Page 6 of My Shifty Bodyguard

In the background, my mother yells, “She’s from very good stock and has child-bearing hips!”

Me, mating with another woman? Yesterday I would have accepted this match without question. Today, I nearly fling my phone across the grassy lot. I spin around, praying Violet didn’t hear a word of it.

Not that it should matter. I can’t actually claim Violet as my mate. The Everpeak pack would not provide us with any political or trading advantage at all. And who knows if her father would even accept it? He sounds like he wants to keep her wrapped up in cotton wool forever. If shifters had nunneries, she would be in one.

But I still don’t want her to hear this conversation.

Fortunately, Violet’s not paying any attention to me at the moment. She’s climbed into the cow’s enclosure and she’s striding through the grass towards an angry, pawing bull.

Wait, what the fuuhhh….

“Violet?” I try very hard to keep the angry panic from bleeding through. I fail. “What are you doing?”

“Waving at the big guy!” she calls out cheerfully. “He’s so cute!”

Cute.

She means the bull.

The literal one-ton bull who has gored several of our pack members so badly it took them close to a day to heal.

My dad is still talking. “We’ll schedule a meeting. And son? This young woman is a rare opportu—”

“Father, really not a great time for this, talk to you soon, ok bye—”

I hang up mid-syllable.

The bull lifts his head.

Snorts.

Paws the dirt once, as he considers whether to spear her or fling her into orbit.

I launch myself over the fence without a second thought and bolt over to her, my heart thundering in my ears.

“Hi!” she says, waving at me as if we’re at a picnic. “Look at him, he’s so friendly! He’s coming over!”

Yes, he’s coming over, at a very fast pace. Most people would call it “charging.”

I grab her around the waist, hoist her up against my chest, and sprint. The bull lunges forward; I crouch down, jump, clear the fence, and land hard on the other side with her still in my arms.

For one breathless second, we just stare at each other. The bull crashes into the fence and we don’t even notice.

Her body is pressed against mine. Warm. Soft. Perfect. My heart slams so hard it could break ribs—hers or mine, I’m not sure which.

She swallows.

I swallow.

She’s nestled into my arms and I never want to set her down. Her scent swirls in my nostrils, and

Then she says, brightly “That was fun! Is the tour always this interactive?”

And I know I’m dead. Absolutely, completely, fated-mate dead.

“I have never carried another woman in my arms in that manner before.” That was not what she asked, but it is urgently important that I tell her that. She has to know that about me. She has to know that she’s different than any other woman, that she means more to me than any other woman, that…

I clear my throat and set her down abruptly. She stumbles a little bit and puts her hand on my arm to steady herself, and then she doesn’t let go. And I don’t move my arm away from her.