Page 28 of Falling for My Shifter Defender

It's been five hours since I left Willow at the elementary school. Five hours, seventeen minutes. Not that I'm counting.

I reach for my coffee mug, grimacing when I find it empty. The job keeps me busy enough that I can almost—almost—stop worrying about Willow for minutes at a time. Working for Theo has been surprisingly good for me. The administrative side of supernatural security means I'm contributing to the safety of Whispering Pines without putting myself in danger, and the steady paycheck means I can finally provide for Willow without constantly looking over my shoulder.

Or at least, that's what I keep telling myself.

I'm reviewing supply requests for the northern patrol teams when a sharp electronic tone cuts through the office. My head snaps up, along with everyone else's, as the overhead monitors flash with a red alert banner.

"Hunter Activity Confirmed: Peripheral Movement, Northern Ridge Trail. Contained. Security Mobilized."

The air punches out of my lungs. My vision narrows to pinpricks of light against encroaching darkness. I can't breathe. I can't think. I'm back there—blood on the floor, Willow screaming, glass shattering as hunters break through windows—before I even realize I'm standing.

The coffee mug slips from my suddenly numb fingers, clattering against the desk but miraculously not breaking. The sound seems distant, underwater, like I'm hearing it through layers of cotton.

Hunters.

I thought we were safe here. For seven days, I've let myself believe the lie. Seven days of routine, of Willow laughing and playing, of me coming to work without constantly checking over my shoulder. Seven days of lowering my guard, inch by excruciating inch. And now this—proof that nowhere is truly safe. That the moment I dare to breathe, hunters show up again.

My chest constricts painfully, each heartbeat slamming against my ribs with such force I'm certain they'll crack. Sweat breaks out across my forehead, cold and clammy. The fluorescent lights overhead suddenly seem too bright, too harsh.

They found us.

My chair scrapes back as I stand, hands already grabbing for my bag, movements automatic, programmed by years of running. I need to get to Willow. Now. I need to get her out, away, somewhere they can't find us. We were fools to think we could stay, could build something here. Safety is an illusion. It always has been.

"Grace?" Someone calls my name, but their voice seems to come from miles away, distorted and meaningless.

I'm already moving toward the door, my heartbeat a deafening roar in my ears. My vision tunnels, narrowing to a single point: get to Willow, get in the car, get out of Whispering Pines before—

The door swings open just as I reach for the handle, and suddenly Eli is there, filling the doorway. He's holding two paper bags, the logo of the local deli stamped on the side. His easy smile falters as he takes in my expression, the wild look in my eyes.

"Grace?" The bags lower to his side. "What's wrong?"

"I have to go," I choke out, already fumbling to push past him. "They found us. They found her. I can't—I have to get to Willow." My voice is too high, too thin. I'm not here. I'm somewhere else. Somewhere much darker.

His hands come up to gently grip my shoulders, steadying me. The warmth of his touch cuts through the fog, anchoring me to the present when everything in me wants to flee.

"Breathe, Grace," he says, his voice low and steady. "Just breathe for a second."

I try to pull away, panic clawing up my throat. "You don't understand," I say, my voice rising. "I have to get to her. They're back, Eli. Hunters. I can't—we can't—"

"Willow is safe," he says, his voice calm but firm. His hazel eyes lock with mine, refusing to let me look away. "I promise you. But let's talk to Theo first, okay? He'll have the details."

I want to argue, want to shove past him and run straight to the school, but something in his steady gaze anchors me. The rational part of my brain—the part not hijacked by fear andmemory—knows he's right. But my body hasn't caught up yet. My hands still tremble. My heart still races. Every instinct screams at me to run, to grab Willow and disappear.

"Thirty seconds," I manage, the words coming out in short, staccato bursts. "Then I'm going to her."

Eli nods, setting the lunch bags on a nearby desk. His hand moves to the small of my back, not restraining, just guiding as we walk toward the operations room. The warmth of his palm seeps through my shirt, a steady point of contact that keeps me from spiraling completely. I'm hyper-aware of his touch, of how solid he feels beside me when everything else seems to be fragmenting.

The operations room is a hub of controlled activity. Monitors line the walls, displaying maps of Whispering Pines and the surrounding forests. Blue dots indicate patrol teams, moving in coordinated patterns. A single red marker pulses near the northern border.

Theo stands at the center console, his expression focused but not alarmed. He looks up as we enter, his eyes narrowing slightly when he sees my face—pale, drawn, pupils dilated with fear.

"Grace," he acknowledges with a nod. "I'm guessing you saw the alert."

"What's happening?" My voice sounds steadier than I feel, years of practice at hiding fear kicking in. "Are they attacking? How many are there?"

Theo gestures to the map. "One hunter, spotted on the ridge trail about twenty minutes ago. Likely a scout, not an attack force. We've already deployed a response team." He points to a cluster of blue dots moving toward the red marker. "They'll intercept in less than five minutes."

"Just one?" I ask, disbelief coloring my tone. My brain can't process the information. One hunter doesn't make sense. They always traveled in groups, coordinated, ruthless.

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