A Shifter's Bodyguard (Pale Moonlight Book 5)

by Marie Johnston

  Sylva finished cleaning up the garage. Three days after waking, Nala had disappeared into the trees, heading in the direction of her den.

  It was shift change and she wanted to be done out here before she had to face Harrison. They were switching later than normal tonight. It gave her the perfect excuse to be settled into her bath without looking like a coward who’d been avoiding him for three days.

  As long as she was by the cat, he kept his distance. Nala growled whenever he came near, but the twins didn’t trust Nala enough to stay too far away. Their nightly patrols cast a wide net, enough to ensure Roman’s brothers couldn’t get close enough to control Nala.

  Malcolm leaned against the frame of the open garage door. “I’m worried they’ll get to her again. It’d cause you mental anguish.”

  She hugged the empty water bowl to herself. “She’s a wild cat. I can’t keep her prisoner.”

  His look said that yes, they could. It was a gamble. Sylva would stay away from the forest until her troubles were over. Whenever that would be.

  Then she’d be back to living alone.

  Clutching the plastic water bowl tighter, she scurried inside and ran into a wide chest.

  Strong hands circled her arms to keep her from rebounding back. Harrison’s scent swamped her now that it wasn’t blocked by the door.

  “S-sorry.” She forced herself to look up at him. Her gaze hit his lips first and her body clenched. For such a strong male, he’d been tender, knowing exactly when she was ready for the next step.

  She’d been pressed into the ground with him over her and she’d wanted nothing more than for him to drop his weight on top of her. She’d wanted him between her legs and thrusting.

  Hastily stepping back, she mourned the loss of his touch as he let her slip through his fingers. She sidled around him. “Malcolm’s outside.” Which he’d know.

  “Jonathon called.”

  She finished her trek into the kitchen. The Synod was calling Harrison first more often. She wasn’t the only one sensing a change in him. “Is something wrong?”

  Harrison appeared at the island. “He said the Synod would like to meet tonight.”

  Her front door opened and closed. “We’re getting low on supplies,” Malcolm called. “I say we go.”

  Harrison didn’t take his steady gaze off her. “It could be what they’re waiting for.”

  She was a homebody, but she was also dedicated to her work. Being imprisoned in her own home was getting old. “Then let’s do it. We’re ready for them. Right?”

  The twins exchanged a look she couldn’t read but was probably an entire conversation.

  Malcolm dipped his head and looked at her. “You should be armed.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from refusing. They were talking about arming her and they probably didn’t mean that stupid pistol. “Armed with what?”

  “Do you think you can remember the knife moves we taught you?” Malcolm asked. “We didn’t get much time.”

  She nodded as she beelined for her room. Being armed didn’t mean she’d have to use them. “I’ll get dressed.”

  When she emerged in more official-looking slacks and a silk top, Harrison was waiting for her. He looked the same. Navy T-shirt, blue jeans, and boots. But her belly flipped and ignited a spark that she tried to extinguish.

  His gaze swept the length of her body, leaving a brush fire behind wherever it touched. “Are you okay with those clothes getting ruined if we’re in a fight?”

  She refused to be disappointed that he hadn’t been checking her out. “They’re just clothes. I can get more.”

  He held out a holstered knife, hilt pointing toward her. “This is silver-laced steel.”

  Her hand hovered above the handle. Silver. This knife could kill with nothing but a nick. She wrapped her fingers around it. “You have salt, just in case?”

  “In the pickup.” He didn’t sound irritated that she’d asked. Salt would be a standard supply for Guardians to neutralize silver toxicity.

  Holding the knife, she looked down at herself. “Where should I wear it?” The guys made it hard to tell they were armed. Harrison’s shirt was so snug it only showed sinful muscle. He wasn’t wearing a knife on his torso. She’d guess in his boots, but she was wearing flats.

