Protector (Wolves of Winter Creek Book 4)

6. Jean Louise （not in this lifetime）

See? That’s what happens when you’re so Luna-damn sure you’re the biggest, baddest predator in the woods: you fall asleep and let your senses go offline long enough to be ambushed.

It’s not even the incredulousness in that rich, delicious voice that catches my attention. Nope. It’s the intoxicating mingle of sea spray and sage that slams me into consciousness.

My spine doesn’t tingle, but the jab, jab, jab of our blocked bond is fucking annoying.

I refuse to let Tristan see the way he affects me. Honestly, if I thought I could keep my eyes closed and he’d buy that I was sleeping, I’d fake it. But he’s a shifter. The moment I went from dead asleep to suddenly awake, he knew it.

Sigh.

I quirk one eye open lazily and almost immediately wish I hadn’t.

You’ve gotta be kidding me.

I knew it was Tristan. Even without his distinct scent, I knew. But as he stalks out of the trees, his slightly heaving chest drawing my attention like a fucking bulls-eye, my wolf keens softly.

Or maybe that’s me.

He’s shirtless. All he has on is a pair of low-slung sweatpants—grey, because of course they’re grey—that show off the imprint of his dick and that’s it. No shoes, either. He’s got the look of a shifter who lost his clothes because he didn’t bother stripping responsibly first like I did, and he made do with one of the pack’s stashes of spare sweatpants that they leave around the woods.

I wonder why. Did he leave the pack house, go for a patrol in his skin, then need to shift suddenly? But if that’s so, what the hell made him tug on pants?

Come on, Jeannie… you know the answer to that, don’t you? Because if I caught his scent, how much do you want to bet he caught mine?

Funny. I would’ve thought he’d turn tail and run the other way if he stumbled upon me during one of his patrols. I guess, instead, he just decided to rub salt in the wound by making sure he was as covered-up as it was possible to be before interrupting my nap.

Thanks, Tristan.

No. Really.

Ah, well. Since he obviously knows I’m awake, I start to move—and that’s when I realize something. As if the cool breeze on my skin wasn’t enough of a clue—and, damn it, that’s why my nipples are suddenly hard, not because I’m staring at Tristan’s chest!—the slight shiver—not Tristan, either!—as goosebumps pop out all over my naked, human flesh lets me know I shifted back from my wolf to my human form while I was knocked out.

Whoops.

Ah, well. It happens. Usually not once a shifter grows out of puphood and can control their changes, but it shouldn’t matter regardless. I’m a wolf on wolf land. Since we don’t come back with our clothes on, we don’t have the same hang-ups over nudity like the full humans do.

Tristan is a shifter. He should understand.

Tell that to the possessive growl under his breath as I go frown being laid out on my side to pulling myself up into a sitting position so I can face him…

I swallow the lump lodged in my throat. Then, in the flattest voice I can manage, I ask him, “You say something, Beta?”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. It’s amazing how, when Fallon talks about Tristan, the words ‘flirtatious’, ‘charming’, ‘sweet’, and ‘funny’ all find their way into the conversation. Then he looks at me and it’s ‘annoyed’ and ‘scowling’ and ‘confusing’...

“Yes. I asked you what you thought you were doing.”

I wait a beat. “Jeannie.”

His cheeks hollow now. “Excuse me?”

I shrug, a tiny thrill of satisfaction running through me when he can’t keep himself from following the motion of my bare tits with his darkened gaze.

“My name. If you’re gonna scold me like my mom used to do, it makes more of an impact if you use my name.” I tap my chin with one of my long nails. The polish is chipped near the point, a casualty of my shifter nature, and I make a mental note to do them again later. I might not have been able to pack much into the duffel I brought with me to Winter Creek, but you can be damn sure that I snagged a couple of bottles of supe-friendly nail polish from my dresser for my own sanity.

When a she-wolf’s claws can grow to three inches long, why not use the extra sturdy nail to practice my manicuring skills?

Dropping my hand so that I’m resting my chin on it, my other arm wrapped around my torso, coincidentally propping up my boobs, I give Tristan a slightly predatory grin. “To get the full impact, it’s really Jean Louise Lipton, but there are only two people in this world who can get away with calling me that without getting gutted, and neither one of them are you, so I’d stick with Jeannie, yeah?”

He blinks, mouth falling slightly open as he stares down at me. Poor male. I think I’ve stunned him.

Ha. I’ve always had that effect on people. Full humans mainly, but shifters are just as careful around me because, even if they don’t know exactly what I am, they can sense I’m different.

Then again, it’s usually my smart mouth that gets me in trouble.

“Who are they?” he bites out. And I mean bite. The rest of him looks as human as can be, but his canine fangs are digging into his bottom lip.

