A Shifter's Bodyguard (Pale Moonlight Book 5) Page 5

  “Oh, I—I didn’t realize you were changing. I would think you would do that in your bedroom?” She gestured to the door adjacent to hers, as if he couldn’t find the spare bedroom.

  “Perimeter sweep.” He should say more. As he tried to look in her direction without staring, it hit him. She’d transformed herself into a seemingly formidable person, but her default setting was timidity. And she realized when she showed it, but it was like she couldn’t help herself.

  His respect for her rose a notch. It was hard to change, especially if you were trying to be better and stronger than before, and doing it after you felt like you’d been pounded to nothing.

  “Outside?” She winced and her full lips pursed. Her gaze was darting everywhere but at him, until it finally settled in the direction of the front door. “Of course. I mean— Anyway, thanks for letting me know so I know what the noise is.”

  He could’ve made sure she never heard a thing, but she probably wasn’t a heavy sleeper, thanks to her history.

  He should get going, but his boots wouldn’t move. “I’m taking the night shift and Malcolm’s taking the day shift.”

  Look at him. He’d become a chatty motherfucker in the middle of the night.

  A few awkward heartbeats went by and neither one of them moved. She was so tired that there were dark circles under her eyes that her body wasn’t healing.

  Since his presence seemed to bother her, he stalked to the front door, opened it quietly, and stepped out into the warm, humid night. The scent of rain hung on the air. Another shower was heading their way. He’d need to finish his check before then. He couldn’t come back into the house smelling like wet dog, and he planned on getting back into his jeans before reentering the house. Shifters weren’t usually shy about their nudity, but the way Sylva had behaved in the cellar wasn’t far from his mind. He’d have to talk to Malcolm about that, too. His twin could walk through the town square nude and pose like a marble statue.

  The run was exactly what he needed. The only unrelated scent he picked up was of John Todd, but no other shifter. Trotting back to the little cottage, he changed course to search the yard. Trees crowded the place, giving it excellent shade against the summer sun but enough room to have a sizeable yard. There was a little patch of abundant green growth beside the garage. As he got closer, he could make out the stakes in the ground, neat little signs, and rows. Rows upon rows of various plants. A garden.

  Sylva had grown and processed all those canned goods herself? She carried herself with such sophistication, he’d expected to see her wielding a designer handbag, not a pressure canner.

  The garden was larger than he’d originally thought. There were actually two sizable gardens. Some plants were blossoming and others had pods lining viny strands. Shifters were the epitome of meat and potato, but leave the potato eaters. Their time among humans had varied their taste to include more than just raw meat, but many of them still preferred their cuts rare and their grains in the form of beer only.

  In the other garden, he recognized rhubarb. A pang of longing hit him. What the hell was that about?

  Homesickness. Since when did he miss a single thing about home?

  Since the canopy of rhubarb leaves reminded him of how his sister used to swat him and Malcolm with them. He brought his mind back to the plants.

  The answer to what Sylva did in her downtime was obvious. This plot had rows of pokey raspberry bushes, and next to the rhubarb were strawberry bushes that were full of tiny wild strawberries.

  Strawberry rhubarb pie. Why did he suddenly remember the dessert? His mom had made it often, the one exception to their protein-heavy diet.

  He fucking loved strawberry rhubarb pie. Wait till he told Malcolm about this.

  He shook his head. And then what? Were they going to ask Sylva to whip together a pie while they were here? This was business. And no one would be asking Sylva to bake a damn thing.

  He was never this nostalgic. To bring up strawberry rhubarb pie with Malcolm and watch him process the memories? No, thanks.

  He went back to the porch and shifted into his human form. Once he had his jeans pulled on, he entered the house as silently as he had left it. Sucking in a deep breath, he tried to tell if Sylva was still awake and out of her room. Her scent hung around the house, as it should. But she must be in her bedroom. He treaded back into the kitchen and shrugged into his shirt.

  So that had taken an hour. What to do with the next eleven? His gaze landed on the closed door of Sylva’s bedroom, and the compassion he’d felt earlier heated into something he didn’t care to identify.

