Page 1 of My Shifty Bodyguard

Chapter One

Dax

“998…999…1000.” As I finish my 1000th pushup, my cousin Nero slides off my back, where he’s sat cross-legged the entire time.

I leap to my feet, frowning. I have not even broken a sweat.

“What’s wrong?” Nero demands, standing up.

“It wasn’t much of a workout. Would you consider gaining some weight? Maybe fifty pounds. I mean, 100 pounds would be more helpful but I’d settle for fifty.” I’m a reasonable man.

“No can do.” He glances his watch. “Also, my mate is waiting for me at home.”

“I thought you were going to spar with me?”

He shakes his head impatiently. “Did you hear that I said that my mate is home waiting for me? We’re trying for a baby.” He grins and jiggles his eyebrows.

“You just had one,” I point out, frowning at him in puzzlement.

“Yes. We had a boy. Now we’re hoping for a girl.” He flashes me a grin, then pivots on his heel and lopes towards the long driveway that stretches from my cabin to the main road.

His boots crunch on the gravel, his broad shoulders bouncing with smug satisfaction.

I let out a low, rumbling growl. It’s so hard to find shifters with a sense of duty these days. Won’t gain 100 pounds to help a friend, won’t choose sparring over mating. I mean, she’s not even his fated mate. What’s the urgency?

Not all of us meet our fated mates, of course. I clearly am not looking for a fated mate.

I will mate for political advantage, to strengthen the Moonstone pack, as my parents did. My parents already have their eye on an appropriate match for me, some woman from a pack in California. My father’s choice of my mother as a mate gained us a trade alliance with my mother’s pack, who live in Kentucky, where they are visiting this month.

My older brother moved halfway across the company for an arranged mating with a shifter pack who own a trucking company that now gives priority to transporting our livestock and produce.

Duty to the pack is the most important thing in life. Pack comes first, last and always. It’s the Rowan clan creed.

My shoulder mike crackles.

“Dax?” Our Alpha Jesse says. “I need you back here at headquarters, for what we talked about earlier. I’ll be in the meeting room.”

I instantly snap to attention. This morning, Jesse told me that an assassin has tried to take out someone from the family of an Alpha diplomat in Colorado, where the National Shifter Council is headquartered.

He’ll want me to hunt down the assassin, no doubt.

I yank off my clothes and let the shift roll through me. Bones crack and reform, and heat floods my veins as muscle stretches and reshapes. My vision sharpens, and the world snaps into crisp focus as my wolf surges forward. Fur bursts across my skin in a rush, paws hitting the earth with a thud that vibrates up my legs.

Then I’m off—launching myself into the trees, every stride devouring ground. The wind tears through my fur, and my mind slips into perfect clarity as I calculate the possibilities ahead.

Along with the assassin, we’d also discussed the Frostbane pack, who seem to be ramping up their a-hole behavior. Last week they cut down trees on the Shadowpine pack’s property, and our pack had to mediate. If they’d cut down any trees in groves that the Shadowpine pack considered sacred, they’d have started a war. Maybe our Alpha wants me to take the Frostbane Alpha out.

Assassin, pack war, death match…it’s all good.

Up ahead, the Moonstone headquarters rises out of the clearing, solid stone and heavy timber. Broad windows catch the sunlight and throw it back in sharp flashes, and the tall pines cast spiky shadows.

My paws hit the packed earth of the path, kicking up the familiar scent of pine sap and mulch. Whoever decided on the red mulch around the building had probably meant for it to make the place feel welcoming. Same with the sunflowers, marigolds and irises planted in bright, unnecessarily cheerful bursts along the foundation. Myself, I’d have gone with thornbushes for additional security, but nobody asks my opinion about these things. I’m not sure why. My ideas are excellent.

The benches and lanterns lining the walkways nod toward hospitality, but the headquarters still radiates authority. Even from here, my wolf feels the hum of pack energy threading through its walls—history, hierarchy, responsibility.

I stride into the lobby and snag the spare clothing that I’ve stashed in a box on the shelves by the door. Many of our pack members have clothing there, since we have the habit of shedding our clothes and running through the forest on a regular basis. Our wolf nature compels it.

I quickly pull on khaki slacks, a camo t-shirt and boots. Alpha wants me. Mission incoming. Our pack secretary, Adele, is sitting behind a desk clacking away on a computer. She nods at me and returns to her task as I head down the hallway to the left.