A Shifter's Bodyguard (Pale Moonlight Book 5) Read online

  A Shifter’s Bodyguard

  Pale Moonlight, Book 5

  Marie Johnston

  LE Publishing

  Copyright © 2019 by Marie Johnston

  Editing by Razor Sharp Editing

  Proofreading by iScream Proofreading

  Cover art by Mayhem Cover Creations

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The characters, places, and events in this story are fictional. Any similarities to real people, places, or events are coincidental and unintentional.

  Created with Vellum

  Being the Synod’s resident ballbuster hasn’t made Sylva the most popular of her kind, but it’s worth the opportunity to lead her people and help those who are like she once was: isolated, powerless, and afraid. But words fail her when her aversion to violence requires a protection detail—a tall, dark, and brooding bodyguard who has no problem fighting with hands, fangs, or claws.

  Harrison has spent his adult life protecting his kind—and guarding his broken heart. When he’s tasked with keeping Sylva safe from her former pack, the job should be nothing he can’t handle. But the closed-off, pacifist female makes him want things he thought he’d lost long ago.

  Sylva fights her battles with words, but to stay alive, she needs to take lessons from a shifter who’d rather draw blood than speak. Harrison knows all too well that words can be as sharp as knives, but if he can’t convince his charge to trust him, she’ll be the one hurt worst of all. They say opposites attract, but in this case, if they can’t meet in the middle, it will get them killed.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Marie Johnston

  Chapter 1

  It was a dark and stormy night…

  And something wanted to kill her.

  Sylva Raymore peered out the window from behind the curtain in her living room. Something wasn’t right. Her bones practically vibrated with the wrongness. She hadn’t been filled with this much foreboding since her heinous mating.

  The feelings washing over her made her want to run and hide in a closet. Just when she’d thought those days were done

  Who’d want to hurt her?

  Some days on her job, she could ask who didn’t want to see her dead. She had enemies. Of course she did. As one of two shifters on the Synod, if she wasn’t making enemies, then she wasn’t doing her job. Other than nasty emails and deliberate glares when she stopped at the grocery store though, there had never been any major problems.

  Tonight, her nerves said that was about to change.

  Rain splattered the window. Bursts of lightning lit her yard and showed nothing but looming evergreens ringing the space.

  Still peering into the darkness, she wished for the first time that she’d accepted the apartment at Synod headquarters. It would’ve even been fully paid for, but after she’d been freed from the confines of her horrible mating, living at the beck and call of anyone, even her own organization, hadn’t appealed to her.

  Besides, she was pretty damn proud of her home. Furnishing it with what was left of her savings after her mate had met the business end of a silver-laced bullet, she’d made this little cottage into a home. Deep in the forested hills of northern Minnesota, she could shift into her wolf and run in the US or cross into Canada, depending on the path she took. Wolves weren’t questioned by border patrol. She had the isolation she’d always craved. No longer would she have to live around shifters she despised, shifters who dictated her every action, or shifters who didn’t give two rabbit turds about her welfare. She was her own female.

  And she happened to rule those shifters now. So, bonus.

  You are a leader. If she told herself that enough, would it keep her from running and hiding? Strong shifters do not hide in closets. Strong shifters take care of themselves. Strong shifters can think their way through a situation without resorting to bloodshed.

  She repeated her mantra as she searched the night for what had caused the warning tingles plaguing her.

  Was that movement in the trees behind her garden? She narrowed her eyes, calling on the innate keen eyesight of her kind. Her gardens—her pride and joy—were on the other side of the garage to her left. She couldn’t view them, but the trees beyond them were visible whenever lightning lit the sky.

  Thunder rattled the house. Was it just the storm that had her out of sorts?

  No, she’d weathered a hundred storms since she’d lived here. It was never thunder that had terrified her, but her mate’s thundering voice.

  She concentrated on the area again. Whatever it was had quit moving, but she wouldn’t waste a dollar betting that it was nothing more than a deer. The instinct to curl into a ball swelled until she could choke on it. No. She wasn’t that female who cowered in the corner once the scent of danger rose. Not anymore.

  She backed away from the window and dropped to her hands and knees. Crawling across the floor, she made it to the narrow window by her entry door. All the lights were off, and she’d even turned off the TV to make it look like she’d gone to bed for the night. Inching upward to look outside, she scanned her yard, searching for movement.

  She was a lone wolf, literally, but being by herself right now really sucked.

  Maybe she should dig out that old pistol. It had been the one item she’d taken from her previous home that wasn’t hers. Everything she’d owned had fit into a simple two-by-two box with room to spare. Roman had controlled every nuance of her life. And she hadn’t taken that damn gun because she’d wanted it, but she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of it either.