  He scrutinized her body, narrowing his gaze on her waist. Twisting, he pointed to his lower back. “Right here. Under your shirt. If trouble starts, just flip your shirt up like this.” The flash of smooth skin sent a hot flash through her.

  She went back to her bedroom to secure it. Lifting her shirt around him wasn’t a good idea when she was supposed to be professional and protect herself from an attack. Her lack of focus could get them hurt.

  He was still there when she emerged. “Sylva…” His jaw clenched and he looked frustrated at himself. “How are you doing since Nala left?”

  Had he wanted to talk about their kiss? She did. But only in a When can we do it again? way and that didn’t help either of them. Friends didn’t make out like they wanted to fuck.

  She didn’t have any friends, but she knew that much.

  “She’s safer in the wild. Even with your patrols, they could get to her here.”

  An engine fired up outside. She started for the door.

  “If you feel something off, tell us.” Harrison’s statement stopped her.

  “Of course.”

  He closed the distance between them. “And if shit goes down, do whatever we say, but take care of yourself first. Don’t worry about us.”

  “Right.” She cocked her head. “Are you okay?”

  “I…don’t want you hurt.”

  “I don’t want you hurt either.”

  The corner of his mouth hitched up. “And that’s why you’re more important. Our kind needs you.”

  “I need you,” she whispered.

  His mouth claimed hers. She twined her arms around his neck. This was what she’d wanted. She’d been missing it for three days. His touch. His smell surrounding her.

  His tongue swept inside her mouth and she greedily opened for him. She hadn’t ever kissed like this. She’d tried but Roman hadn’t had the patience.

  Harrison grasped her waist, careful of the knife at her back. He was always aware of her and how to handle her. She would’ve bristled at the thought of being handled, but not with him. She appreciated it. She needed it.

  A honk startled them apart.

  She propped one hand on her hip and stuffed the other through her freshly combed hair. “We can’t ignore this.”

  “You’re right. And I don’t want to. I thought I did, but I don’t want to.”

  She felt the same. “Let’s get tonight over with first.”

  He gestured for her to go first. As she walked out of the door, he said, “I’m serious, Sylva. Trust us to handle ourselves and watch out for yourself.”

  Chapter 11

  I don’t like this vibes bounced back and forth between him and his twin. Harrison was posted on the other side of the Synod door. Malcolm paced the antechamber space, occasionally stopping to check out the front door.

  “They’re not just going to walk in here.” It was a sign of his growing bitchiness that he even spoke.

  Malcolm stopped and propped a hand on the wall. “Want to tell me why she was so flushed when you guys came out of the house?”

  Harrison clenched his jaw. He’d hoped Malcolm hadn’t noticed.

  “Shit.” His brother’s hand slipped off the wall as he returned to pacing. “Of all the times…”

  “Not here.” Too many people with excellent hearing.

  “Should the three of us sit and talk this out when we get back?”

  “It’s none of your business.” It felt wrong as soon as he said it. “It won’t affect our work.”

  Malcolm came close, his voice a ragged whisper. “The hell it won’t. Between your history and not knowing how she’ll react in an emergency, we’re sitting on a Roman candle of—”

>   “Was that a pun?”

  “I’m not joking.”

  “I didn’t say you were.”

  Malcolm pinned him with an incredulous look. “Are you seriously being obtuse right now?”

  Harrison tipped his head back to the wall. “We’ll talk about it later.” He didn’t know what they’d talk about. He and Sylva had tried to be responsible adults but then they kept kissing.

  What did he know about this stuff?

  That he wanted more. That he didn’t deserve more. That it didn’t matter when she was near, he wanted more.

  Malcolm’s concerns were warranted. While he didn’t relish trying to figure out what these feelings were between him and Sylva in front of his twin, they had to. For their own safety, but for her safety most of all.

  “She should learn how to use firearms.” Malcolm’s subject change left him reeling. “She doesn’t want to, but they’ll give her an advantage.”

  “She’ll agree to it.”

  Malcolm leaned closer, his voice syrupy sweet. “If you ask her, she will.”

