Page 15

KEIRA

K eira stepped out onto the deck, the cool salt air wrapping around her like a veil.

She’d woken tense, unsettled, with a crawling unease she couldn’t explain.

It pressed behind her ribs like a storm waiting to break, her breath catching under the weight of something just out of reach.

A prickle ran up her spine, as if the air itself had shifted—leaving her hollow, alert.

Her nerves buzzed faintly, her instincts whispering truths her mind hadn’t yet caught.

Restless, she moved further out onto the deck, letting the chill clear her thoughts.

Below, the waves crashed in steady rhythm, the stars dimmed only slightly by the pale glow of the moon.

Then she saw it—the same weird, swirling mist. Rolling in at the tree line, dense and glowing. Her heart tripped as a figure stepped free from it, tall, muscled, hung, and utterly naked.

Finn.

He moved like something born of the woods, all muscle and menace, each step deliberate and fluid.

Moonlight slicked across the contours of his body, picking out the sculpted lines of his back, the flex of his thighs, the untamed power carved into every sinew.

He didn’t look human—he looked ethereal, feral, as though the forest itself had shaped him and set him free.

Her breath caught, tight in her throat, as heat curled low in her belly.

She watched him ascend the steps to the deck, each movement a testament to restrained power.

Mist still clung to his skin, gleaming in the moonlight, his bare chest rising and falling with slow, controlled breaths.

Their eyes locked, and something passed between them—unspoken, electric, and inevitable.

Her lips parted, but no words came, not yet.

Her heartbeat skittered in her chest, caught between instinct and something dangerously close to awe.

"What the hell did I just see?" she asked.

He didn’t flinch, but he didn’t answer immediately either.

"What do you think you saw?" he rumbled.

Keira crossed her arms. "Don’t play word games with me, Finn. I saw the mist. The lightning. I heard the thunder—and this isn’t the first time."

He exhaled, slow and heavy. "It’s complicated."

She stepped closer, eyes narrowed. "Then start uncomplicating it."

The air between them snapped tight, the shift in energy almost audible. Her voice dropped, low and sharp. "You don’t get to walk out of a glowing mist—naked—and expect me to swallow a half-assed deflection."

Finn didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. Just held her gaze with that maddening calm—the kind that made her want to throw something hard and breakable at his stupidly composed face. Or maybe just throw herself at him and make them both deal with the fallout.

"You want answers?" he asked. "Fine. Come with me."

He turned, completely unbothered by his state of undress.

Keira, by contrast, was flushed head to toe—not just from the sight of him, all glorious muscle, unapologetic scars, and those damn eyes that always seemed to see straight through her, but from the chaos erupting inside her.

Her breath hitched, fingers twitching at her sides as heat pooled low in her belly, tangled with the jagged edges of anger, confusion, and a maddening, reluctant ache.

Vulnerability rose like a tide she couldn’t stem, crashing into the part of her still raw from everything they’d lost. She hated that he still had this effect on her. Hated more that some deep, traitorous part of her didn’t want it to stop.

She followed him down the hall and into his study, the door clicking shut behind her like the final beat in a trap snapping closed.

The room was dim, lit only by the embers in the hearth and the low amber glow from a lamp near his desk.

Leather. Mahogany. Bookshelves that reached the ceiling.

It felt like stepping into some dark fairytale.

Finn moved with purpose, grabbing his phone from the desk and tapping the screen.

"Aidan, it’s Finn. We had company on the beach.

Two men. One’s injured, the other helped him get away.

They left by Zodiac. Double the perimeter patrols.

Get eyes on the shoreline and send a team into town. Quietly. I want them found."

He ended the call and turned to face her, expression unreadable.

Keira stayed rooted to the spot, her heart thudding in her chest as she studied him—broad-shouldered, jaw tight, eyes giving nothing away.

A prickle of apprehension climbed her spine, but beneath it, curiosity stirred—sharp and insistent, curling around her ribs like smoke.

Her breath hitched, heart caught somewhere between dread and a hunger for truth she didn’t want to admit, raw and insistent.

Something in his stance told her this wasn’t just about the rooftop, the brownstone, or the edge of the woods. This was deeper—personal. Something he’d been carrying for a long time, keeping from her. And whatever he was about to say… it was going to change everything.

"Now," he said, reaching for a crystal decanter and pouring two fingers of whiskey into a glass. He pushed it into her hand. "Drink."

She took it, but didn’t sip. Her eyes tracked the blood streaking his chest and forearms, drying in thick smears down the hard lines of muscle. "That was a hell of a lot of cloak and dagger just now. And don’t think I didn’t notice the blood. Yours? Theirs?"

"Theirs. I've increased security and I have my people looking for them. Any chance you'll let it go at that?"

"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 under the 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."