  This was going to be a long assignment.

  Chapter 4

  “Hey, do you ever make strawberry rhubarb pie?” Malcolm’s voice held more than a little excitement. He was creeping along her line of rhubarb plants, his expression reminding her of little kids when they spotted a fresh batch of Maw’s baking.

  Sitting back on her heels, she brushed the back of her hand across her sweaty forehead. The last two days had been the longest of her life. She’d finally ventured out to her garden to achieve some sense of normalcy only for Malcolm to continually interrupt her with exclamations over what she grew and questions about what she did with her produce.

  But the really irritating part was that she didn’t mind as much as she should have. “I have frozen some rhubarb, but this stuff is past its season.”

  Malcolm was nodding as he moved over to the strawberry plants. “Do these things keep fruiting all summer?”

  “Depends how much the birds want to incite my wrath.” She went back to her weeding.

  Malcolm’s chuckle was pleasant. He was definitely the more easygoing twin. She should be having inappropriate feelings about him.

  The Synod had paused business for as long as possible, taking care of what they could without her. That had left her to hide in her room. And she had, the first night. For twelve hours. She’d never slept that long, but any more nights like that were going to make her rage. The pressure was building inside of her, a longing for the freedom of the forest, but she was too scared to walk outside her door at night and accidentally see Harrison’s broad, sculpted chest again.

  No wonder the twins never lacked for company. Between their looks and Malcolm’s magnetism, she empathized. That wasn’t something she could have admitted to before. But knowing that Harrison was on her porch, naked, every night? She’d spent way too long pondering that subject already.

  The weeds were ripped out of the soil without mercy. Malcolm squatted to help and while she didn’t mind his presence, she’d rather he didn’t touch her garden. But it was Harrison she should want to stay far away from. His closed-off personality, his shuttered gaze. He didn’t care what anyone thought of him.

  Was that why she was obsessing over him? Unlike Roman, Harrison didn’t need to constantly prove himself. Unlike her, he didn’t put on a show every day of his life.

  Malcolm’s muscles bunched and flexed as he grabbed another handful of crabgrass. “So do the weeds ever get scared of you?”

  The lightness in his tone prompted her to chuckle. “That’s not my ability, thankfully, so I can weed to my heart’s content.”

  He rose and went back to patrolling the garden, his gaze jumping from her yard to the trees beyond. “Now that we’ve been at this a few days, is there anything you need?”

  Nothing he cared to hear. How about his twin staying in the basement instead of him? Then maybe she wouldn’t try to catch a whiff of Harrison’s dewy, night-laced scent each time she walked into her bedroom.

  Was his chest as hard as it looked? Was sex with him as rough as she imagined?

  So inappropriate, but there it was. Those long nights in her bed with his scent lingering in her house, yes, she’d wondered. There was nothing soft about Harrison, and for some messed-up reason, that made her curiosity even more insatiable.

  Roman had been at his roughest when he went fast, but the silver lining had been just that—he’d f
inished quickly. After Roman had strayed from the bounds of their marriage into other females’ beds, she’d given up on trying to please him. Shortly after that, it had become about survival. She had allowed him into her bed without a fight, which had sucked some of the satisfaction out of it for him. That was when the threats about handing her over to his brothers had started.

  “Don’t you run?” Malcolm was relentless. If she didn’t answer him honestly, he would keep picking at her with questions. Again, instead of being annoying, it was an endearing trait. She wasn’t used to having someone care about her. And while she wasn’t attracted to Malcolm, and despite the way she’d felt about him before all this started, she was growing fond of him.

  “I usually run at night. Sometimes I don’t sleep very well and I’ll wander outside to take a stroll through the trees. But that doesn’t seem like the best idea right now.”

  “We can make it happen. Just talk to Harrison.”

  She paused and glanced up at him.

  The corner of his mouth perked. “Or I’ll talk to him.” He squinted at the house, where his twin was sleeping. “He’s not a bad guy.”

  “I wasn’t questioning whether he was or not.”

  “You’d be the only one.” His eyes twinkled. “But really, he takes his job as a Guardian seriously. He won’t let anyone suffer if he can help it. He doesn’t make small talk and he doesn’t tolerate BS. Don’t hold it against him.”