  “Asshole.”

  Malcolm chuckled and went back to pacing.

  A few long minutes had ticked by when the door to the chamber creaked open.

  “All done.” Sylva’s gaze was steady, her head held high. She had donned her Synod personality. Cool and impervious.

  Had he once been annoyed by it? It was as sexy as when she walked around in nothing but a robe before she shifted.

  He knew the real her, and more importantly, he understood why she acted the way she did. Their people wouldn’t follow a quiet and contemplative leader. She didn’t use physical force, but she demonstrated strength with her unyielding decisions and work ethic.

  Malcolm took point as they walked to the pickup. It was parked in the loop by the entrance. Harrison waited until Sylva was settled into the backseat before he hopped into the front.

  “Getting groceries shouldn’t be this nerve-racking,” Malcolm muttered as he threw the pickup into drive.

  The store was uneventful. Malcolm was more successful at looking casual. Sylva kept her Synod persona in place. Harrison glared at everyone and everything.

  With groceries safely tucked into the back with Sylva, they hit the highway to her place. Once Malcolm turned off onto the gravel road, he cracked his window.

  Different smells filtered in, all of them familiar. Trees, wildlife, the rain that was a few miles off.

  As the pickup slowed to turn into the long driveway that wound through the trees to the cottage, Harrison lowered his window, too. Nothing.

  Malcolm parked. “It can’t be this easy.”

  No, it couldn’t. They’d left the house. Either they’d snuck through the brothers’ blind spot or they were missing something.

  Harrison sucked in a deep breath at the same time Sylva said, “I smell blood.”

  A metallic tang stained the air. Malcolm kicked the pickup into gear and gave it enough gas to roll in front of the house. A sharp gasp came from the backseat.

  A bloody X was carved into the front door. A red, gooey lump was anchored to the porch boards with a knife.

  “That was Roman’s hunting knife,” Sylva said in a ragged voice. “I’d recognize it anywhere.”

  “Stay here.” Malcolm slipped out and circled the pickup before crossing to the house.

  Harrison scanned the trees and kept dragging in lungfuls of air. He registered the blood smell. An animal. Under that was shifter. Two shifters.

  Malcolm disappeared into the house. Harrison struggled to stay relaxed and ready as he lost sight of his brother. He couldn’t leave Sylva, no matter what happened.

  When his twin reemerged, the look on his face told him that it was worse inside. Malcolm lifted his chin toward the yard. He was going to shift and search the property.

  “Did he tell you what was wrong?” Fear spiked Sylva’s soft scent. He hated the brothers for it.

  “Not specifically.” She wouldn’t be able to go into her house. Whatever message the blood on the door sent, there was more inside.

  “It’s ruined, isn’t it?”

  He inclined his head enough for her to see his answer.

  “Can we go inside so I can see for myself?”

  He wanted to say no, to smuggle her away and help her forget about the three brothers that hated her. But he slipped out and opened her door.

  Her nostrils flared in the blood-soaked air. “It’s from a cat.” A ripple traveled through her body. A full wave of grief. She closed her eyes and inhaled. “But not from Nala.

  Not this time. He stayed by her side as they reached the porch. The heart speared to the porch floorboards was larger than a house cat’s. It’d be the right size for a mountain lion’s.

  They couldn’t catch Nala again, but they’d lured another cat to them to use against Sylva.

  Sylva stared at the dripping red X on her front door. It wouldn’t do their anxiety any good to stand out here and wonder how bad it was. He stepped around her and opened the door.

  The air inside was thick with blood. Large gouges were carved out of her hardwood floors. One of the brothers must’ve shifted and clawed whatever he touched.

  “Those assholes.” Sylva started the walk through her house. Blood stained the carpets, was splattered on the walls, and anything that was made from fabric or wood—which included her entire house—had been altered in some way, and not for the better.

