drift across the room, and there he is. Derek.

He’s leaning against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest, his steel-gray eyes locked on me. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t wave, but his presence is magnetic, drawing my focus like a moth to flame.

There’s something in the way he looks at me—a quiet intensity that makes my heart stutter. It’s maddening. Exhilarating. And utterly confusing.

I force myself to look away, pretending I’m unaffected, but my pulse betrays me, thudding in my ears.

“Hey, Olivia!” Ethan’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. He’s standing by the dartboard, a cocky grin plastered on his face. “Feel like showing us what you’ve got? Or are you too chicken to take me on?”

I laugh, grateful for the distraction. “Oh, please. I could beat you with my eyes closed.”

“Big words,” he teases, holding out a dart. “Let’s see if you can back ’em up.”

I roll my eyes but step up to the board. The crowd gathers, the energy shifting into something lively and competitive. Ethan’s easy charm makes it impossible not to smile, and before long, we’re trading playful jabs with every throw.

When I land the winning shot, cheers erupt, and I can’t help but grin wide. Ethan clutches his chest dramatically.

“Fine, fine, you win,” he says, shaking his head in mock defeat. Then, with a smirk, he adds, “But how about a rematch? Double or nothing.”

I arch a brow, amused. “Double or nothing? What’s the bet?”

Ethan leans casually against the dartboard, his grin turning mischievous. “If I win, you owe me a date.”

I open my mouth to respond, but before I can, a voice cuts through the silence like a blade.

“That’s enough.”

The crowd parts as Derek steps forward, his expression dark and unreadable. His steel-gray eyes aren’t on Ethan—they’re on me.

Ethan raises his hands in mock surrender, but his smirk doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Relax, Beta. Just having some fun.”

Derek doesn’t even glance at him. Instead, he steps closer to me, his presence overwhelming. Before I can react, his hand wraps around mine—not roughly, but firm, commanding—and he pulls me away from the dartboard without a word.

“Derek!” I protest, stumbling to keep up as he leads me to a quieter corner of the room. When we finally stop, I yank my hand free, glaring up at him. “What the hell was that about?”

His jaw tightens, his broad shoulders tense. “You don’t need to be making bets with guys like Ethan,” he says, his voice low and gruff.

“Guys like Ethan?” I repeat, incredulous. “He’s my friend. And what does it matter to you anyway?”

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