Page 21 of Falling for My Shifter Guardian

The phone rings twice before her voice filters through, soft and familiar. “Liv? What’s up?”

“I need to talk to you,” I say, barely managing to rein in the sharp edge to my voice. “It’s about Derek. And…the pack.”

There’s a pause. A long one. Long enough to make my stomach twist with unease.

“What about them?” Maya’s tone is careful, guarded.

“Don’t play coy with me, Maya,” I snap, pacing again. My feet feel like they’re magnetized to the hardwood floor, unable to stop moving. “There’s something going on, isn’t there? Something dangerous. Derek told me I need to stay away from the pack, and you’ve been hinting at things for weeks. I want the truth.”

She sighs, and I can almost hear her shifting uncomfortably on the other end of the line. “It’s complicated, Liv. I don’t think—”

“Don’t give me that,” I cut her off, my voice rising. My chest feels tight, like I’m holding in too much air. “I’ve been in the dark for too long, and I’m not just going to sit here and wait for something bad to happen. If you care about me at all, you’ll tell me what’s going on.”

Silence stretches between us, heavy and tense, and for a moment, I think she’s going to hang up. But then she exhales, the sound resigned. “The hunters,” she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

The word lands like a punch to the gut. “Hunters?” I repeat, my voice shaky.

“They’ve been moving closer to Whispering Pines,” she continues, her tone more clipped now, as if forcing herself to get the words out. “The pack knows they’re planning something big, but we don’t have all the details yet. Derek’s just trying to keep you safe.”

The way she says it—keep you safe—makes my pulse quicken. “Who are they? And why do they care about the pack?”

“They’re… an organization,” Maya says carefully. “They think shifters are a threat to humans. They’ve been targeting packs for years, hunting them down like animals. That’s why Derek’s on edge. Why he’s been so protective of you.”

The air feels heavier, pressing against my chest. My head is spinning, trying to piece together this new information. Hunters. Shifters. It sounds like something out of a bad movie, but the seriousness in Maya’s voice leaves no room for doubt.

“Why would they come after me?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not… I’m not a shifter.”

“You’re close to us,” she explains, her voice softening. “That makes you a target. And Derek…he’s not just trying to keep you safe because of some promise to your dad. It’s more than that.”

Her words spark something in me—hope, confusion, frustration—but before I can press her for more, a loud knock cuts through the air, freezing me mid-step.

“Liv?” Maya’s voice sharpens. “You still there?”

“Yeah,” I murmur, my eyes locked on the door. My heart is pounding now, each knock reverberating through my chest. “Someone’s at the door. I’ll call you back.”

“Be careful,” she says quickly, but I’ve already hung up.

When I crack the door open, I’m greeted by Ben’s familiar face—or at least, a version of it. His blue eyes, once warm and full of boyish charm, are sharp and cold now, his jaw set in a way that makes him look older, harder. His hands are stuffed into his jacket pockets, but the tension in his shoulders is impossible to miss.

“Ben?” My voice comes out tentative, confused. “What are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?” he asks, but the way he says it doesn’t leave room for a no.

I hesitate, gripping the edge of the door. Something about him feels… off. There’s an edge to his tone, a weight in the air that makes my stomach twist.

“It’s not really a good time,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “What’s going on?”

Instead of answering, Ben pushes past me, brushing against my shoulder as he steps inside. The door swings open wider, and I’m left standing there, caught off guard.

“Uh, sure, come on in,” I say reluctantly, stepping aside to let him in fully. I close the door behind him, the soft click louder than it should be in the uneasy silence.

Ben moves into the small living room, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. He doesn’t sit, doesn’t relax—he just stands there, like he’s waiting for something. It’s strange, seeing him like this. The boy who used to make me laugh until my sides hurt now feels like a stranger, his presence heavy and uncomfortable.

“So,” he says finally, his voice tight. “How was your night?”

The question catches me off guard. “My night?” I repeat.

“Yeah.” His tone is casual, but it doesn’t match the hard set of his jaw or the sharpness in his eyes. “What did you get up to? Game night, right?”

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