  The last thing she wanted to do was touch that six-shooter, but as the hairs of her arms quivered, she either needed to shift into her wolf or arm herself—or hide.

  Strong shifters do not hide in closets. Strong shifters take care of themselves. Strong shifters can think their way through a situation without resorting to bloodshed.

  The last part of her affirmation rang false at the moment. Danger vibrated the air around her. Maybe she shouldn’t have skipped all the self-defense courses offered by the Guardians who served the Synod.

  She respected the Guardians, the law enforcement of her kind. The ones who served and protected the Synod were considered part of her pack, but that didn’t mean she socialized with them. It didn’t mean she did anything but pass on a cool greeting or issue an order.

  Buried in the hills and close to the border, they were isolated from civilization, where shifters who far outlived a human’s lifetime didn’t have to be so vigilant about valid identification. The number of Guardians in her pack was small, but growing, now that the shifter government had combined itself with the vampires’ leadership. The Guardians were on good terms with the four other Synod leaders she served with. They were on fair terms with her. She just never asked about family, shared her lack of a social life, or chitchatted in any way.

  As for the self-defense co
urses, she hated for anyone to witness how weak she was. If she had to resort to violence to get her way, then she was no better than her mate. Then there was the matter of the instructors: the womanizing twins who stripped women down to their panties left and right when they grinned. Well, when one twin grinned. The other was brooding and fierce, and when he looked at her, she felt as if he’d stripped her down to her terrified soul.

  The two Guardians were perpetually on loan from their home pack because of their connections to the former government and their local roots. They weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

  So, no. No self-defense courses.

  But she didn’t want to use the gun, or even look at it. The memories it’d bring back were too awful to deal with on a night like tonight. She’d shift.

  Roman had never allowed her to shift when he was angry with her.

  Lowering back down, she slipped her shirt off, unhooked her bra, and dropped it on the floor, then rolled her pants and underwear down. Focusing inward, she shifted. Her senses blazed to life. Smells sharpened with a thousand more facets than in her human form. Her sight in the dark house was as good as if her bedside lamp were on. She wasn’t a hunter. She would wait for whatever was out there to come to her.

  There. An unusual scent. Her nose twitched. Another shifter.

  Something about the scent pricked her memory and not in a good way. Backing into the corner of the entryway, she waited. This was not cowering in a closet. This was lying in wait and it was all the strategy she had. The shifter would smell her wolf, but it wasn’t like he’d be scared away.

  Who the hell was it? Anyone here on business would have marched up to her porch and knocked. She had no shifter or human neighbors within miles, and during her time living here, no one had ever stopped by. If they did, it wouldn’t be during a storm.

  The scent grew strong. A male. And familiar.

  Her heart hammered as her gaze darted from the door to the windows and around her living room in case the asshole snuck in. She spotted her phone.

  Damn.

  Calling for help before she’d shifted would’ve been smart. Strong shifters can think their way through a situation without resorting to bloodshed. Her first major chance to prove to herself that she wasn’t ridiculous for adhering to her nonviolent ways and she’d shifted. But then if she’d called someone, she’d have others in her business and she’d lived most of her life that way. Never again.

  The scent rolled in like a wall of fog. It was so strong, he had to be on her porch. And he was being silent. Not a good sign for her.

  His smell snaked through all the invisible cracks and crevices, chasing away the barriers she had erected to keep her past from haunting her. Her nerves erupted until she trembled.

  The male smelled like her mate—the one she’d helped kill. The one who had three brothers she’d run from in the middle of a cold, moonless night because turning herself in to the Synod had been better than the punishment the Raymores would dole out. Those days were long behind her and she’d ignorantly and stupidly thought that her position made her untouchable. And she’d made herself accessible by living in the boondocks with neighbors that were miles away.

  Faint scuffling sounded outside the front door. “I can smell you, whore.”

  She jerked back, her ass hitting the wall. Which brother was that? Rafe, John Todd, or Clayton? Their voices were all deep and gruff. The brothers had been so much alike she’d been keenly uncomfortable around them.

  Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Her body wasn’t listening, but being in her wolf form helped. Her shift had turned out to be necessary. Her mate’s brothers didn’t rely on thinking, preferring force to get their way.

  She focused on the wood grains of her door. Whichever brother it was, he hadn’t shifted yet. He was probably naked so he could shift—or violate her. Consent wasn’t a big deal to the Raymore brothers, not with the ferocious status of their entire pack. Neither was monogamy, equality, or legality. None of it mattered to them. They were not only the leading pack of their clan, but their clan was in charge of the colony she’d been born and raised in. A Raymore’s word was law and to hell with what their government said.

  She was the government now. He couldn’t stride up to her porch and terrorize her. She bared her teeth even though no one could see.

