Page 38

Below, the estate buzzed with restless energy—men checking sensor lines, updating satellite feeds, rotating guard shifts with military precision. The faint scent of something electric lingered on the wind, sharp and unsettling. Unease settled over her like a second skin, each gust threading through her nerves, setting them on edge, as if the air itself waited for a spark to ignite the storm.

The threat hadn’t come yet, but it was coming. She felt it. The calm wasn't calm at all—it was a breath held too long, a silence too sharp. It clawed at her nerves, scraped the edges of her thoughts. Everything was poised on a razor's edge, and she stood at the precipice, waiting for the storm to break.

And Finn... Finn was a storm dressed in quiet—power wrapped in stillness, danger laced in restraint. That same calm rage that had once made her bolt for the safety of distance nowrooted her in place. Not because it frightened her. Because it made her feel seen. Cherished. Safe in the fiercest way possible. And for the first time, she didn’t want to run from the things that frightened her, she wanted to burn them down.

"You planning on jumping or just need the altitude to plan your next sass assault?" Finn's voice slid behind her, deep and dry.

She turned. He stood barefoot and shirtless, black tactical pants riding low on his hips, each movement laced with latent power. Scars mapped his chest, the kind that told stories no one lived to repeat. The light carved shadows along his muscles, but it was the look in his eyes—haunted, unrelenting—that stole her breath. He wore the weight of too many wars, not just on his shoulders, but in the quiet hardness of his jaw, the stillness of his stance, the tension barely leashed beneath his skin.

"I was thinking about flying." She arched an eyebrow. "But apparently, you need wings for that. I've got claws instead."

He came up beside her, gaze sweeping the horizon. "You've got more than claws, sweetheart. You’ve got instincts. Teeth. Fire. And me."

Her smile twisted. "Just a wee bit possessive, aren't you?"

He grunted. "Aye. And you're still here. So either you like it, or you’re just as broken as I am."

She nudged him with her shoulder. "You’re not broken, Finn. You’re forged. There's a difference."

His hand caught her chin, gentle but firm. "And you... you were the one thing I didn’t think I deserved. Still don’t. But I’ll bleed before I give you up."

Keira’s throat tightened. God, he meant it. Every brutal, protective, infuriating word. It pressed against the walls of her heart, fierce and unflinching, shaking loose something she hadn’t dared to name—hope.

"So what now? We wait for Cathal to make the next move?"

"No," Finn said. "We go to him."

Her stomach dropped. "You're kidding."

He looked down at her, deadly calm. "Cathal wants to use you to leverage me. He thinks threatening you weakens me. It doesn't. It sharpens me. Makes me lethal. I won't sit and wait for his trap to spring."

She swallowed. "And if he comes after us before that?"

"Then we make it the last mistake he ever makes."

The boat knifed through the black water just after midnight, silent as a threat. Its matte hull sliced the waves like a blade, not built for comfort—built to strike. The air reeked of salt and violence.

Keira stood near the prow, the cold wind slashing across her face, but she didn’t flinch. Behind her, the crew Finn had handpicked moved like wolves in a kill zone. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. Each one was a weapon sharpened by war and loyalty—dead-eyed, muscle-tight killers who answered to one voice.

Finn’s.

“You stay close,” he said, not looking at her. His voice cut through the wind like a command wrapped in threat. “If things go sideways, you don’t think. You run. I’ll find you.”

Keira’s jaw clenched. “I’m not here to run.”

He turned then, slowly, eyes like molten gold in the dark. “You’re here because I said you could be.”

Her pulse thumped hard in her neck. He took her hand, rough and warm, anchoring her without gentleness.

They hit land an hour later—dark cliffs rising like jagged sentinels from the crashing waves, black and sheer against thechurning gray sea. No welcome, no mercy. Just unforgiving stone, slick with salt spray and silent threat. The wind howled through crevices like a warning whispered through clenched teeth, and every shadow seemed to twitch with hidden eyes. The place reeked of ambush—of blood old and waiting to be spilled again.

Finn shifted first.

No warning. No pause. One second, a man. The next, a black panther, sleek and lethal, melting into the rocks like shadowed vengeance. Keira followed—then the mist hit her.

It moved like smoke with teeth, sliding over her skin in sinuous coils. Her breath caught mid-inhale, chest frozen as the air thickened around her. There was no scream—just the lurch of the world shifting beneath her, as if gravity itself tilted sideways. She plunged, fast and weightless, down into a silence so dense it pulsed. And in that dark quiet, something ancient stirred, stretching awake inside her like a memory clawing back to life.

No cracking bones. No torn flesh. Just a snap of instinct and then?—