Page 14 of Falling for My Shifter Defender

Before I can protest further, Eli approaches. "Ready to head back? I promised Willow we'd stop for ice cream on the way home."

Home. The word echoes in my mind, both tempting and terrifying.

As we gather Willow and say our goodbyes, I'm struck by how natural it all feels—the casual invitations to return, the genuine smiles, Willow's reluctance to leave her new friends. For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to belong here, to have this be our life.

The thought is still with me as we walk back to the truck, Willow skipping ahead, chattering excitedly about all the things she learned.

"So..." Eli says once we're out of earshot of the others. "Stealing glances, huh?"

I groan and give his arm a playful shove. "You heard that?"

"Wolf hearing," he reminds me, tapping his ear with a grin. "Hard to miss."

"She was just teasing," I say, but the laughter in my voice betrays me.

"Mmhmm." His eyes meet mine, amusement dancing in their depths, but there's something else there too—a warmth, an invitation, a promise.

For the first time in years, I don't immediately look away. Instead, I let myself feel the connection between us, this fragile thing taking root despite my best efforts to stay detached.

Later that night, after Willow is asleep and the cabin is quiet, I stand in my bedroom staring at the duffel bag I still haven't fully unpacked. My clothes remain mostly folded inside, ready to grab at a moment's notice. Ready to run.

The memories come unbidden, as they always do when I let my guard down. Two years ago. Coming home from my shift at the diner to find the front door of our little rental house splintered open. The metallic scent of blood hitting me before I even stepped inside. Our father sprawled across the living room floor, his eyes vacant, his chest torn open. Willow's mother in the kitchen, her body crumpled beside the back door like she'd tried to run.

I remember the silence most of all. The terrible, suffocating silence that made me think I was too late, that they'd taken Willow too.

Until I heard it—the softest whimper coming from the kitchen cupboard. I yanked it open to find her curled into a ball, her five-year-old body trembling, tears streaking her dirt-smudged face.

"Don't let the bad men get me," she'd whispered.

We were gone within the hour. Everything we could carry stuffed into two bags, my college fund emptied from the bank, and Willow clutching her stuffed rabbit as we hopped in my janky car and headed anywhere but there. She told me what little she'd seen through the slats in the cupboard door—men with guns and knives, talking about "the half-breed child" and "cleaning up the bloodlines."

Hunters. Looking for Willow.

I never saw their faces. I don't know their names. I have no idea if they're still looking for us or if they gave up months ago. But I couldn't take that chance. Not with Willow's life.

So we kept moving. New town, new names, new story every few months. Never staying long enough to be found. Never staying long enough to belong.

I reach for a stack of shirts, then hesitate, my hand hovering over the bag. The job with Theo starts Monday. Willow has made friends. Eli's cabin feels more like home than anywhere we've stayed in years.

But unpacking means staying. Unpacking means believing we're safe. Unpacking means trusting.

After a long moment, I close the bag and slide it back under the bed. Not yet. But maybe soon.

Chapter 5

Eli

I can't sit still.

My wolf paces beneath my skin, restless in a way that has nothing to do with danger and everything to do with the woman and her little half-shifter sister who've turned my quiet cabin into something that finally feels like a home. My wolf knows what my human side is still processing—Grace is our mate. The certainty of it hums in my blood, a truth as undeniable as the moon's pull. But Grace isn't ready to hear that. Hell, I'm barely ready to admit it to myself.

Grace is at her first day working for Theo's security company, and Willow is spending the afternoon with Jenna and the other women of Whispering Pines. For the first time in days, I have the place to myself.

And I hate it.

The silence that used to comfort me now feels hollow. There's no little girl asking endless questions about shifters, no quiet footsteps of Grace moving through the kitchen, no scent of coffee brewing or crayons on paper.

"This is pathetic," I mutter to myself, grabbing my keys. "They've been here less than a week."

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