Protector (Wolves of Winter Creek Book 4)

8. Don’t go chasing waterfalls （use the cave instead）

My spine is itching, but I don’t get the warning of shards of glass poking into my skin before the Beta has launched himself out of the trees.

He’s shifted. In his fur, Tristan is a gorgeous golden wolf with beautiful blue eyes. His tail is whipping ferociously, his ears pointing sky-high as he lands with four paws down in the dirt, body positioned between me and the two witches.

Holy shit. Is he protecting me?

Tristan’s growl is nothing like the possessive one I know. This is a threat, plain and simple, and he’s directing it right at Gabriel and Claude.

Gabriel holds out his hand, the blinding glow shielding his fingers an obvious warning. “This doesn’t have anything to do with you, dog. I just want the one who slaughtered my brother.”

Tristan obviously disagrees because he rumbles deep in his chest before his wolf bares his teeth at the witch.

Gabriel sighs in obvious annoyance. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he drawls—and launches his spell.

He didn’t have enough time to really pack a punch into his offensive spell. What he did pour into it, though, is enough to pick up Tristan’s wolf, toss him about fifteen feet into the air before he slams back to the ground.

A shifter should be able to shake off a hit like that, especially if he’s in his fur. But, to my horror, the magic does something to Tristan. It forces him back to his skin and it’s that more fragile body that hits the frozen earth hard.

He whimpers. The Beta of the Winter Creek Pack fucking whimpers.

And nothing can stop me from what happens next.

Taking heart in the fact that he made a sound even if he hasn’t moved from the dirt just yet, I look at the two witches like obstacles. They want me dead. They hurt my mate. The Luna’s not here to give me the order to put them down, but that’s okay.

In this, I’m judge, jury, and executioner.

Gabriel could threaten me all he wanted. I could give a shit. But Tristan?

Fuck, no.

It takes less than a second to go from a 5’6” lean brunette to a large white wolf twice the weight I am as when I’m human. Being Luna-touched gives me the trademark silver eyes when I’m in my fur, and a power that some might mistake as a dominant alpha when I shift.

Poor kid. He never stood a chance.

Some shifters go into a frenzy when they scent blood. It’s instinctive. Not me. As I pounce on Gabriel, going for the throat first so that I know he’s dead, I don’t stop as the hot, coppery tang of blood fills my mouth.

Oh, no. I’m locked in. I don’t stop until he’s nothing but a pile of squishy red mush, broken bones, and pure fucking regret.

Only one problem. I was efficient as ever, but just not quick enough. My wolf needed to know that Gabriel could never be a threat to Tristan again, but I made a huge mistake. So focused on the younger witch who hit Tristan with his spell, I forget about the other one.

Claude is standing over Tristan. He hasn’t moved yet, lying on his belly, face turned away from the both of us. The witch crouches down by my mate’s ass, showing off the white glow that’s now surrounding his fingers.

I just about stop breathing.

Tristan took one hit already. Will he survive another?

Can I risk it?

“Shift,” he orders.

Maybe he wants to talk. That’s one reason why he’d order me back to my skin. I highly doubt it’s because he wants a look at my naked body, though maybe he just isn’t comfortable with my blood- and gore-spattered white wolf staring at him.

When I don’t do what he said, he brings his hand closer to Tristan.

Damn it. I shift, digging my toes into the earth as I brace myself, prepared to leap if I have to.

He knows it, too. “Stay there or I’ll shove this spell into the Beta’s back. Gabriel was too eager for his vengeance. He wanted to make a statement with a death cast. Not me. I don’t need to be flashy. A simple spell to freeze his heart… that’ll do the trick, don’t you think?”

“Touch him and you’ll wish that I kill you as quickly as I did you friend,” I warn him.

“Threaten me all you want. Gabriel failed. He brought the Beta into it. You… you’re not pack. Not like the others. We could’ve convinced the new Madame that your death was necessary to keep the truce. But this mutt… Gabriel is dead. The Alpha will want vengeance of his own. I’m dead either way.”

He’s not wrong. Well, maybe a little. If they’d managed to kill me, I have no doubt in my mind that Fallon wouldn’t start squeezing a couple of more hearts. But for Tristan to be in danger…

“Is he alive?”

I keep all emotion out of my voice. I don’t want him to think I care one way or another because if he knew… this could get even uglier real fast.

“For now. I can keep him that way, too. If…”

Of course there’s an if. “If?”

“I thought you were feral like the Alpha. I know better now. You’re too dangerous to be allowed in Winter Creek. To protect my coven, I’ll let the Beta live if you die.” He trails his glowing hand about an inch over the curve of Tristan’s back. Is he… is he breathing? I can’t tell. “Will you sacrifice yourself for your packmate?”

If he was just a packmate, I don’t know. But he’s not just my packmate, is he?

Bond or no bond, he’s still my mate—and I can’t let Claude hurt him.

“If you kill me, what’s to stop you from killing him?”

He crosses his heart with his non-glowing hand. “Je le jure. You have my word.”