  “Whore? You know yer gonna get what’s coming.” His sneer was too close. The door wasn’t thick enough. It could be a foot thick and it wouldn’t be enough. “Killing my brother. You shoulda turned that gun on yourself.”

  As if she hadn’t debated for hours who she’d use the gun on—Roman or herself. If it hadn’t been for her mother… She scratched the thought from her mind. It was safer if everyone thought the deed had been hers, and hers alone.

  Alone didn’t seem like such a great plan at the moment.

  She glanced at her phone again. Why had she shifted? She could’ve been shooting messages all over the Synod about the danger she was in and who was responsible. A few minutes ago, the thought had been abhorrent, but now it sounded better than facing an enraged male with a reasonable grudge.

  That decision had been made. She had to move forward. She only scented one brother. If either of his other brothers was around, she was screwed. But she’d survived Roman. She could survive this.

  Roman and his brothers were alike. They ruled by entitlement and brute force. All she had to do was create an opening to call for help. Her mind rebelled at the thought. Just one person. That was all who’d know.

  But who could she call? The list was short. There was the other shifter serving on the Synod with her, Demke. He was always inviting her out to his place with his mate and kids. She’d never taken him up on the offer but she was friendlier with him than with the other three Synod members. Demke would be discreet.

  “Whore. I can smell your fear.”

  Whore. That one word stoked the rebellious side that she rarely expressed. That one word described how the Raymores treated females that weren’t their own kin.

  Hearing it again emboldened her to change back into her human form. “I’m surprised you were the one to find me first. You were always the stupidest of the litter.”

  A snarl cut through the night. The brothers all looked alike, and they resented being referred to as a litter. There were ten months between each one, their mother being resigned to the same fate that Sylva had once been locked into. How had their grandma amassed all her power? Was she still the matriarch?

  Did it matter? The Raymore on her doorstep was the one she needed to worry about.

  Vulnerability hung heavy around her shoulders. She was naked and unarmed. Unlike most shifters, she was self-conscious about her nudity. If she lunged for her phone, he’d see her in the window. Should she run and grab a knife from the kitchen? Her stomach twisted at the thought of sinking a blade into flesh.

  He was still in his human form. Maybe she should shift back to her wolf. She didn’t want to fight, but letting him ravage her wasn’t an option.

  Before she could make her decision, he was speaking, his sinister tone breaking through the downpour. “Did you think your new job would protect you? I’ll never forget what you did to my baby brother.”

  Or would he never forget that he hadn’t had the chance to do to her what Roman had? Because Roman had threatened to offer her up to his brothers, and it had only been a matter of time.

  “I dream about killing Roman every night.” She laughed loud enough for him to hear, but her stomach churned. Would he smell her lie? She gambled that what she said would make him angry and predictable. “It’s the next best thing to actually doing it, and I wish I could put him in the crosshairs over and over again.”

  The door shook and she jumped back, her body slamming into the wall. Mission accomplished. He was furious. She shifted and settled her weight on her haunches. When that door broke free of its hinges, she’d run or pounce. All she had to do was get away, and she’d done it once already.

  Her anxi
ety calmed only slightly in wolf form. She was a shifter and counted on the innate self-defense instincts she’d been born with—since that was her only option.

  “You bitch!” The door rocked and wood splintered. Her heart rammed into her throat and it was like Roman rose from the dead just to sneer in her ear. You think you can take him? A weak, little thing like you against a Raymore? He’ll eat you for lunch and lick you clean for dessert.

  The heavy wood of her front door broke free of the latch. There was nowhere to run in her house and he’d blocked her path to freedom—if she could even outrun him. That left her with one option if she wanted to survive whatever he planned.

  When he wedged his body through an opening large enough to get through, she leapt. He wasn’t ready for her, nor was he expecting her to make the first move.

  He instinctively put his arms up, but her momentum crushed them between their bodies as they toppled backward. She locked her jaws around his neck and dug her claws into his shoulders. Grinding her teeth together with all the force she could summon, she dug for his carotid. This close and with the taste of him flooding her mouth, she could finally identify him. John Todd. Bleeding him out was her best chance at weakening him. His startled yell turned to a gurgle, but the surprise of her attack didn’t last long enough.

  A punch landed on her side. She whimpered but didn’t let go. Another punch. Blinding pain, but she maintained her hold. It became a game of who would collapse first. He’d have to break a few more ribs to get her to quit. Thanks to his brother, she had no problem weathering a few broken bones.

  He bucked underneath her, but she rabbit kicked him with her hind legs, hitting all the soft spots she could find. He heaved and wailed his fists against her sides, but each blow landed with less strength than the previous one.