CHAPTER 32: A PROTECTOR

Chapter 32

(Lenora POV)

I watch from the porch, sipping a mug of nettle tea while my mate gets absolutely wrecked by my father.

To be fair—it’s not as bad as it was when they started.

Cameron’s improved. He’s not flailing as much. His stance is better, his breathing more controlled. He doesn’t complain or whine, even when he’s slammed into the grass for the fourth time in ten minutes. I admire the tenacity.

Most wolves, by now, would’ve tapped out. Cried uncle. Or snapped and lost their temper. But not him. He gets up. Again and again.

And he doesn’t even know how impressive that is.

I mean, come on—he’s sparring with Eamon Maen. Five-time pit champion. There’s no wolf stronger, meaner, or more battle-scarred in the whole damn region. If Dad hadn’t stepped down, he’d still be winning every fight he walked into blindfolded.

So yes. Cameron’s doing better than anyone could’ve expected. Even if Dad is pulling his punches, it’s still enough to level a grown grizzly.

I set my mug down and stretch. The morning sun’s just warm enough to kiss the dew off the grass, and the clearing is quiet except for the soft thuds of impact and the occasional grunt from my mate.

Time to make things interesting.

I step off the porch and stroll over. Cameron’s just been dropped again—his shirt half stuck to his chest, hair a little messy, sweat gleaming along the curve of his neck.

He looks good wrecked. That annoys me more than it should.

"Can I join?" I call.

He glances up, blinking through the sunlight and grass. There’s caution in his eyes. Nervousness. He shoots a look at Dad, like he’s unsure if this is a trap.

It kind of is.

My father shrugs and steps back. He’s done for the day, apparently. Leaving me to pick at the pieces.

I walk toward Cameron, cracking my knuckles. I see him size me up. That calculating businessman brain whirring, probably running stats on reach and center of gravity.

He brings his hands up... then lowers them again.

Smart boy. Father’s lessons are sinking in.

"Won’t you go easy on me?" I tease.

He breathes hard, swipes a hand over his jaw. "Lenora... I’ve had my ass handed to me by Eamon for days. I’m sorry, but I need this win."

My eyebrows rise. "You hurt my feelings, mate."

"I need one moment of dignity."

"Then you really shouldn’t fight me."

Before he can react, I move. A pivot of my heel, a twist of my hips, and the next second—boom—he’s on the ground with a soft oof, my knee pinning him down squarely in the middle of his chest.

His mouth opens in shock. I lean over him, hands braced against his shoulders, amused at the kaleidoscope of expressions running across his face—disbelief, awe, embarrassment, and—

Oh. That last one’s definitely arousal.

I smirk. "Guess you went easy on me after all."

Cameron’s brows knit. "Clearly you’re your father’s daughter."

"I’ll take that as a compliment," I say, brushing a strand of white hair behind my ear.

I get off him, offer my hand, being a good sport about it.

He grips my wrist, and I expect him to pull himself up.

He takes it—then yanks.

I let him pull me down. Obviously, he couldn’t overpower me if he tried, but I give him the win. Let myself fall forward, landing with a soft thud against him, our faces inches apart.

"And this is why I thought you were weak," he says, trying to sound cocky even though he’s still winded.

I smirk. "What can I say? I love being manhandled."

His eyes widen. Then narrow. "Something tells me... you could, in fact, open that jar of jam."

"Maybe," I say, voice light, tone unapologetic.

Truth is, I can tear a full-grown tree from the ground without breaking a sweat. I could break stone, outrun a car, snap bones like twigs. But Ronan once told me that human men—especially mates who grew up without our instincts—like to feel useful. Strong. Necessary.

It baffled me at first. Were human women really that helpless? Did they genuinely need help opening jars?

But I tried it.

I’d hand him something with a little smile. Ask for help reaching a box. Pretend I couldn’t get the lid off. And something about the way his shoulders squared, the small lift in his chin, the pride in his voice when he succeeded—it was kind of... cute.

So I leaned into it.

He didn’t have to know that I’d carried three of those same boxes up the myself earlier that day.

