Page 25

KEIRA

K eira stood at the edge of the bluff, the wind off the Atlantic fierce and wild, tangling her hair and stinging her eyes.

The sea stretched endless and sharp beneath the gray sky, a living thing with moods and secrets, and it mirrored everything she felt.

All the weight. The ache. The breathless tension still tightening in her chest.

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 now rooted 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 the churning 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?—

She was the panther. Low to the ground. Eyes burning. Every nerve alive and sparking with wild power.

She blinked, and there he was. Finn, waiting. Still. Watching. Dominant.

He dipped his head once. Permission.

She growled low in her throat. Submission—but not surrender.

Then they ran—silent and swift, muscle and instinct moving as one.

Two predators unleashed, hunger and vengeance boiling beneath their skins.

Blood stained their memories, not their muzzles, but their intent was lethal.

They streaked across the rocks and mist, black shapes against silver night, each breath syncing, each stride feeding the other.

They didn’t need to speak. They didn’t need to look back.

They were the storm now—and they were hunting.

The confrontation with Cathal detonated like a fault line buckling beneath their feet—sudden, violent, and final. The air shattered around them, tension ripping through the space like a thunderclap, every muscle primed, every instinct honed to a blade's edge.

He hadn’t seen it coming—none of them had. Not the guards at the perimeter. Not the lookouts on the ridge. And definitely not Cathal himself, tucked deep inside his compound like a rot hiding deep inside the stone.

They struck just before dawn. Fast. Precise. Lethal.

Keira moved with Finn, glued to his side like a shadow tethered to a storm.

Her beast pressed against the inside of her skin, restless, teeth bared in silence.

She didn’t shift—yet—but every breath she took came laced with the wild.

Her heartbeat matched his, synced to the rhythm of a hunt with no room for hesitation.

They were a force—cold, coordinated, and utterly merciless.

Finn’s crew moved like wraiths through the compound, each motion honed to lethal perfection.

Blades flashed in silence, guns coughed their deadly whispers, and blood spilled cleanly, without fanfare.

No shouting. No chaos. Just the brutal, rhythmic cadence of trained predators dismantling an empire one heartbeat at a time.

Keira watched one of Cathal’s lieutenants stumble into the open, blood pouring from his mouth, eyes bulging in terror.

His voice caught in a strangled gurgle as he raised a hand in a futile plea for help.

Before the sound could escape, a blade flashed—fast, clean, silent—and sliced through the space between them.

It lodged deep in the man's chest. He buckled, the life draining from his eyes before his knees hit the ground.

The thud of his body hitting the dirt was the only sound that followed.

Finn didn’t pause.

He moved with an inevitable kind of determination, a silent reckoning forged in blood and control, carving through the compound with lethal calm.

With each step, the walls seemed to contract, the shadows recoiling from his path.

And when they reached the inner chamber—where Cathal stood, spine pressed to cold steel, wrapped in shadow and false bravado—the very air thickened, weighted with the gravity of the moment, as if the world itself braced for the violence to come.

Cathal reached for a weapon, his hand jerking toward the holster at his side.

Finn didn’t hesitate. With a single stride forward, he closed the distance and kicked the pistol hard, sending it skittering across the stone floor with a metallic clatter.

The weapon bounced into the shadows, useless.

Finn kept moving, predator-smooth, each step a warning that the final reckoning had arrived.

Keira felt it like a ripple in her blood. Not of body, but of command. Finn was no longer just the hunter, he had become the executioner.

“No clever lines today?” Cathal spat blood onto the floor, grinning through the break in his lip. “Thought you liked the sound of your own?—”

Finn moved, swift as a lash. One brutal step forward and his open palm cracked across Cathal's face with bone-breaking force.

The blow sent the man sprawling backward, slamming into the stone wall hard enough to rattle the shelves.

