Shift of Fate: A Wolfguard Protectors Novel

by Kimber White

“He’ll hate you for sure if you run. You know what the right thing to do is.”

  Tears played at the corner of my eyes. “But, what if he…”

  Val reached for me. He wiped away my tear. His touch electrified me. I gasped from it. His eyes glinted as he drew away.

  “You may have made Jason Soren a promise, but I made one to you. I intend to honor it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Go to him. Tell him you want more time or that you’re not ready to get married yet. If he loves you, it will be fine. If he doesn’t and it’s not...well...I’ll be there.”

  “Are you serious? You work for him.”

  His face darkened. “My job is to protect you. No matter who I work for, that won’t change. I told you, you have my word. I’ll have your back, Willow. I swear it.”

  At that moment, nothing mattered to me more. I knew he meant what he said. For the first time in days, I felt like I could breathe again. I felt like I had a workable plan.

  “Okay,” I said. “We’ll go to Virginia and I’ll talk to Jason face to face. And...you’ll stay.”

  “On my life,” he crossed his heart with his index finger. “But no more running.”

  I crossed my heart like he did. “No more running.”

  Val gave me a devastating smile, then he put the car in reverse and we pulled away from the train station.

  Chapter Seven

  Val

  Willow was easier with me after that. Her entire posture changed as the miles and hours ticked by and we made our way east. We stopped just outside of Evansville so she could get some sleep. I couldn’t. I found a clean, little motel just off the highway and checked into the room next to hers.

  In the quiet, I could feel her practically rhythmic breathing through the wall. I closed my eyes and put my hand over my heart.

  I wanted her. That could be dangerous. She was scared of something I didn’t understand. Whatever the real history was between her and Jason Soren, I knew I was right that she had to face it head-on. I also knew telling her that might cost me my job.

  So, I called Payne.

  He answered on the first ring.

  “Everything okay, Val?” he asked.

  “More or less,” I said. I decided not to tell him Willow tried to run. I don’t know why. I felt protective of her beyond the job. I was going on instinct here.

  “Soren’s worried,” Payne said. “He says he knows she’s temperamental.”

  “It’s more than that,” I said. “I don’t think she’s sure whether she wants to marry the guy.”

  “Well, that part’s not our business. Just get her home in one piece. We’re not in the matchmaking game.”

  I had to take a pause to keep the wolf out of my voice. Instinct. That was the problem. My instinct was telling me to put the girl in the car and drive as fast and far away from Virginia as I could go. Except I’d been the one who just convinced her to get off that train and head straight for Jason Soren’s arms.

  I pulled the phone away from my face. The hair sprouted on the back of my hands. I was in danger of shifting right there in the motel room. The girl had short-circuited my brain.

  “Look, Val, I know how much you hate this. I know you want to spend your time doing more important things. Soren’s got contacts I need. But, if there’s something wrong, I need to know about it.”

  “There’s nothing wrong,” I said. “It’s just been a long day. And it’ll be a longer one tomorrow.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Evansville,” I answered.

  There was a moment of silence on the other end. “If you want...bring her to the Louisville office. I’ll arrange for someone else to get her the rest of the way.”

  “No!” I said, my voice snapping. Dammit, I needed to get this shit in check. “No. I got this.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure. It’s just...I don’t know. I’m getting a feeling. And if this woman doesn’t want to be anywhere near Soren, I also don’t think we should be in the business of forcing her into it.”

  “I’ll trust your judgment on it,” Payne said. “Just make sure you’re right. And call me when you get her there. You feel anything off, you tell me. Keeping Willow Rousseau safe is your job no matter what.”

  I let out a breath. “Yeah. Yeah. Okay.”

  “Get some sleep, man,” he said. “You sound like you need it. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  I felt better for a moment. But, when I hung up the phone and settled into the quiet, I could only feel Willow again. So close. The craving started low in my gut. I knew I should have just gone out, found some woods, and shifted into my wolf to take the pressure off. But, I couldn’t bring myself to leave Willow’s side again.