I cock my head. Then, for added measure, I kick my legs out in front of me. Slowly, I cross them at the ankle, and wait.

This time, my distractions don’t work. Shifters can be stubborn as hell, and it seems like Tristan’s not gonna drop the subject until he gets an answer.

Welp. He can try.

“Your twin’s gotta be one.” His nostrils flare, brow furrowing as if trying to figure out who I’m talking about is the most important thing in his life at this moment. “Fallon… not. Not her. Someone else.”

Huh. So he knows I have a twin. Interesting. Same thing with the complicated relationship between Fallon and me. If she ever used my full name on me, all I had to do was use my claws to slice along my finger, claim paper cut, and thrust the blood in her face to get her to stop.

But Tristan… Alphas are the most stubborn of all shifters. Betas have a more even-keel temper; they’re an Alpha’s right hand, and the calming, rational mind that serves to keep an Alpha from getting too hot-headed. A Beta’s still a wolf, though, and if I thought a daring smile would be enough of an answer to satisfy him, I was wrong.

Luna help me. Male supes can be a dog with a fucking bone sometimes. Bonded males ten times worse. I don’t know what’s going on with Tristan, but if he thinks that he can stroll his gorgeous behind—chest… face… eyes..—into this clearing, bark at me, and I’ll just take it, he has another think coming.

In fact, I don’t like the way he thinks he can question me so freely after ignoring me for months. I refuse to let the Alpha tell me what to do. His Beta? Forget it.

Maybe if he was my mate… but he’s not.

Even if the way he’s looking at me right now has me hesitating for a moment?—

No. No. Tristan is still purposely blocking our mate bond. I reach for him and though I see him, he’s not there.

So I don’t want to be here anymore, either.

I get up.

“Jeannie.”

I give Tristan my back.

He sucks in his breath. “Jeannie…”

Oh, look. My clothes are right there.

The reason I was so careful to strip before shifting is because I didn’t bring that many outfits with me. Between wearing a dress made by a witch designer or going in my skin, I’d pick skin, but if I take good care of my regular clothes, it would come down to that.

And, sorry Fal, but I’d rather not wear hand-me-downs and cast-offs from another shifter. She does, and she’s been raiding Eleanor’s closet while the human and her mate are gone, but that’s not my style.

I share with Lorelei. Sometimes Fallon when we were all piled in the dorm together, but I’d known her for two years at that point.

I met Eleanor… twice? And while she seemed nice, and I got on with Jade like a house on fire, I’m not borrowing their panties.

Luckily, I don’t have to. Mine are in pristine condition, and I bend over to snag the waistband with my claw.

There’s that possessive growl again.

I swallow my grin as I ease back into a standing position.

And then

“Jean Louise?—”

Oh no he fucking didn’t.

Forget teasing him because, fuck yeah, I was teasing him. But for him to use my name like that?

I whirl around, shaking my panties in his face. “I told you. Two people get a pass with that name. Two.”

He kicks his chin up. “I’ll be the third.”

Flexing my fingers on my free hand, I show him my claws. “Only if you want me to carve ‘Jeannie’ in your chest as a reminder, hotshot.”

Tristan’s blue eyes flash, suddenly white. It’s not a sign of the Luna—not like how my eyes go silver when her power is coursing through me—but something different. Something uniquely Tristan.

He swallows roughly next, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he leans forward on the balls of his feet. “Is that your way of offering me your mark?”

“I would’ve marked you three months ago. Right next to this Luna-damn creek… I would’ve marked you. Now?” It takes everything I have in me to keep my expression nonplussed—and to shorten my claws to almost human-like nails before I tear the delicate fabric of my underwear. “You wouldn’t be worth chipping any more of my polish, Beta.”

He falls back on his heels, cursing under his breath. “Fuck.”

Yeah.

He did this. He rejected me. I don’t know what kind of game he’s playing, showing up like this when no one else is around, acting like a possessive wolf in the middle of the mating dance. There is no mating dance. We’re two broken shifters, and proof that the Luna really does make mistakes.

It’s fine. Honest. I spent my whole life sure I’d never have a mate. That stolen moment with Tristan was a tease and a revelation. I got a taste of what it would like, and further proof that a happily mated life isn’t meant for me.

I shake my head, knocking my hair over my shoulder. I’m not even trying to show off my naked body anymore. To be honest, for a second there I’d almost forgotten that I hadn’t pulled on my clothes just yet, though the heated look in his eyes—mingled with a remorse I pretend not to see—warms me up way more effectively than my fur would.

It’s winter in Winter Creek, the air smelling of the promise of more snow. Shifters run hot, though, and after my earlier swim in the creek, the chill doesn’t touch me at all. It still hasn’t. Not when I’m feeling flushed, a different kind of warmth working its way through me as Tristan watches me so closely, I don’t even think the Beta’s blinked since he spat out the curse.