He slid down in a heap, a strangled gasp escaping as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

Keira didn’t move. She didn’t have to. Finn's voice cut through the tension like a blade wrapped in velvet—low, deadly calm, but sharp enough to bleed the silence.

“You don’t touch her. You don’t breathe near her. You don’t think about her. Ever again.” He crouched to Cathal’s eye level. “Or I’ll take your throat and feed it to the tide.”

Silence. The silence after Finn’s promise didn’t last. Cathal, cornered and bloodied, still had pride left in him—and pride made fools of men on the edge of death. He lunged. Desperate, reckless, teeth bared like an animal too stupid to die quietly.

Keira moved to intercept, but Finn was faster.

Finn's hand locked around Cathal’s throat with lethal precision and slammed him back into the wall hard enough to send cracks spiderwebbing across the wall.

The impact echoed like a rifle shot, shaking the dust from the rafters.

Cathal gagged, his fingers clawing helplessly at Finn’s iron grip, feet kicking off the floor as he struggled for air.

His face darkened, veins bulging, the frantic rasp of breath barely audible over the pounding blood in Keira’s ears.

The power radiating from Finn was volcanic—controlled, but only just. The room stank of sweat, terror, and the copper bite of blood already spilled.

“You had your warning,” Finn said, voice low and razor-sharp. “You didn't heed it; so now, you die.”

“Finn…” Keira started, but the word barely left her mouth before Finn shifted.

Fully. All the way. His jaw widened. His teeth lengthened. His voice dropped to something other.

Keira froze, blood turning electric. She’d seen him shift before. Fought beside him. But this—this was different. This was personal.

Finn’s claws punched through Cathal's skin like obsidian daggers. He didn’t hesitate.

He drove them straight into Cathal’s gut—up and under.

A wet, sucking noise filled the room. Cathal’s body seized, eyes blown wide with the realization that this was real, that there was no bargaining, no crawling away from this moment.

The maelstrom of color, thunder, lightning and violence swirled up around Finn as he became man once more. “You thought you could threaten her and walk away?” Finn’s voice dropped lower. “You think this is a story where you crawl off into the dark and come back for revenge?”

Cathal gurgled. Blood foamed at his lips. His fingers twitched uselessly against Finn’s arm.

“No,” Finn whispered. “This is where it ends.”

With flesh torn and bones broken, Cathal’s body dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, blood soaking the floor beneath him in a widening pool.

For a second, the world stopped.

Keira stared. Not out of shock—but because something deep inside her—the beast, the woman, both—approved. It was justice, raw and red. Not clean. Not fair. But true.

Finn stood over the body, breath steady.

Keira walked to him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin.

He looked at her, not asking for forgiveness. Not needing it.

She nodded once, then they shifted and together they turned and left the ruin behind them.

Days passed. The threat was over, but the world hadn’t gone still. It had only changed into something new.

Keira stood at the edge of the estate's southern bluff again, now wearing one of Finn's shirts, the collar still faintly scented with his skin and smoke.

Behind her, the house was quieter. The guards were still there, but the tension had less teeth.

Finn found her there. He came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist.

"You still dreaming about flying?"

She leaned back into his chest. "No."

He paused. "No?"

She smiled. "I already have everything I need to run."

Finn’s chuckle was low, rough. "Then let's run."

She turned in his arms. "Now?"

He nodded. "Now."

They didn’t undress. Didn’t wait.

The mist came like breath. Familiar. Warm. Laced with the wild.

She shifted first this time. The mist wrapped around her, silk-soft and alive, threading through her limbs as her breath caught.

Then came the rush—weightlessness, heat, a deep pull from within.

Her body rippled with memory, not pain, as instinct overtook thought.

When it cleared, her panther stood sleek and black, the moonlight catching the gleam of her gold eyes.

A whisper of power lingered in her paws, and she exhaled a silent growl that tasted like freedom.

Finn followed.

And together, they ran into the dark—two shadows, two predators, two souls finally unbroken.

Together.