Page 21 of Falling for My Shifter Defender

"Will there be other kids like me?" Willow asks, looking between Eli and me. "You know... wolf kids?"

Eli sits down across from us, his own sandwich steaming. The table isn't large, and his knee accidentally brushes mine beneath it. I resist the urge to pull away, surprised by how much I want to lean into the contact instead.

"There are a few shifter children in town," he says gently, his deep voice rumbling in a way that seems to vibrate through me. "But remember what we talked about—"

"No shifting at school," Willow recites solemnly. Then her face brightens again. "Can I bring lunch? In a lunchbox? With a thermos?"

I laugh, the sound surprising me with its lightness. "Yes to all of that. We'll go shopping this weekend to get your supplies."

"And can I have a backpack with wolves on it? Or maybe butterflies? Or both?"

"We'll see what they have," I promise, watching as she practically vibrates with excitement.

For the rest of dinner, Willow peppers us with questions about school—Will she have homework? Can she join the soccer team? What if she gets mad and her eyes change color? Eli answers each one patiently, his deep voice reassuring as he explains that yes, there are protocols for young shifters, and no, she won't be the only one learning to control her abilities.

I watch them together, something aching in my chest. This is what normal feels like. This is what Willow deserves—stability, safety, someone who understands what she's going through in a way I never can. The thought brings both relief and a strange, hollow feeling I can't quite name.

I catch myself studying Eli's face as he talks—the strong line of his jaw shadowed with stubble, the way his lips curve when he smiles at something Willow says, the tiny scar above his right eyebrow. In another life, I might have reached across the table to trace it with my finger, to ask him how he got it. In this one, I curl my fingers around my water glass instead, trying to ignore the pull I feel toward him.

After dinner, Willow helps clear the table, carefully carrying her plastic cup to the sink before dashing off to add more details to her Sanctuary drawing. I stay to help Eli with the dishes, our movements falling into an easy rhythm—he washes, I dry.

"Thank you," I say quietly. "For everything you're doing for her. For us."

His hands pause in the soapy water. "You don't have to thank me, Grace."

"I do, though." I set down the dish towel. "I'm not... good at accepting help. But what you're doing for Willow—teaching her about being a shifter, making her feel normal—I couldn't give her that on my own."

Eli's eyes, when they meet mine, are soft with something I'm afraid to name. Water drips from his hands, leaving dark spots on his shirt that cling to the contours of his chest. I force myself to look away.

"You've done an incredible job with her," he says, his voice lower now, intimate in the quiet kitchen. "Most humans would've run the other way after what you've been through."

"She's my sister," I say simply, as if that explains everything. And maybe it does.

???

Later, after Willow is tucked into bed with her new lavender blanket, I find myself restless. The house is quiet, but my mind isn't. I wander through the living room, straightening things that don't need straightening, until I notice the back door is cracked open.

I step onto the porch and find Eli leaning against the railing, barefoot and contemplative under a canopy of stars. The night is cool but not cold, the scent of pine heavy in the air. For a moment, I just watch him—the strong line of his back beneath his thin t-shirt, the breadth of his shoulders, the way the moonlight catches in his hair, turning the rich brown to silver at the edges. My fingers itch with the sudden, unwelcome urge to touch him, to see if his hair is as soft as it looks.

"Can't sleep?" he asks without turning around.

I move to stand beside him, wrapping my arms around myself. "Too much on my mind, I guess."

He nods, understanding in his silence. We stand there for a long moment, looking out at the clearing behind the cabin, the forest beyond dark and mysterious. His presence beside me is solid, reassuring. Heat radiates from him, even with the space between us, as if his body runs hotter than a human's. I wonder if that's a shifter thing, or just an Eli thing.

"I want to meet your wolf," I say suddenly, the words surprising even me.

Eli turns, searching my face. This close, I can see the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes, the way his pupils dilate slightly in the dim light. "You don't have to—"

"I want to," I interrupt, more certain now. "I'm going to raise a shifter. I want to understand. And I trust you."

Something flickers in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or pleasure. He nods slowly. "Alright."

Without another word, he steps off the porch into the clearing. The moonlight bathes him in silver as he pulls his shirt over his head in one fluid motion, revealing the broad planes of his chest,the definition of muscle beneath tanned skin. My breath catches at the sight of him—the taper of his waist, the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath his waistband, the scattered scars that speak of battles I know nothing about.

I've seen attractive men before. But there's something about Eli that's different—a raw power contained in the graceful way he moves, a confidence that has nothing to do with vanity and everything to do with knowing his own strength. My heart pounds harder, a flush of heat spreading across my skin that has nothing to do with embarrassment.

He meets my eyes as his hands move to the waistband of his flannel pants, and I realize I should probably look away, give him privacy. But I can't seem to tear my gaze from him as he strips down, his body a study in masculine beauty. I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry, a pulse of want beating low in my belly.

---