  “You mean just like I don’t like to make small talk and I don’t care to put up with anyone’s BS, which doesn’t make me a frigid bitch?”

  He chuckled. “But you have a reason for acting the way you do, correct?”

  Touché. What had Harrison gone through to make him the way he was? “I’m a big girl. I can talk to him.”

  “If you don’t want to—”

  “It’s fine.” The twins had been treating her like a cracked vase they were afraid could shatter, and while she appreciated it, it didn’t do her any good. The more tender and considerate they were, the more she worried about reverting back into that cowering form in the corner. “Why strawberry rhubarb?”

  “What’s that?” His brows lifted as if the one-eighty in conversation had taken him off guard. Or maybe he was embarrassed to talk about pie.

  “I’ve been around you long enough to know your eating habits.” They practically snarled at her swiss chard and neither one seemed to have a sweet tooth. She was almost to the point of hiding in her pantry and digging her canned peaches out by hand to gobble them down. Her sweet tooth was bigger than her canines. “I’m just surprised that you seem thrilled by the prospect of strawberry rhubarb pie.”

  “Our mom used to make it, and believe me, if you knew our mother, you’d find that fact astonishing.” He grinned, but there was sadness in the depths of his brown eyes. “It just brought back a memory, that’s all.”

  “So if I told you that I had rhubarb frozen and that I think there’s enough strawberries to whip together a pie, you’d pass?”

  His eyes popped wide. “No, not at all. Please.” Then he narrowed his gaze on her, the corners of his lips curving up. “You’re messing with me?”

  “Busted. But I wasn’t messing with you about the pie. I can make one later.”

  “I don’t know if you’ll look at me the same way afterward.” He sounded so boyish.

  The screen door slammed. She and Malcolm swung their heads around to look at the house. A glowering Harrison stomped down the steps. Her heart rate spiked, but not like it usually did when she heard boots thud. Her gaze was riveted to his wide shoulders and the defined chest tapering to his waist. And those thighs. Harrison radiated power with each step.

  “She’s making us pie!” Malcolm acted oblivious to his twin’s mood.

  Harrison faltered. “You asked her about the fucking pie?”

  Malcolm pointed at the broad leafy greens. “Rhubarb.” He pointed to his other side. “Strawberries. Doesn’t seem like a large jump.”

  Harrison’s brow dropped further. Instead of being scared, she wanted to laugh. This whole bit about the pie seemed ridiculous, but it obviously meant something to them. Harrison’s gaze swung between her and his twin. The weight of his attention didn’t lessen. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

  Malcolm touched his back pocket. “No one’s been calling me.”

  “You know they don’t call me unless they have to.”

  Couldn’t argue with that logic. She’d heard more than one Synod member paper-rock-scissors who had to call Harrison if Malcolm wasn’t available, but it was such a rare occurrence.

  Malcolm dug his phone out. “Ah, man. The battery’s dead.”

  The cut of Harrison’s jaw hardened even more. “You’re out here without a phone?”

  “We went for decades without a phone.” Malcolm tapped his head.

  Mind-speak. She’d never been close enough to anyone to do it. Being part of the Raymores meant she didn’t want anyone in her head. Roman was bad enough.

  “Maybe not you.” She thought Malcolm was talking to her but he was looking at Harrison. “What did they want?”

  Harrison folded his arms across his chest. Sylva went back to weeding, her ears tuned to every word, but she couldn’t allow herself to stare at him any longer.

  “An update. And to know about her going back to work.” Harrison paused, the heat of his gaze skimming across her back. “I told them they should’ve called her.”

  Malcolm snorted. “I’m sure they wished they had. Hey, Sylva would like to run at night. How do you wanna do that?”

  The burn of Harrison’s attention was back on her. She kept her head down. There was never a shortage of weeds.

  “You want to run your wolf?” Harrison asked. His tone practically dared her to ask him herself.

  Dusting off her hands and standing up, she refrained from shooting Malcolm a dirty look. “Yes, but perhaps we should discuss the Synod first.”

