Page 20

FINN

T he sound came sharp and sudden—a muffled thud that didn’t belong.

Finn froze, heart kicking against his ribs, a flare of instinct racing through him.

His breath hitched, a primal jolt firing through his chest like a warning flare, hot and immediate—an instinctive recognition that danger was near.

Something was off. Wrong. Not just unexpected, but invasive.

Finn’s hand tightened around the glass, the whiskey forgotten as he froze in the kitchen. This wasn’t just a sound—it was a threat. A chill slid down his spine, his pulse spiking hard in the sudden stillness. Every instinct screamed alert.

The noise wasn’t just wrong—it was uninvited, predatory. The hairs on his arms rose, his body already tensing into readiness before his mind fully caught up. Whatever it was, it was close. And it was getting closer.

Instinct slammed through him like a punch—sharp, sudden, and primal.

The kind of alarm that came not just from training, but from something ancient and feral, buried deep in his blood.

It wasn’t panic. It was precision—hyper-focused awareness snapping through him like a live wire.

A warning that bypassed logic and went straight to the spine.

He felt it in his gut, low and immediate, like the split-second breath before a trap snapped shut.

The room pressed in around him, heavy with silence, as if even the walls were waiting.

He set the glass down without drinking, muscles going taut, every nerve ending straining toward the disturbance.

The old burn of danger surged in his chest, sharp and primal, stirring a flicker of memory—Keira's scent laced with adrenaline, the unshakable sense that something was about to go terribly wrong.

He didn’t bother with the security panel. His instincts had never lied to him—not once. A single, out-of-place thud on a quiet night wasn’t coincidence. It was intention—silent, precise, and aimed. In his world, intention wasn’t just a warning; it was a prelude to blood.

As he moved, he keyed his comm. "All units, report in. East perimeter sweep. Full circle."

Voices crackled back with affirmatives. Finn's jaw locked, his expression darkening as he turned on his heel and strode to the front hall. With deliberate precision, he unlocked the weapons cabinet, fingers moving with muscle memory honed from years of readiness and wariness. This wasn’t just preparation—it was a warning: anyone watching would learn just how ready he was to protect what was his.

Seconds later, Donal appeared at the back entrance, breath fogging in the cold. "You hear it too?"

"East side. Something off."

Donal nodded. "Partial prints in the garden just past the terrace. No breach, but someone was damn close. Might be testing us."

Finn pulled on his coat and stepped into his boots. "Or planning something bigger. Get three men on the ridge and two more at the boathouse."

"Already moving."

The cold slapped him as he stepped outside. The night air bristled with salt and pine, but something else rode beneath it—a synthetic tang, sharp and chemical. Alien. Wrong. A warning in the air, too faint for humans, but screaming at every predator's instinct in him.

He broke into a run, feet silent over the gravel path leading to the eastern edge of the estate.

The cold bit into his face, sharp with salt and pine, but he didn’t slow.

When his boots hit the shadowed grass beyond the tree line, he yanked off his coat and let it fall behind him.

Hidden in the dense cover of trees, he dropped to one knee and pressed his palm to the earth, drawing in a breath of the air—cool, tinged with mist and something other.

Then, with a focused breath, he gave himself over to the beast.

Mist burst around him like a living thing, brushing cool against his skin before quickly warming, crackling with barely contained energy as it wrapped his body in a charged veil.

It clung to him like breath and shadow, electric and intimate, as if the air itself recognized the beast within.

His skin prickled with heat, muscles tightening as the world narrowed to instinct and sensation.

The shift came swiftly—no pain, no tearing, just the seamless shift from man to beast, as natural as breathing. The cold vanished. The dark welcomed him. And he moved through it with the lethal grace of a predator who’d always belonged.

The scent trail was faint. Whoever it was had masked themselves well, but not perfectly. He followed the traces: crushed leaves, a snapped twig, the shallow indentation of a knee near the perimeter fence. No signs of forced entry. Just someone watching.

Then he caught it—a whisper of blood on the air. Not Keira's. Male. Familiar. Feral. One of his own, carrying the scent of pain and warning like a flag in the dark.

Finn bolted, paws pounding the earth with silent precision. He found Ewen sprawled behind a tangle of brush, his body limp but his pulse strong. A dart jutted from his neck, its shaft barely visible in the moonlight.

A message.

Finn leaned in and sniffed. The chemical trace hit his senses—non-lethal, a tranquilizer. Not designed to kill, just to incapacitate. Whoever had been here wasn’t hunting. They were scouting, assessing, leaving a message without bloodshed—for now.

Finn shifted back as Donal emerged from the trees, his breathing hard but eyes sharp and alert.

Dropping to a crouch beside Ewen, Finn scanned his packmate's face, watching the shallow rise and fall of his chest. The tranquilizer had done its job—but only just. Rage coiled in his gut like a live wire, pulsing beneath his skin. Whoever had done this hadn’t come to kill. They’d come to make a point.

"They didn’t kill him," he said, low and cold. "They’re watching. Measuring."

Donal scanned the trees. "Testing the perimeter. Looking for weaknesses."

Finn's expression turned grim. "And they’re too fucking close. We reinforce every blind spot. Double shifts. No one goes out alone."

Donal gave a sharp nod, his expression grim, and strode off into the trees, already barking low commands into his comms as he disappeared into the dark.