Yeah. Because that means a lot, right?

Okay, Jeannie. You have to figure a way out of this. Save Tristan. Only sacrifice yourself as a last measure.

“Fine,” I say, lying my ass off. “Come over here and do it then.”

Maybe he’ll get close enough that I can shift and give control back to my wolf. Or he can throw the spell at me, I can maybe dodge it, and still give my wolf a chance to eliminate this latest threat to her mate. Or?—

Tristan surprises both of us by suddenly rolling over onto his side. His hand shoots out, going right from Claude’s crotch.

From the howl of pain that tears out of his throat, I’m pretty sure Tristan just used his claws to slice deep into Claude’s cock.

He doesn’t keep them there long. One brutal stab, then a ruthless yank after and Tristan uses his bloody claws to swipe at Claude’s throat next.

The witch goes to his knees, hard, then lands flat on his face.

Tristan switches places with him. Hopping a little awkwardly to his feet, he rears back his bare feet, getting Claude right in the gut. The kick lifts the witch up, and I thought Tristan flew before, that’s nothing compared to the way the bloody witch corpse soars before hitting a tree in the distance.

Holy shit. The model-handsome Beta has some fucking moves.

Was he faking? Waiting for the opportune moment to strike at Claude, taking it when I must have distracted the witch?

Tristan’s eyes are fully white and completely wild as his head swivels, searching for me. He takes one step, then another, murmuring something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like my name before he folds in on himself and collapses.

Okay. Not faking. Not faking even a little.

I rush over to him and drop down by his side.

With blood and gore still on his claws, he clutches my wrist gently as he looks up. His blue eyes seem dull, almost like he can’t focus on me. “Jeannie…”

“I’m here, Tristan. I’m right here.”

“Listen to me. Waterfall. You need to go to the waterfall.”

What?

“It’s… it’s closer than the pack house. The cave… it’s safer. What if there’s more? No, I…” He chokes, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. What? Why? How? He got zapped, but the only ones who took a claw-shot were the witches. “I can’t protect you. You have to go.”

His eyes flutter shut. He’s out.

Hurt.

Vulnerable.

And he wants me to abandon him? Even if we didn’t have a connection—or a complicated relationship I wish was so much easier—I’d never do that.

Go and… what? Leave him here?

Fuck no.

He can’t protect me. That’s fucking fine. I never needed anyone to protect me. That’s my job—and no matter what I have to do, I’m going to make sure he is safe.

That witch didn’t use silver. I don’t give a shit what kind of magic he hit Tristan with, the Beta will be okay. He has to be. Like other supes, shifters can heal anything except for decapitation; kinda hard to survive without your head. Silver makes the process longer and harder than it has to be, but magic? He can recover from this.

I’ll make sure of it.

Didyou know there are caves hidden behind certain waterfalls? Because I’ve been in Winter Creek for months now and I had no fucking idea.

That’s my fault for not paying really good attention. From the outside, the rocks surrounding the sides of the waterfall look like just that: rocks. But behind the main waterfall there’s a structure worn into the rocks behind that looks like the shelter I made on neutral territory.

Tristan was right. With the waterfall as my destination, I realize it is much closer to where we are than the pack house. And though I doubted there were more witches waiting out in the woods to attack us, the first two did manage to conceal their presence until they were right on top of me. Other threats could do the same.

I have to hope that Fallon and Lucas are alright. Right now? It’s just Tristan I’m worried about, and I’m super fucking worried.

He hasn’t shifted back to his fur yet. That meant I had a naked human male to deal with—and unconscious naked human male—and the only way I could do that was by picking him up, tossing him over my own equally naked shoulder, and running for the waterfall.

That’s the downside of shifting without stripping first. Everything, from my shoes to my panties, are nothing but tattered shreds after the explosive magic inherent in a sudden shift. Clothing never survives one; charmed jewelry is the only thing I can think of that does.

I don’t care. Like I said, shifters are used to nudity. It only has any real meaning when you’re with your mate, but I barely got a peek at Tristan’s body. I was too focused on getting him out of the witches’ ambush alive.

With him still positioned over my shoulder—since, for some reason, I can’t bring myself to let him go—I wade into the lake. He said cave, and if there’s a cave by the waterfall, it’s gotta be behind the waterfall.

The water is shocking yet bracing. Definitely cold. It’s a welcome sensation, and I do stop for a few seconds to wipe Claude’s blood off of Tristan’s hand. It would’ve disappeared on its own if he had shifted to his fur like Gabriel’s vanished after I returned to my skin. Since he passed out before he could, I decide to take care of it.

Then, I duck my head and shield Tristan’s with my hand as I push past the icy water still streaming down from the waterfall. It doesn’t matter how cold it gets in Winter Creek. The river still rages, the waterfall still pours, and we’re both naked and drenched by the time I come face to face with a small crevice built into the narrow rock shelter.

It doesn’t look like much of a cave to me. I’m beginning to wonder if Tristan expected me to hide-out behind the waterfall itself and hope for the best when, suddenly, I catch a hint of his scent over the water.

