Page 24

He shifted just inside the tree line, the soft swirl of mist brushing against his bare skin like breath from the earth itself. Naked and alert, he stepped onto the back lawn, the cool air wrapping around him. Every nerve sparked with warning, tuned to the pulse of something near—something wrong.

And there she was. Keira stood barefoot in the grass, eyes locked on him like she'd been waiting—not with fear or surprise, but with something deeper, ancient.

A primal awareness that mirrored his own, wild and unblinking.

Her posture was relaxed but alert, bare toes curling in the cool blades, like the earth itself had whispered his arrival.

Her pulse quickened, steady and strong in the space between them, not loud, not frantic—just steady, tethered to something older than words. There was no need to speak. Not yet. Not with the tension crackling between them like a live wire waiting for a spark.

"You felt me coming," he said, striding up to her.

She nodded slowly, the wind stirring her hair. "Like I could taste your breath on the wind." Her voice was soft, tinged with awe—and something else, something that hummed low in her blood. It wasn’t fear. It was recognition.

He touched her chin, searching her face, watching the subtle flicker in her eyes that betrayed everything she was trying to process.

Her senses were already adapting—too fast, almost unnaturally so.

He could feel the ripple of energy coming off her in waves: tightly wound control, new strength pressing beneath her skin, and an awareness that hadn’t been there before.

Power hummed through her, restrained only by instinct and sheer will.

"You need to get inside."

"Don’t tell me to hide. I can feel things now. Sense things."

He didn’t argue. Not tonight. He simply reached for her hand and squeezed once—solid and silent—before turning away.

His eyes swept the perimeter again, instinct on a knife’s edge, the world outside humming with tension.

There was no room for comfort. Not with danger closing in and the scent of war still lingering in the air.

Inside, Donal waited with a burner phone in hand and a storm in his eyes. "This came encrypted. Triple-layered. Just cracked it," he said, his voice tight with restrained urgency. Finn’s jaw tightened. Messages like this didn’t come casually. Not with triple encryption. Not now.

Finn took the phone, scrolling. The message was short, brutal.

The attack on Con’s island fortress failed. Con and the rest of the O'Neills live. Unless you get Con to yield control of the syndicate, she dies. This is your only warning. If you keep pushing, retribution will be swift and brutal.

Finn stared at the screen, his jaw tightening, his fingers curling around the device. The air thickened with meaning.

Keira stepped close, eyes scanning. "He means me."

"Cathal," Finn said flatly.

Donal nodded. "Confirmed via the relay. Origin point pings from a hidden network node near Galway. Cathal's just burned the bridge behind him."

Keira’s spine straightened, her voice laced with disbelief and heat. "What does he think? That he can use me like a bargaining chip? Like I’m some pawn he can slide across a board and trade for power?"

"He thinks my loyalty and love for Con are greater than my loyalty to you," Finn said.

Keira crossed her arms. "The two aren't mutually exclusive."

"No," Finn growled. "We end this. But not by putting you in his crosshairs."

"I’m already in them, Finn. You just said it. You think staying in this house is going to protect me?"

"No. I think I am."

Their eyes locked.

Finn took her hand, guiding it to the center of his chest, where his heart beat steady and fierce beneath her palm. "This is yours to protect as much as mine to give," he said, voice low and lethal. "And I swear, nothing will take you from me."

His beast threatened to surge forward again—it was ready, watching, waiting. The primal drumbeat of protection hammered in his blood, demanding action, the air around him vibrating with the same electricity he felt threading through his chest. Something was coming. And it wasn’t going to wait.

He could feel the pulse of the pack around them—an invisible tether alive with energy, vibrating just beneath the surface.

Old loyalties twisted with new uncertainties.

Rising threats sharpened the air like a blade drawn slow.

The tremor of fate wasn’t distant anymore.

It beat like a second heart inside his chest, urgent and undeniable.

Finn crossed back to her, brushing hair from her face. Her eyes flashed—not with fear, but with fight. With the wild clarity of someone who’d seen her own blood on the wind and decided it didn’t mean she had to bleed again.

She was still his to protect—but not to cage.

His thoughts raced as they moved toward the study. Donal was already patching lines, Ewen coordinating scout rotations. The entire estate had gone from guarded calm to military readiness. Every hall was alert. Every man keyed up.

The attack on the O’Neill compound had failed. Cathal's play had been bold, but it had cost him more than he knew. He’d exposed his desperation. And worse, his plan.

Finn would teach her to stand. He would teach her to strike. And when the next move came, they’d make it together. Outside, the wind howled. But inside, the fire burned hotter.

Keira was no longer a bystander. She was the match—and Cathal had no idea how close he was to burning.