  Malcolm’s full lips turned down. “There’s nothing to discuss. Tell us what you want to do.”

  With two sentences, he’d blown apart how she’d expected their time together to go. If she’d left her room before now, she’d have known that they weren’t here to strong-arm her—or to treat her like her mate and his pack had. “Be careful, Malcolm, or I’ll have to admit that I was wrong about you.”

  Harrison’s eyes flared and Malcolm’s cheeks grew a faint blush.

  He didn’t hear that often. She should tell Harrison the same thing, but she couldn’t bring herself to. “I usually run at night, sometimes once or twice, depending on how well I sleep. I understand you will have logistics to figure out. Same with the Synod. If they need me there, I can go, but only at your discretion.”

  Was that a gleam of approval in Harrison’s eyes? He glanced at Malcolm. Sylva thought he’d speak, but he left it up to his twin.

  Malcolm seamlessly took his cue. “We’ll vary the times, skip nights randomly, but it should be fine. With both me and Harrison patrolling, we’ll know when they get within a mile of us.”

  Harrison was in a sour mood. First he’d been woken up early thanks to Malcolm’s dead phone battery, then he’d walked outside to watch his brother and Sylva giggle together. She wanted to run her wolf at night and had asked Malcolm.

  But why not run during the day when his twin was on?

  So, yeah. He had her run to get ready for. He’d done one sweep of the trees. All clear. It was always possible that Rafe and Clayton could sneak up on them, but he had his doubts.

  Before retiring for the night, Malcolm had passed on to him that Sylva would wait inside and Harrison could get her when his perimeter check was done. He was faced with the dilemma of shifting back to his human form and striding into the house naked to notify her or barking and possibly waking Malcolm up. Or he could go through the pain-in-the-ass routine of getting his pants on only to shed them again after she came outside.

  A bloody Sylva who was afraid to stand up naked around hi
m passed through his mind.

  The pain-in-the-ass routine it was. He hoped she wasn’t in her bedroom. That’s where her scent was concentrated the strongest. He was becoming accustomed to it.

  What a lie. He’d never get used to being surrounded by her soft floral smell. If he could give her smell a color, it would be light pink, like the edge of the early morning sun. He would never be able to see a sunrise and not think of her, and he blamed this shift work. Malcolm wasn’t up and ready for his turn until after Sylva woke for the day and ventured out of her room in flannel shorts and a cotton tee.

  He couldn’t quit stealing glances, hating that he noticed stuff like whether she’d put a bra on or not. Once Malcolm’s boot hit the top stair, Harrison had taken to using the bathroom and going straight to his bedroom. As if his minty toothpaste could keep flowers and sunrises from haunting his dreams.

  He poked his head through the door, his gaze landing on her immediately. He never had a problem locating her in her room. But that was because her cottage was small. Surely that was it.

  All he did was nod and she rose. Her petite body was swaddled in a silky robe instead of her shorts and baggy T-shirt. The robe only accentuated her curves, hiding nothing, yet showing even less.

  He’d never given much thought to his type before. Female was his type. His true mate had been brutally murdered, so he wasn’t looking for a relationship. But when Sylva’s hips swayed by him, he suddenly knew his type was lush curves in a compact form with a smile that had to be earned.

  When had he become a damn poet?

  She was outside and he was standing in the doorway, letting the bugs in. He strode out to the lawn and turned his back toward her. She wasn’t doing anything.

  Of course not, fuck nut. She doesn’t read you like your twin. “I won’t look.”

  “I appreciate it.” She spoke so softly he almost missed what she’d said. That she’d said it in the first place meant she didn’t take his gesture lightly.

  Her scent floated across him, carried on the night breeze. Was it actually stronger outside? He couldn’t help but take a deeper breath. Excitement. She must be going stir-crazy being cooped up in her cottage for days, but she never complained. Other than her initial hesitance to have them as her bodyguards, she had been the perfect client. Like with the work outside. She always asked ahead of time. Tonight, she hadn’t demanded to run wherever she wanted. She hadn’t argued with either of them about any decision regarding her care.