  The next morning we got an early start. Willow met me at the car, fresh-faced, her hair wet from her shower. I handed her a cup of coffee I grabbed from the motel lobby. She licked her lips as she took it from me and my blood heated. Her fingers brushed mine and I saw the color rise in her cheeks.

  “We should make good time if we get started.”

  “Ready whenever you are,” she said, blowing over the top of her coffee. She slid into the seat beside me.

  We sat in comfortable silence as we hit the highway. As the mile markers flew by, my heart eased. Willow was animated, gesturing with her hands as we passed each little town.

  “You know,” she said. “I’ve never done this before.”

  “Done what?” I asked.

  Her heart fluttered, but not with fear this time. She was excited.

  “I don’t know...just road tripped. Someday I’d like to take my time with it. See every giant ball of yarn.”

  I laughed.

  “Route 66,” she said. “I’d love to just get one of those silver bullet Airstreams and just, I don’t know...go.”

  I raised a brow. “Jason Soren doesn’t strike me as the giant ball of yarn kind of guy.”

  She shrugged. “You never know. I think my father was. A million years ago. When I was little, we took fun trips. Before my mother…”

  Her voice trailed off. I knew a little about her family from the dossier Payne gave me. Daniel Rousseau married his second trophy wife ten or fifteen years ago. I didn’t really dig into what happened to her real mother.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. I could sense the answer from her posture and the darkness in her eyes as she turned to me.

  “She’s not dead,” she said. “My mother’s in a nursing home. She was in a car accident when I was six. I was with her, but I don’t remember it. They said I was thrown from the car and lucky to be alive. She wasn’t so lucky. She suffered brain damage.”

  “Again, I’m sorry.” I had to bite my tongue from saying the thing I really meant. I wished I’d known Willow then. I wished I could have watched over her.

  “Some days she’s fine, you know? Like the light is on. But most days, she’s just gone. My father rarely visits her anymore. It’s gotten harder for me too. I feel guilty about that. In the beginning it was really awful. Then, my father found a place for her in upstate New York. They’ve been wonderful with her. Brought her out of her shell at least a little. But, she’s never going to come all the way back.”

  “That must be hard to see,” I said.

  “It is. But then sometimes, like I said, it’s really okay.”

  She turned back to the window and drew into herself. I don’t know why I thought it at that particular moment, but I wondered how much of that she’d shared with Jason. Then, I found myself gripping the wheel so hard it’s lucky I didn’t crush it.

  “You’re probably getting hungry,” I said. We hadn’t stopped for breakfast and it was heading into the lunch hour.

  “There!” she said suddenly, pointing to a rusted, bent road sign. It heralded the next little town just outside of Lexington called Raintree. “We should go there!”

  “Raintree?” I read. “Willow, I don’t think anyone’s ever been to Raintree. That’s sort of the point.�
�

  “No,” she said. “The sign. I mean, it’s no giant ball of yarn, but we can stop for the greatest chicken tenders in the state of Kentucky. I mean, how can they really know that? Shouldn’t the Colonel get that honor?”

  She was joking. Her eyes were bright. She had a dimple in her left cheek when she smiled wide enough. It was the first time I noticed. It was the first time I ever had occasion to. I liked it.

  “Chicken tenders?” I said.

  “I mean, come on,” she said. “We’ve passed like a hundred waffle places. I’m hungry. Let’s see if Raintree’s chicken tenders are worth the hype.”

  My own stomach growled in response. If traffic cooperated, we’d make it to Soren’s place by the end of the day. We were already half a day late.

  A low, rumbling growl filled my chest as the idea of Jason Soren popped in my mind again. Willow was set to marry him. She said she loved him...once. Whether she decided to go through with the match was up to her, but the thought of it woke my wolf.

  Mine!

  I let out a hard breath.

  “Val?” she said. Willow had been talking, but her words hadn’t penetrated my consciousness. A flash of jealousy went through me.

