Page 8 of Falling for My Shifter Guardian

A rustling noise, faint but distinct, followed by a low, guttural groan. I freeze mid-step, every nerve in my body on edge. My heart thumps hard against my ribs as I strain to hear, holding my breath.

There it is again. The sound of something—or someone—moving just beyond the tree line.

My instincts scream at me to turn back, to keep walking, to pretend I didn’t hear anything. But my feet betray me, drawn forward by a mix of curiosity and dread. My phone is clutched tightly in my hand, my thumb hovering over the emergency call button.

“Hello?” My voice comes out shaky, barely louder than a whisper.

The rustling grows louder, and then I see him—a man lying crumpled on the park floor, his body twisted at an awkward angle. The metallic scent of blood hits me, sharp and undeniable, and my stomach lurches.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, rushing to his side.

He’s young, maybe mid-twenties, his face pale and slick with sweat. His shirt is soaked with blood, the fabric clinging to a jagged wound on his side. Cuts and gashes crisscross his arms, and his breathing is shallow, uneven.

“Hey, can you hear me?” I ask, my hands hovering uselessly over him. He’s alive—barely—but I have no idea what to do.

His eyelids flutter, and he lets out a pained groan. “No… no hospital,” he rasps, his voice barely audible. “Call… my pack.”

Panic claws at my chest, but I force myself to think. There’s only one person who might understand what’s going on. Derek. He’ll know what to do.

My fingers are trembling as I dial his number. It rings once—just once—before he picks up.

“Olivia?” His voice is sharp, alert, like he’s already bracing for the worst.

“I—I found someone,” I stammer, my breath coming in short bursts. “He’s hurt, Derek. Badly. He told me not to call an ambulance, just his pack. I don’t know what to do—”

“Where are you?” he interrupts, his tone all business now.

“By the park, near the old gas station.”

“Stay there. Don’t move. I’m on my way.” The line goes dead.

I look back at the man. His breathing is fainter now, his chest barely rising. “Hang on. Help is coming,” I whisper, pressing my hands against his side to slow the bleeding. The sticky warmth of his blood seeps through my fingers, and I bite back the rising tide of panic.

A truck screeches to a stop at the edge of the woods, and Derek emerges like a force of nature. He moves with purpose, his tall, broad frame cutting through the darkness, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. There’s something about him—his presence, the way he commands the space around him—that makes the chaos feel a little less overwhelming.

“Olivia, step back,” he says, his voice low and firm.

“But—”

“Now.”

The intensity in his steel-gray eyes leaves no room for argument. Reluctantly, I move aside, my hands shaking as I wipe them on my jeans. Derek kneels beside Sam, his movements quick and practiced as he assesses the injuries.

“It’s Sam,” he mutters, more to himself than to me. “Damn it.”

“You know him?” I ask, my voice barely steady.

“He’s one of ours,” Derek says grimly. His jaw tightens, and there’s a flicker of something in his expression—anger, maybe, or fear. “Hunters did this.”

“Hunters?” The word feels foreign on my tongue, a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit.

Derek doesn’t answer. Instead, he lifts Sam with ease, cradling him like he weighs nothing. “You’re coming with me,” he says over his shoulder.

“What? Why?”

“Because it’s not safe for you to walk home alone. Get in the truck.”

There’s no point arguing. The look in his eyes is enough to tell me I don’t have a choice. I follow him to the truck, sliding into the passenger seat as he carefully lays Sam across the back.

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