Page 11 of Panther in the Shadows
This hair belongs to someone else. Someone whose power has been twisted, fed on darkness until it became monstrous.
A second trail catches my attention. Fainter, coming from deeper in the cave. I follow it, paws quiet on wet stone, predator senses fully engaged. This trail I know. Have been memorizing it since I first identified what made Moira Flynn different from every other human on this island.
Her scent leads to a small alcove where tide pools form during high water. It's stronger here, concentrated. Salt-magic, but clean. Moira's signature, unmistakable now. She was here. Not during the killing—the timing's all wrong, her presence is hours old, probably from late afternoon before the sun set—but she came here. Was drawn here.
I examine the alcove carefully, trying to understand why she'd come. Her trail is strongest near the back wall, where symbols have been carved into stone. Old ones. Weathered by centuries of tide. Sea witch markings. Territory markers. Claims written in a language older than human speech.
She came here because this place is hers. Part of her responsibility. When bodies started appearing in her waters, drained by corrupted magic that mimics her own, she came to investigate. To understand what was violating her domain.
Fear in her scent. Anger, definitely. But also determination. The sea witch isn't hiding from this threat. She's hunting it.
I shift back to human, the transformation burning through me like fever. Naked, cold, standing in a cave that reeks of death and magic, I stare at the spot where Moira stood and try to understand what game is being played.
Someone killed these people using magic that mimics hers but isn't hers. Someone capable enough to drain blood without leaving evidence of how, where or why it has been taken. Someone who wants attention drawn to the sea-magic users on this island.
And Moira came here. Investigated. Tried to understand what was happening on her territory.
The sea witch doesn't know I understand the full implications of what she is. Thinks I just noticed she has power, but I've been watching since I arrived in Stormhaven, learning the limits and depths of her gifts. Took me three years to confirm what she was—another two to understand how formidable. But I've seen her calm storms with a touch. Watched her call fish from deep water when the nets came up empty. Observed the way the ocean itself seems to respond to her moods.
She's not just a sea witch. She's dangerous in ways most wouldn't understand. Power that could call to the drowned, pullthem back from the deep. Power worth killing to possess or eliminate.
I return to where Declan and Kian wait, stopping to retrieve the clothing I left before I shifted. The brotherhood keeps stashes at convenient locations, knowing shifters don't always plan their transformations around preserving modesty.
"Well?" Declan asks once I'm dressed.
"Magic kill," I say flatly, pulling on the clothes. "Blood magic, specifically. Someone with sea witch power but twisted. Corrupted." I meet his eyes. "And Moira Flynn was here. Hours ago. She's investigating."
"You think she's involved?"
"No." The answer is immediate, instinctive. "I think she knows something is happening. Or she's being targeted. Maybe both."
Kian crosses his arms, muscles still quivering from holding human form after hours in his tiger skin. "The question is whether she's a threat or an asset."
"Both." The truth. Moira Flynn is formidable, secretive, and now connected to murders that are destroying my reputation and threatening everything I've built. She's a threat to my control and an asset I can't afford to lose.
"I'm bringing her in," I decide. "Tomorrow night. She'll help me whether she wants to or not."
Declan's expression hardens. "She's under my protection. Part of the bargain her grandmother made with my father."
"And I'm not going to hurt her." I let my eyes flash gold, a reminder that I'm not pack and don't answer to alpha authority. "But she knows what's happening, and I need that information before another body turns up with my name attached to it."
The alpha wolf holds my gaze for a long moment, storm-grey eyes measuring me. He nods once. "Don't make me regret trusting you, Vega."
"Trust?" I smile without humor. "You don't trust me, MacRae. You tolerate me because I'm useful. That's fine. I tolerate you for the same reason."
I leave them there, slip back into the night, and make my way through Stormhaven's still darkened streets. I have work to do. Research to conduct. Plans to refine. A sea witch to convince that cooperation serves her interests better than resistance.
Two years in Europe's underworld taught me one lesson above all others: identify what people want, then make them believe you can provide it.
Moira Flynn wants to protect her island. Wants to keep her power hidden from those who'd fear it. Wants to understand what's threatening her territory.
I can give her all of that. But first, she needs to understand that I'm not her enemy. I'm the predator she needs on her side when worse things come hunting.
My warehouse office overlooks the harbor, windows positioned to catch the first light of dawn. I stand there now, watching waves break against the docks, thinking about a sea witch who smells like salt and storm and possibility.
Someone is using corrupted sea-magic to kill in Stormhaven. Someone who wants attention focused on Moira or me or both of us. Someone who left blood on her doorstep as a message and bodies in my territory as evidence.
The game is more complex than simple framing. This is about power. Territory. Old grudges or new ambitions.