  “Hey,” she said. She put a hand on my wrist. “Your fingers are practically turning blue.”

  I had the steering wheel in a vice grip. This was no good. My principal duty here was to keep Willow safe. I sure as hell couldn’t do that if I went full wolf behind the wheel right in front of her.

  “Chicken tenders,” I said, making a sharp turn to catch the exit. “Sounds like a slice of heaven.”

  Two minutes later, we pulled into Mel’s Chicken Shack in Raintree, KY. It was a sleepy little lakeside town in the literal middle of nowhere. The heavenly aroma of fried food hit my nose and I realized how hungry I really was.

  “It smells like magic,” Willow gasped.

  “No,” I said, absently, “Magic has more of an earthy smell.”

  Willow froze. Her face broke into a grin wide enough to show me that dimple. “You’re a comedian now,” she said. “Come on.”

  We walked into the tiny diner. It wasn’t much to look at. It had rows of red vinyl booths and a u-shaped counter in the center. At first, I wasn’t sure it was even open. The sign read “Seat Yourself.”

  I picked a booth in the far end of the room and seated myself facing the door. Willow slid in opposite me and a fast-talking old man came toddling out of the kitchen.

  “One basket or two?” he asked.

  “No menus?” Willow asked.

  The old man took a pencil out from behind his ear and pointed to the huge sign above the counter. Here at Mel’s Chicken Shack, you could order a basket of chicken tenders and that was it. The only choice was spicy or regular. Fries, coleslaw, and Coca-Cola came with everything.

  “A basket of the regular recipe for me,” she said.

  “Two,” I said.

  The old man, who I had to assume was Mel, nodded and whistled back to the kitchen. “Two regulars, honey!”

  “I’ve got ears,” “Honey” hollered back. Then, Mel muttered something under his breath and went back into the kitchen. He reappeared less than a minute later carrying our heaping baskets of the best chicken tenders in Kentucky. He set them down and pulled two bottles of Coca-Cola out of his apron pocket then slapped the bill facedown between us.

  It was perfect.

  Willow picked up a chicken tender with her fingers and bit into it. Her face went through a series of changes. Wonder, disbelief, then ecstasy. She moaned as she took another bite.

  I bit into one of my own. The sign was right. These were the best chicken tenders in Kentucky. Probably everywhere. Moist, succulent, coated with the perfect crunch and a hint of pickle juice.

  “Good call,” I said, waving a tender at Willow.

  “I think I never want to leave this place,” she said.

  Her words cut through me. With aching clarity, I realized I didn’t want to leave either. I wanted to spend days getting to know this woman. I liked this side of her. She let her guard down. She’d put her trust in me.

  “I like you like this,” I said, deciding to be at least that honest with her.

  She grabbed her napkin and wiped a small spot of grease from her chin. “With a face full of chicken?”

  “No,” I said. “You just seem happy. I don’t know you that well, but I get the impression you aren’t very often. Happy, I mean.”

  Her face fell. She wiped her hands and put down her half-eaten chicken tender. She’d polished off three of them already. The things were about as big as a baby’s arm. I’d finished my own in record time and knew I could easily dig into her leftovers.

  “I’m not spoiled,” she said.

  “I didn’t say you were.”

  “I have everything. I know that. My father always tells me I should be more grateful. He thinks I don’t know what it’s like for people who weren’t born his daughter.”

  I tossed my napkin on top of my empty chicken tender basket. “I think maybe he doesn’t know his own daughter very well. Happiness doesn’t come from the things you have. At least, if it does, it’s not real. Look, I suppose it’s not my place to even say it. You just...ever since you made a decision back at the train station, you’ve been a different person.”

  “I haven’t though,” she said. “Made a decision, I mean. I don’t hate Jason. I just...I just know I’m not ready to get married now. It doesn’t mean I won’t later. And I’m hoping he understands.”

  I cracked my knuckles. I could smell the wild scents coming from the lake nearby. I could go a day, maybe two. But very soon, I’d need to let my wolf out.