  They should’ve had someone watching the place while they were gone. He and Malcolm should’ve wired security cameras and alarms during the last week, but they’d respected Sylva’s need for discretion and privacy.

  It had cost her. It shouldn’t have, but it had cost her nearly everything.

  She wandered through the house like a zombie, her face registering nothing. Peering into her bedroom, she stiffened and stepped back, her complexion paler than when they’d entered.

  He peeked in. A mangled hide was stretched across her bed. A mountain lion. He’d make Rafe and Clayton pay. The room he’d used was destroyed, too, his clothing shredded.

  Back in the entry, she pressed her fingers to her forehead. Then with a strangled gasp, she rushed downstairs. He followed.

  A cloud of air thick with tangy salt and vinegar enveloped him.

  “Bastards,” she snarled.

  Glass was shattered all over the floor. Pickling juice stained everything. Green juice from cucumbers and beans and red juice from beets mingled on the floor. His nose twitched with the heavy dill smell. Her cellar had been wiped out. Every jar busted. Years of work and hours upon hours of labor, gone.

  Her shoulders shook. Without thinking, he crossed to her and closed her in his embrace. A sob shook her.

  This was her passion. Playing with her cat friends, tending the earth, and preserving the food she grew was her heart and they’d shredded it. That family continued to take from her and not face any consequences.

  He’d make sure they paid. He’d make sure they never bothered Sylva or another shifter again. This time, he wasn’t going anywhere.

  Harrison’s hug was the safest place in the world. She was torn between wanting to lean into him and lose herself, and hating herself for needing it so much.

  Fury made his skin hot, but he kept it contained. His expression was a mix of thunderclouds and compassion.

  The compassion almost did her in. This was all her fault. The attack and the harassment and the animal’s death were on Rafe and Clayton, but that they could get here, get to her, was on her.

  Damn her pride.

  “Cameras would’ve done no good.” The words rumbled against her cheek, which was pressed to his chest. He had sensed the change in her grief and followed her thoughts.

  “An alarm system might’ve stopped them.”

  “No. They would’ve ignored it. We were miles away.”

  “Someone could’ve been stationed here, protecting the house.” She shook her head as she said it, disagreeing with herself. “But I cou
ldn’t ask someone to put themselves in harm’s way to protect me.”

  “Yes, you could.”

  “I have no right.”

  “You’re one of our leaders. You’re important to the people.”

  She let out a scornful laugh. “They wouldn’t care if it was me or another shifter up there. They trust Demke because he’s faithfully led them for years and was the only voice to support them during the Lycan Council’s time.” She winced, realized what she’d said. “I mean, I’m sure your father—”

  “Ignored what didn’t fit his own agenda even if it was best for the people. You’re right about Demke.”

  She relaxed, the initial shock of the night wearing off. She released herself from his embrace. “I should get started cleaning.”

  “I’ll help until Malcolm comes back. Then we’ll decide how to do this.”

  Upstairs, she dug out mop pails, then went about piling rags and rubber gloves and sponges on the counter. Her clothes were rumpled and bloodstained just from walking through the house, but it didn’t slow her down. They were probably in better shape than anything else she owned.

  Filling a bucket with soapy water, she headed for his room.

  “Where are you going?” Harrison asked. Had he expected her to start on her room first?

  There was a dead animal on her bed. Her intentions should be altruistic, but she didn’t want to face her bedroom. “You and Malcolm need a place to rest. I’ll do your rooms first, then work my way around the house.”

  “I’ll see to the carcass.”

  Her mouth tightened. “Thank you,” she said quietly and disappeared into his room. She’d been telling him that a lot lately.

  They worked for an hour before Malcolm came back, his footsteps above her head were light for such a big male. Sylva had finished cleaning what she could of the blood stains from Harrison’s bedroom and was downstairs in Malcolm’s.

  Harrison had opened all the windows and buried the dead cat with its heart. For the last half hour, he’d been remaking her bed and sifting through clothing, deciding what could get washed and what needed to be thrown away.