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Every sound cracked like lightning.

"First lesson?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Is this where I learn to fight?"

"No," he said, stepping behind her, hands settling on her hips. "This is where you learn to survive."

She tilted her head back. "I’m listening."

"Your instincts will mislead you at first. Sounds will crash in, scents will stretch for miles, and every shift in the wind will feel urgent. Breathe through it. Filter the chaos. Trust what sharpens your focus—not what scatters it."

She absorbed that, eyes scanning the trees.

"And what if I don’t want to fight?"

His grip tightened. "Then don’t. But you’ll know how. That’s the difference."

She leaned into him, breathing in the grounding weight of his touch, the tether of their bond alive and pulsing like a second heartbeat.

He kissed the back of her neck. "You choose what kind of panther you are. That’s your right. No one else’s."

Keira closed her eyes. She didn’t have all the answers. But she had this—him, herself, and a new truth humming through her veins like an ancient melody. It wasn’t loud or obvious, but steady, undeniable—a rhythm her bones recognized, a call that had always been waiting just beneath her awareness.

He collared her with his hands and his mouth and his will?—

—and in the pause before breath returned, Keira let him. Body bowed, heart bared, she surrendered not out of weakness, but fierce, trembling choice.

CHAPTER 14

FINN

The night still echoed with the heat of her surrender, the memory etched into every nerve of his skin. Finn hadn’t slept. He’d stood at the bedroom window for hours after Keira had slipped into sleep, the soft rise and fall of her breath the only thing anchoring him as he stared into the mist blanketing the estate.

The fog rolled in thick off the water, swallowing the moonlight, curling like ghostly fingers across the grounds. He watched it breathe and shift, silent and heavy, waiting for the dark to speak back—or strike.

Eventually, the tension coursing through his blood refused to be still. He moved quietly through the house, every creak of the old floorboards speaking to the unease rising in his chest. Downstairs, the quiet was unnerving—the kind of silence that hunted. He poured a glass of water he didn’t drink, eyes drawn again to the mist creeping against the edges of the estate. Something out there didn’t belong. And it had finally come close enough to matter.

The ocean hit him first—brine and minerals, the sharp tang of wet stone biting at his nose. Beneath the salt and rock, something darker slithered in. Not just different—wrong. Ashadow of a scent, acrid and foreign, curled in the back of his throat—threaded with engine oil and cold metal, laced with something synthetic and sterile. It didn't move with the wind—it sliced through it. The mist seemed to carry it deliberately, like a hand-delivered message. It sank into his skin like ice water, setting every nerve on edge, a whisper of threat he felt more than understood. It didn’t belong. And it didn’t pretend to. And that was what made it dangerous.

Finn stood at the bluff’s edge, muscles taut, every sense flaring with tension and the metallic taste of a storm about to break. His breath came slow, measured, each inhale a silent assessment. His eyes locked on the shadows slipping through the dunes, shapes too purposeful to be wind or wildlife. The mist crept like smoke through the trees, thickening in unnatural pockets. The last rays of the moon bruised the horizon, turning the estate silver at the edges and smearing the landscape with a sense of impending violence.

His beast stirred—not from rage, but from the taut, electric hum of readiness. Every nerve vibrated with tension, honed to a lethal edge. Instinct snapped into place, cold and exact. His scouts were late. That was never just an inconvenience—it was an omen. The kind of silence hanging over the estate wasn’t stillness. It was a breath held too long, the charged pause before all hell broke loose. And tonight, it settled like iron across his shoulders, heavy with expectation.

Footsteps approached—measured, familiar. The cadence was unmistakable, firm and unhurried. Ewen’s presence, grounded and sure, cut through the charged stillness like an anchor dropped in stormy seas, the tension in Finn’s body easing just a fraction as he turned toward the sound.

"Donal just checked in. The scouts are back. Two are banged up, but nothing serious. They ran into something—someone."

Finn turned, jaw flexing, tension tightening across his shoulders. "Where exactly?"

"Southern ridge. Coastal side. Found boot prints, a gear cache. Whoever it was knew the land."

Finn's eyes narrowed. "And knew our patrol schedule. That wasn’t an accident."

Ewen gave a clipped nod. "Orders?"

"I’m going out. Prep the perimeter. Double the night watch. Arm the eastern trail sensors. If they came once, they'll come again."

Ewen didn’t hesitate. "Aye."