11. Savannah

ELEVEN

SAVANNAH

Sitting inside Daxton's camper, I couldn't help but notice how charming the place was. Sure, it could use a bit of TLC and a feminine touch, but there was a warmth to it that made it feel homey. As I looked around, taking in the small kitchenette and the tiny living area, my mind drifted back to a memory that had been nagging at me ever since we'd arrived.

Daxton lived close to me.

I'd thought he was driving me home until he turned down the driveway leading here. Another sense of déjà vu tugged at my memories, and then it all clicked. Biting my bottom lip, I glanced at him.

"Before I joined the fitness center, I used to jog in the mornings. Until one morning, a rabid dog almost attacked me. A panther saved me," I said, holding his stare. "Was it you?"

He gave a slight nod. "It was me."

"I thought so. There was something so familiar about you when we met, but I couldn't figure out why," I said. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I didn't want to scare you. Besides, how would I even start?"

I considered his words, understanding his worry. "You were watching over me even before we knew each other?" I asked, a smile forming.

I liked knowing that. I couldn't explain why, but I did.

Daxton nodded, running a hand through his hair. "I felt a connection to you, even then."

His admission warmed my heart. It was comforting and incredibly sweet to think of him in his other form, protecting me from harm.

"Thank you." I reached out to squeeze his hand. "For protecting me then and being honest with me now."

Daxton squeezed my hand back, his eyes never wavering from mine. "Always, Savannah. I will always protect you, and I'll always be honest with you. That's a promise."

I believed him. He'd given me no reason not to. Not only had he protected me from the rabid dog, but he'd also protected me from Alex when he came into the gym to yell at me. He'd protected me as best he could from Lucius, too.

This man was a protector—my protector. He was a good guy, which was hard to find.

As we sat there, hand in hand, I felt a sense of belonging wash over me. This cozy camper, with its faded curtains and its chipped front door, felt like a sanctuary.

"Can I get you some water? I don't have any tea, or I'd offer that instead," he said.

"Water sounds great."

Daxton stepped into the small kitchenette. "Are you hungry?"

"A little," I admitted, my stomach grumbling as if on cue.

Without missing a beat, Daxton pulled ingredients from the cupboard and fridge. "I'll warm something up. Do you like pasta with spaghetti sauce?"

"Yeah, sure," I replied, watching as he moved around the tiny kitchen with ease. It was surprisingly comforting to see him in such a domestic role after the night we'd had.

"Chicken?" he asked, casting a glance my way. I nodded. "Good, because that's what I meal prepped this week." He grinned.

I chuckled. "Meal prep? You're showing your inner fitness trainer hardcore right now."

"What can I say?" He shrugged, before turning his attention back to what he was doing.

I watched as he poured two containers of pasta with sauce and shredded chicken into a large pot on the stove.

"You don't have a microwave." It wasn't a question, but more of an observation.

Daxton shook his head. "Microwaves are gross."

"How do you reheat food?"

While I understood microwaves probably weren't good for you, I didn't think I could go without mine. I used it too much.

"Like this," he said, nodding to the pot he was stirring. "And, I have an Air Fryer." He pointed to a small unit sitting on his counter I hadn't noticed.

"Interesting."

He glanced at me, then. "You're a microwave fan, aren't you?"

"I wouldn't say that. I've just never thought to use an alternative. It's fast and easy."

"Doesn't mean it's good for you," he countered.

I grinned. "Touche."

He chuckled as he shifted his attention to plating our food. I watched him sprinkle a generous helping of parmesan cheese on top, and then grab us each a fork. The simplicity of the meal didn't distract from how thoughtful the act was.

Sitting at the small table tucked into the corner, I watched him slide into the seat opposite me. He set down my bowl in front of me with a wink, sending my heart to pitter-patter inside my chest. I was struck by how much I enjoyed being here with him.

"Can I ask you something?" I asked, before taking a bite. He nodded, so I continued. "What's it like, being a panther shifter? Were you born one, or did someone bite you?"

Even though it felt stupid to ask, I knew that was how shifters were created in nearly all the books I'd read.

A soft smile pulled at his lips. "Born, and my panther is a big part of who I am," he answered, stabbing at his pasta. "Does that scare you?"

"No. It fascinates me," I admitted around a mouthful of pasta. "So, that means your family is like you?"

I wanted to know more about him, about his life.

"Yeah. It's definitely a family trait. You met my older brother, Neo."

I thought about Neo, pulling an image of him to mind. Now that I knew they were brothers, I could spot the similarities in their appearance.

"What does it feel like to shift?" I asked, keeping my focus on him while I ate.

Daxton paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face. I could tell he was searching for the right words. "It's like—power and a rush of freedom surging through your veins, and there's a connection with nature that's always present."

"Does it hurt when you shift?" I asked.

When Lucius had been forcing his panther from him, it looked like it hurt, but that could have been because of the forcing part.

He shook his head. "Not unless someone is trying to force it."

"Like what Lucius did," I said, feeling a slight sense of relief that I'd been right.

The last thing I wanted was for him to be in that much pain each time he shifted into his panther. It didn't seem right to make something so beautiful be painful.

"Exactly." He nodded. "It's more like a release, an escape from the human confines we're so used to. There's freedom when I'm my panther—freedom of my mind and my soul."

His eyes came alive as he spoke, and I couldn't keep the smile that formed off my face.

"And when you're a panther, do you still feel like yourself? Or is it like being someone else?"

"I'm still me," he assured me, reaching for his glass of water. "My thoughts, my consciousness, they're still there, but my panther is there too. He's in control. That's where the sense of freedom comes in."

"That sounds incredible."

"It is," he agreed, his gaze never leaving mine.

As we continued eating, my mind filled with images of Daxton as his panther, moving through the woods with a sense of gracefulness and power. It added another layer to the man sitting across from me, one that was wild and beautiful. I realized then that despite the initial shock of discovering his secret—I felt drawn to him still. Maybe it was because of his panther. Maybe it was the magic of it all. Or maybe it was just him.

Something about Daxton was hard to resist.