It’s different than what I’m used to. Faded for one thing, and a little bit… saltier than the sea spray I associate with Tristan. It’s still undeniably his, though, and it’s coming from inside the narrow crevice.

Even with Tristan’s body positioned over my shoulder, there’s just enough space for me to wiggle my way inside. Maybe… maybe this isn’t the cave he mentioned. Maybe this is the entrance to it.

It’s worth a shot, and after I scrape the shit out of my shoulders, trying to work my way inside, it turns out I’m right.

It’s chilly. Damp. Dark. I only get a little bit of light streaming in through the crevice, but it’s enough for me to use the darkened shadows around me to get an idea how big this cave is. It’s about the size of my bedroom back at the apartment, with only one way in and no other ways out.

I don’t like that bit. We could be sitting ducks in here if the witches track us to the cave, but it’s on pack territory. Would they dare leave the neutral land to cross over onto the pack’s, even if Lucas is gone?

I guess we’re gonna find out.

Just in case, though, I lay Tristan out on the rocky ground, scooting his body to the side. This way, if another avenging witch decides to lob spells in here, he’s protecting. And if they try to follow us in?

I flex my fingers, unsheathing my claws.

They’d have to get past me first.

I spendthe next hour making myself as comfortable as possible while waiting for Tristan to wake up.

Because he will.

He has to.

So I wring my wet hair as best as I can, then crouch over Tristan and try to do the same for him. I park my ass down next to him, yelping when the naked skin hits the chilly ground. I have half a mind to shift just for my fur, but it doesn’t seem right to do that when Tristan didn’t.

Curling up around him, sharing my heat seems like a pretty good idea, but over the last few months, he’s made himself clear. I’m not his mate, and cozying up to him—even if it’s to warm him up—doesn’t seem right without his consent.

Besides, we’re shifters. The cold and wet might really be a struggle for humans. To me? It’s just an annoyance I have to get over.

It’s not like we’re going to be in here long anyway. I just need Tristan to wake up, tell me he’s okay, and between the two of us, we can get back to the pack house and wait for Fallon and Lucas to return.

That’s the plan. And if I swore I caught the scent of blood and shit outside of our hidey-hole about ten minutes after I arrive, I refuse to leave Tristan’s side to check it out. So long as they don’t try to attack us again, they can check out the waterfall and fucking move along.

I think that’s what happened. The smell fades, or maybe I’m high on being this close to Tristan, his scent surrounding me for more than a few quick moments. And then I got antsy enough that I had to take a peek and then it didn’t matter what my brilliant plans were…

But, hey. At least he’s breathing. I can hear him. It isn’t labored, either, but when it picks up a little after being even for so long, my ear twitches.

Is he?—

Yes.

He stirs for a second, eyes fluttering before they suddenly snap open. His head swivels, and the first word out of his mouth is my name.

“Jeannie? Where are you?”

I was sitting on the floor of the cave opposite of him, arms wrapped around my knees while I watched him. My heart leaps into my throat as I calls out for me. I have to swallow it first before I can answer him.

“Here.” It comes out as a croak. I swallow again. “Sorry. I’m here, Tristan.”

He shudders. “Thank the Luna. And you found the cave.”

Obviously. “Um. Yeah.”

Tristan pulls himself up into a sitting position. “What about the witches?”

“They’re dead,” I tell him. Because, oh yeah, I’m pretty sure about that. “I don’t think we have to worry about them trying to come after us again.”

Of course not. Not after what one of them did…

Tristan cocks his head. I can’t really see his features, more like his shape since it’s grown dark outside and even my shifter’s eyes need a little more light than that, but I… I sense the motion.

Just like the Beta can sense that I’m holding something back.

“That’s good. And you’re alright?”

“I’m fine. You?”

“Been better,” he admits softly, “but I’ll be fine in no time. I’m good enough to take the trek back to the pack house, though. We can head there and then you can tell me what in the name of the Luna you thought you were doing, trying to sacrifice yourself for me.”

Look who’s talking. If he hadn’t jumped in between me and a psycho witch in the first place, he never would’ve been hurt. And it’s not like I wanted Claude to kill me. But if it came down to me or Tristan… yeah. I would’ve done it.

I would’ve sacrificed my life for the mate who rejected me.

The mate who… is absolutely furious at the idea I would even think I would, and only hanging onto his control because he’s terrified of pushing me any farther away than he already has.

Wait…

How do I know that? I would only know that if Tristan opened up his end of our bond, no longer blocking it, but actually inviting me to have a front row seat to his thoughts and emotions instead.

As hard to believe as that is, I have to admit that the sensation of jabbing glass I’m so used to when he’s around… I haven’t felt it since he burst into the clearing where the witches ambushed me.

I don’t get it. And I wish that was the only thing I had to think about right now, but it isn’t.

I doubt he can see me, but I give him a wry smile all the same. “Yeah. About going back to the pack house…”