I’m done with giving him a free show. Angrily stabbing one leg into my panties, then the other, I shimmy them up. Glaring at my former fated mate, I swoop down, gathering up the rest of my clothes and my shoes. I’ll change later. For the moment, I just cover my chest with the bundle.

Then, without a single word, I head for the trees.

His voice chases behind me.

“Where are you going?”

Isn’t karma a bitch? Three months ago, we stood in this same spot, only I was the one who lobbed that question at him.

But look at that. Tristan might be a gorgeous Beta who makes me alternate between wanting to gut him with my claw or throwing him to the ground so that I could ride him like a fucking pony, but you know what he isn’t? A Luna-touched shifter who can compel me to tell him shit.

Besides, his question has two answers.

Where am I going?

Eventually? Home.

I came down to the creek earlier to think about what my next move is. If Fallon’s meeting with the witches goes well today, she’s one step closer to fulfilling her birthright. Born of a witch father and a shifter mother, both the Luna and Hecate—the witch’s goddess—agreed that she’d be the one to usher the sanctuary town into a new age.

Marie Bordeaux bartered for her granddaughter’s soul; considering she herself killed her son, Jolie was her only hope to continue her bloodline. Lucas Guidry sacrificed his sanity and his soul, becoming a feral beast twice a month in order to beg for his mate to be returned to him. The two goddesses agreed to pool their magic to bring her back as Fallon, but only because she had a destiny.

I did my part. I kept her alive from the age of sixteen until twenty-five. It was a lot harder after she graduated from Rutgers and moved to New York, but Lorelei and me… we managed.

But the assignment is done now. Once Fallon is firmly installed as the leader of the coven, she won’t need a protector anymore. Honestly? With that Alpha mate of hers at her heels like a guard dog, she probably doesn’t need one anymore.

So that’s it. I… I think I’m done here. The next time the train out of Winter Creek rolls through, I’m going to be on it, and I’m surprised it took me this long to realize that I can’t keep going on like this. This little chat with Tristan was especially eye-opening to me in a few different ways, and I’m finally admitting that to myself.

One: despite the way he reacted at the creek, plus how much distance he’s kept between us since, the mate bond is a funny thing. He clearly doesn’t want to be my mate, but tell that to the lust pouring off of him right now.

Two: I’m not the type of she-wolf who will settle for a forever mate just because the Luna picked him out for me. She’s our goddess and I revere her like the rest of my kind, but being one of her guardians gave me a front-row seat to seeing some of her more… questionable decisions.

Three: I want him. Desperately. When he made that comment about marking him… fuck me. I wanted to say ‘yes’. My fingers twitched, itching to dig into his skin, lick the blood from the points of my claws, and show the whole world that this male is mine. But he’s not. He can’t be. Because this whole time we’ve been standing here, the constant prickles against my skin hasn’t stopped.

Our bond? It’s still being blocked.

No bond, no mate. It’s as simple as that. In order to claim our mates, shifters need to recognize that there’s a tie between two souls. Only then can they do the physical act of mating on the night of the Luna—the full moon—and get her blessing to finalize the bond. We mark each other with either our claws or our fangs, and that shifter mark is as much of a symbol that we’re bonded mates as wedding rings do the same for married humans.

Only, when it comes to a supe mating, there is no such thing as divorce. Mate bonds are the epitome of ‘til death do you part, and since supes are either long-lived—like shifters or witches—or even basically immortal—like the bloodsuckers—that’s a long time to be stuck with someone you don’t want to be with.

Tristan’s body might want mine, but his heart is as closed off as our bond. I don’t know why. It kills me that I don’t. He was so receptive to me the instant that he knew who I was… but then, like the flip of a switch, something happened. Something changed.

Three months ago, I was ready to give him time. To give him space if that’s what he needed. Forever is a daunting prospect even to wolf shifters who are raised on the idea of a ‘forever’ partner, and I was ready to navigate this huge change with him.

That was three months ago. And maybe Lorelei always used to shake her head and said my pride would be the death of me, but I spent the first few days in Winter Creek torn between doing my duty and listening to Fate. I kept watch over Fallon until I let myself get snared in the witches’ trap, and I waited for Tristan to come back to me.

He never did. Even after our explosive confrontation after Fallon and I escaped the Coven House, he avoided me the best that he could manage when we live in the same house and on the same territory.

So why is he looking at me expectantly now as though he has any right to ask me what I’m doing or where I’m going?

Or that he honestly thought I’d answer?

Sorry, hotshot. You gave that up the moment you purposely shut down your side of our bond.

Come on. If I’m not about to listen to the Alpha of the pack, what makes Tristan think that the Beta holds any sway over one of the Luna’s guardians?

So I grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”