Page 24

"None whatsoever. I want to know what's going on. What's with the localized thunder and lightning, the eerie mist... and how come you're walking around naked?"

"I didn't want to get blood on my clothes."

Keira slammed the glass of whiskey on his desk. "Damn it Finn. I want to know what's going on and I want to know right now."

He grinned—it was feral, predatory. "I'd forgotten how beautiful you are when you're pissed off."

"Have you forgotten what it's like when I kick you in the shin or punch you in the nose?"

That made him laugh. "Actually, I haven't. What's really sick is that it kind of turns me on," he said looking down at his rising cock.

She glanced around, looking for something—anything—and came up empty. Scowling, she snapped, “Find something to cover that thing up and tell it to settle down.”

Finn didn’t move.

Her jaw tightened. “Answer me.”

“That’s not as easy as you think,” he said, voice low, unreadable.

“You were always good with words, Finn.”

He exhaled through his nose, then reached down, and pulled open the lower desk drawer. He grabbed a towel and wiped the blood off before grabbing a pair of sweatpants. Without ceremony, he stepped into them and tugged them on. “There’s so much you don’t know.”

He picked up the whiskey from the desk and held it out to her. “Take a sip. You’re going to need it.”

It wasn’t a request. The growl in his voice did something indecent to her spine.

Keira sipped the whiskey, because she was smart, not because he told her to. She kept the whiskey in hand, though, the warmth of the glass a poor match for the heat rising in her chest.

He sat across from her, forearms braced on his knees. His voice, when it came, was low and steady.

"I’m going to say something, and I need you to keep an open mind."

Keira narrowed her eyes. "I hate it when people start conversations like that."

"The O'Neills—at least Con's branch of the family—we’re not just men, Keira. Not entirely. Some of us are what are known as shifters..."

"You mean like in the paranormal romance books?"

"Not exactly. In most of those books, shifting is shown as painful, monstrous—something out of control. That’s not how it is. The truth is, humanity didn’t evolve along just one track. There were three: human, animal, and a rare hybrid lineage—what we now call shifters. In some places, at certain times in history, those of us who can move between our human and animal forms had advantages that helped us survive, even thrive, where others couldn't."

Keira took another sip of whiskey, the burn sliding down her throat sharp and satisfying—but it did little to calm the restless energy churning beneath her skin. It simmered there, just underthe surface, a low, insistent tension that refused to ease. No amount of liquor could drown the pull tightening in her chest or the wild, unsettled need crackling through her veins like a storm waiting to break.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the glass, grounding herself in the sting and heat, even as her mind tried to claw through the impossible truth Finn had laid at her feet. "Seriously Finn? You expect me to accept this line of bullshit?"

"I expect for you to believe when I answer your question as honestly as I can."

"So... what... you shifted earlier tonight?" He nodded. "Liar. There's no full moon."

"Our ability to shift is not dependent upon lunar or any other earth cycle. Shifters are panthers, wolves, lions and a host of others. Being a panther-shifter is part of the O’Neill legacy. It's in our blood, our bones, our very DNA."

Keira stared at him for a solid five seconds. Her pulse thundered in her ears, a strange mix of disbelief, fear, and something far more dangerous—curiosity—curled low in her gut. Her eyes searched his for a flicker of doubt, some sign that he was messing with her. But there was none. Just the quiet certainty of a man who believed every word he'd just said. Her throat tightened. This was madness. It had to be. And yet... she couldn’t look away. Then she took a much larger swallow of whiskey.

It burned like fire all the way down and she coughed, sputtering. "Jesus, Finn. You could've started with aliens or vampires—I might've believed that first."

"I’m not joking."

"Clearly," she wheezed, wiping her mouth. "Okay, so what, you’re telling me you’re some kind of shifter. That the Irish mob has were-panthers..."