Finn stared out into the woods for a long beat, something raw tightening in his chest. This wasn’t just about defense. This was personal. A warning. He looked back toward the house, where Keira waited, unaware. Vulnerable.

He would not fail her.

He was halfway up the stairs when it hit—an electric charge that jolted straight through his chest like a sudden bolt of static.

His breath caught. Her scent had changed.

No longer soft and familiar—it was edged now, sharper, feral.

The hallway filled with it, thick and urgent, curling around him like smoke before a blaze.

He reached the upper landing and bolted down the hallway, heart hammering as he closed the distance to the primary suite. Whatever was happening, it was pulling at every feral instinct he had, and all that mattered was getting to her.

Finn burst into the bedroom just as Keira doubled over with a cry—more surprise than pain. Her skin glistened with sweat, hair stuck to her cheeks. Her fingers clawed at the sheets, her breath jagged and shallow.

"Keira!"

She didn’t respond. Her eyes shimmered faintly, the pupils dilating until they were nearly black. Her body trembled, caught in something that looked like pain—but wasn’t. It was more than that. It was instinct. Need. A raw, primal change taking hold.

"No, no, no… not like this," he whispered, dropping to his knees beside the bed. He cradled her shoulders, brushing damp hair from her face. Her skin radiated heat, her breathing a frantic rhythm.

"It’s happening," she ground out. "Finn… I can't…"

"You're shifting," he said. "Something's accelerated it. Just hold on to me. Breathe through it. I've got you."

She arched suddenly, her whole body caught in a full-body spasm as mist erupted around her like a pulse of energy.

The room seemed to breathe with it—dense, electric, and charged.

Her outline shimmered, light and shadow folding in on themselves, as her body melted into something sleeker, leaner, more powerful.

"Fuck," he whispered, holding her steady as the transformation completed with breathtaking speed and eerie grace.

The transition had happened faster than Finn anticipated—startlingly so. One moment she'd been caught in a buildup of raw, restless energy, the next, her panther had surged forward, as if pulled by instinct and the scent of threat in the air.

Mist surged up around her, thick and charged with latent energy, as her form shimmered and blurred at the edges—less a transformation and more a seamless merging of flesh and instinct.

The air seemed to contract, drawn to her as though recognizing its own.

Her eyes burned gold, wild and alive, as the change took her—swift, complete, and undeniable.

Mist burst up from the floor like steam from a ruptured pipe, swirling dense and electric around her as her body arched in a final, shuddering spasm.

Her cry changed to a rasping growl, and then silence fell, thick and charged.

Where Keira had been moments before, a sleek black panther now crouched on the bed, her chest rising and falling in sharp, steady breaths.

She was smaller than him, built with a delicate, deadly grace, each line of her body fluid and precise.

Her coat gleamed like shadow poured in moonlight, and her golden eyes locked on his—not wild, not afraid, but burning with intelligence and resolve.

Power radiated from her in steady waves, fierce and undeniable.

She looked at him—no fear in her eyes, only challenge. A flicker of defiance lit her golden gaze, sharp as a blade drawn under moonlight.

His throat closed, a rush of heat flooding his chest. Pride surged, sharp and visceral, as he stared at her—the creature she had become. It was breathtaking, the raw beauty of it, the sheer rightness that thudded deep in his bones. She’d done it. Not just survived—she’d risen.

He rose with deliberate slowness, palms open in a silent gesture of respect and caution, his gaze never leaving hers as he gave her the space she needed to orient herself in her new form.

"You did it, love," he whispered. "You made it through."

She stepped off the bed with a fluid grace that knocked the breath from his lungs and brushed against him—a soft, tentative swipe of fur against his thigh.

Finn dropped to his knees and met her gaze. Now you really are mine."

She didn’t speak—couldn’t—but her eyes flared in answer.

And then, with one graceful leap, she launched herself through the open balcony doors, landing in a crouch below with feline precision. The wind stirred the grass where she landed, her muscles taut and fluid as she gathered herself and sprinted into the dark, swallowed by the waiting night.

He gave her a head start, a feral grin breaking across his face, chest still tight with awe.

The energy she left in her wake pulsed through him—wild, electric, familiar.

Pride warred with desire, and for a moment, he simply breathed it in—the sharp rush of adrenaline already coursing through his blood, the thrill of the chase alive in every beat of his heart.

Pride swelled in his chest, fierce and protective.

This was Keira—his mate—bold, wild, unbroken.

For a beat, he let himself feel it fully: the awe, the connection, the raw promise of what they were becoming together.

With a low growl, he surrendered to the wild inside him and surged forward.

Heat pulsed beneath his skin, his body caught in that breathless, suspended moment before instinct reclaimed him entirely.

Power built in his limbs as the shift overtook him —effortless, silent, a rush of sensation like diving into a darker, deeper current.

In the space of a heartbeat, man became beast.

Mist rolled in as his body answered the call.

Heat surged over his skin, muscles flexing as the world around him narrowed to pulse and instinct.

No pain, no tearing—just the seamless, breathtaking release of his other self.

One breath he was man, the next he was predator, sleek and black as the night.

With a growl that rumbled from his chest, he launched into the dark, paws barely touching the railing as he bounded off the balcony and hit the ground before he chased the echo of her wild energy through the trees.