And it worked. He moved differently afterward. Walked taller. Took up more space. His body responded like a wolf’s would—stepping into the role of protector, I expected my mate to hunt me something as a show but this is fine too.

Humans are so weird about mating. So delicate with power dynamics.

He chuckles—and then pulls me closer, wrapping his arms around my waist like it’s instinct. My breath hitches slightly at the warmth of it. He’s so handsome, it should be illegal. High cheekbones, sleepy lashes, the kind of smile that could start fires.

Thank you, Moon Goddess. Thank you very much.

Not that I would’ve minded if my mate had one eye and a limp. But heavens... look at him.

"Do you want to go into town?" I ask, the words tumbling out before I can second guess them.

"Town?" he echoes, brows raised.

"Yeah," I nod. "Just—come see where I grew up."

He blinks, surprised, but nods. "Uhm... okay."

*

"And that is the local college," I say, gesturing toward the sandstone building nestled between tall birches and a field of students.

"Wow," he says, and I can tell he means it.

I smirk. "Surely you didn’t think we all lived like it’s some medieval village?"

He glances at me, caught. His guilt is obvious, and it makes me laugh.

"I mean—" he rubs the back of his neck. "I guess I just didn’t expect this to be so... modern. It’s like a whole town. How hasn’t it shown up on any maps or news reports?"

I take his hand, lacing our fingers together. His palm is warm, steady. We continue walking down the cobbled path, passing shops and cafés and even someone in full wolf form trotting past like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Because, well... it is.

Cameron’s eyes widen slightly, tracking the wolf until it disappears behind a bookstore.

"No one’s reacting," he says.

"They wouldn’t," I shrug. "It’s just Penny. He’s a history teacher and runs with a bad knee, so he prefers four legs when he’s off shift."

He blinks. "Wait—he teaches? Like in a classroom?"

"Yep. Desk, chalkboard, glasses, the whole deal. Sometimes he forgets to shift back and just gives his lectures from the floor."

Cameron still looks baffled, so I nudge his arm gently. "It does show up on maps. Just not to human eyes."

"What?" he says slowly. "How?"

"There’s a ward that surrounds most wolf towns," I explain. "It hides us in plain sight. Your people see forest, mountain, or sometimes even a closed research base. It bends perception."

He stares. "That’s... that’s insane. Can I see it?"

His voice is soft, like a kid asking to see behind a curtain. I grin and tug his hand again.

"Come on."

---

We head toward the edge of town and into the forest. The moment the paved roads are replaced by dirt and moss, Cameron slows his pace, taking everything in.

"God, this is beautiful," he says, voice barely above a whisper.

The trees stretch impossibly tall, tangled with ivy and silver mist. Sunlight filters in beams, catching the dew on leaves and spider silk. It’s breathtaking.

"I’ve lived here my whole life," I say quietly. "I wouldn’t know."

But I watch him watching the world like it’s sacred. Maybe... maybe it really is.

"We’re outside the boundary now," I say.

"Really?"

"Yeah," I nod toward a thick cluster of trees. "The way back into town is through there."

He steps toward it slowly, then pauses. "That?"

I smirk. "Go on."

He walks through the trees.

Then frowns.

Spins.

Looks around.

"What the—? I was just... wait. I can’t remember the way back." He looks at me, startled. "I turned once and everything looks different now."

"Exactly," I say, grinning.

I take his hand and lead him back, weaving through the trees until we reach a small stone statue nestled against the base of an ancient oak. It’s weathered and moss-covered—an unassuming little wolf with one paw lifted mid-step.

I bite my thumb with a quick snap of fang and smear a drop of blood on the snout.

The air shivers.

The trees seem to stretch.

And when we walk through again, town greets us on the other side.

Cameron blinks.

"...Tada," I say.

"That was..." He rubs his arms. "Weird."

I laugh. "That’s exactly how werewolf towns have stayed hidden for centuries. The ward is blood-tied to pack wolves. Without one of us, you can’t find the way back in. Even if you’ve been here before."

"That’s really impre—"

His words cut off. He stiffens.

"Simone?"