Page 61 of Panther in the Shadows
"I know." Guilt sits heavy in my chest. "We're running out of time."
Declan studies me for a long moment. Weighing. Calculating. Finally, he nods.
"I'll call the others. We'll meet at the warehouse. You’ll need to brief everyone on the death magic, on what we're facing."He pauses. "And Rafe? When this is over? We're having a long conversation about what you kept hidden."
"Fair enough." I can live with that. As long as I'm alive to have the conversation.
I leave him there, slip back into the shadows, let the night claim me again. The walk back to the warehouse takes less time than it should, my panther driving me faster, pushing me toward Moira with an urgency I can't ignore.
She's waiting when I arrive, surrounded by books and candles and bowls of salt water that glow with contained power. She looks up when I enter, relief flooding her face.
"You're back."
"I'm back." I cross to her, pull her into my arms, bury my face in her hair. She smells like sea-spray and magic and home. "Declan's gathering the brotherhood. We need to make our stand soon."
She relaxes against me, her hands gripping my shirt.
I hold her tighter, this woman who saw past my shadows to the man beneath. This woman who forgives me for bringing death to her doorstep. This woman who makes me want to be better than the exile I've been pretending to be. "I'm not losing you, Moira Flynn. Not to Catalina. Not to anything."
"Then we better make sure we both survive." She pulls back, looks up at me with those eyes that hold storms and secrets and something that might be love. "Because I just found you too, Rafael Antonio Vega. And I'm not ready to let you go."
We have hours at most to prepare for a woman who's had years to plot her revenge.
Moira works with focused intensity, marking pages in the grimoire, arranging salt and candles in patterns I don't understand but trust completely. Her magic hums in the air around us, defensive and deadly.
If Catalina wants revenge, she'll have to go through both of us.
CHAPTER 15
MOIRA
Rafe kisses me one more time before he goes to the meeting, his hand lingering on my face. "I'll be back soon as I can. The wards?—"
"I'll handle them." I cover his hand with mine. "Go. Get the brotherhood ready."
He hesitates, torn between the meeting with Declan and leaving me here. Protection wars with tactics across his features.
"I'm just doing magical prep work," I remind him. "Salt circles and protection spells. Nothing dangerous."
"Everything feels dangerous right now." But he steps back, lets his hand fall. "Be careful. Stay alert. And if anything feels wrong?—"
"I'll run right upstairs and interrupt your meeting." I push him gently toward the door. "Now go before Declan sends a search party."
He leaves reluctantly, glancing back twice before the shadows swallow him.
The door closes, and the silence in his quarters presses against my skin like deep water.
No time for fear. No time to second-guess. Old Tom is suffering somewhere in Catalina's grip, and every moment counts.
Gran's grimoire lies open on the table, the old leather warm under my fingertips. The protection wards I need are here, written in her precise hand. Salt circles. Water bindings. Barriers that can hold back death magic if the witch casting them is strong enough.
The question is whether I'm strong enough.
Doubt tries to surface, but I push it down. Shove it deep. Rafe needs me focused, not spiraling. This island needs me to be what Gran trained me to be, not the girl who's been hiding for a decade.
Salt water from the harbor sits in ceramic bowls arranged around the room. The magic in it hums against my senses, waiting. Catalina's taint runs through Stormhaven's currents now, a dark thread woven into water that should be clean. The wrongness makes my teeth ache.
Time to push back. Time to free the real Moira.