  “You took control,” I said. “That’s what I mean. You don’t have to be what you think your father wants.”

  Willow took out a fifty-dollar bill. I tried to grab the check, but she waved me off. “This was my idea,” I said. “I insist.”

  She handed Mel the money and told him to keep the change. His eyes widened. He shot Willow a smile and disappeared back into the kitchen. We were still the only people in the restaurant.

  “I know something about trying to live up to other people’s expectations,” I said. “I come from a family like yours. Well, not exactly like yours. But, my brother runs a powerful enterprise back home.”

  “Russia?” she asked.

  “Yes. It was always assumed that I would stay by his side. It’s a complicated story, but he saved my life when he got me out of there. Circumstances have improved, and now he’s gone home.”

  “But you stayed,” she said. “You like doing what you do?”

  I nodded. “I like having the freedom to choose what I want to do. And yes. I think I’m better suited to my current employment.”

  “So, how does one get into the bodyguarding biz?” she asked. “What are you, former KGB?”

  “How the hell old do you think I am?” I laughed.

  “Sorry.”

  “I’m thirty-five,” I said. “I’ve lived here, near Chicago since I was a teenager.”

  “Hmm,” she said. “I don’t know. There’s just a...way about you. I thought you were former military.”

  “What way is that?” I bristled. Willow always seemed on the verge of figuring something out about me. I was pretty sure she wasn’t aware of shifters. Not yet. But Soren had to be. The man had to know what he was getting into when he hired the firm.

  “You’re just...I don’t know. It’s like you’re more in tune with things going on around you than most people. I’ve had friends who came back from Iraq and Afghanistan. You remind me of them.”

  I checked my phone, wanting to steer her attention away from me.

  “Oh, I’m something all right,” I said. “But right now, what I am mostly, is late. We should get back on the road if we want to make it to the Bay by the end of the day. I’m surprised Mr. Soren hasn’t tried to call you.”

  A strange expression came over her face. All at once, it occur
red to me that I hadn’t seen her on her phone since I picked her up.

  “You’re right,” she said. “Let’s get going.”

  She called back to Mel, complimenting him on the chicken tenders.

  “Tell your friends,” Mel shouted as the door chimed above us.

  Willow was quieter, more pensive as we headed out. We drove in peaceful silence for hours. As the afternoon sun faded into evening, she fell asleep against the door.

  It took everything in me not to pull over and watch her. She really was beautiful. It was hard to see at first. She liked to wear that knit cap pulled down so low it covered her eyebrows. It rested in her lap now and her hair fell over her shoulder.

  I grew bold, reaching over to lift a strand of it between my fingers. Soft as satin, lit with bits of gold and fiery red as the fading sunlight hit it. Her full, rose-colored lips twitched in her sleep, making her dimple prominent. My wolf stirred, imagining what she could be dreaming about.

  A fleeting thought hit me. Then, the force of it blew the air from my lungs. I wanted her. God. Need clutched my heart. I wanted to drink in her scent, taste her in her most sensitive parts, run my tongue along her breasts.

  I nearly lost control of the car. The tires screeched as I swerved wildly to the right. Willow jostled, but didn’t wake. Panting, I righted the car and got back on the road.

  I pulled up a true crime podcast. Anything to focus my mind on something other than the alluring woman sleeping beside me. The sooner I got her to Soren’s house, the better it would be for both of us. Probably.

  At least, that’s what I told myself as the miles flew by.

  Willow finally stirred. Yawning, she sat up in her seat. “Where are we?” she asked. It was full dark now.

  My throat felt dry as I answered. “We’re here.”

  Jason Soren didn’t live in a house. He lived in a mansion. His family estate sprawled hundreds of acres along a private, inland lake. I drove down a mile long private, peach tree-lined drive. When we reached the inner gate, I pulled up to a speaker box.

  “Ms. Rousseau has arrived,” I spoke into it. My blood felt thick.

  Willow sat silently beside me as the gates opened automatically.