Page 13 of Panther in the Shadows
"Rough morning?" Already pouring, the mug sliding across the bar.
"Late night with Declan and the brotherhood." Eliza wraps both hands around the warmth. "They're investigating the disappearances. Nobody's sleeping much."
"I heard about Jamie Fraser." A lemon scone gets plated without asking. Eliza's usual. "His boat turned up empty."
"The latest one in the last two weeks." Eliza's expression is grim. She's not just concerned as a resident anymore. She's pack now, mated to the alpha, and these deaths weigh on her. "Declan's convinced it's targeted. All the victims had some kind of ties to the docks."
The information settles uneasily. Declan's mate sharing what the brotherhood knows means he wants the word spread. Wants people cautious.
"You'll be careful?" Eliza asks, those sharp journalist eyes missing nothing. "You're close to the water here."
"Always am." The lie comes easier with practice. "Doors locked, eyes open."
Eliza nods, takes a bite of scone. "This is still the best thing on the island. Your grandmother's recipe?"
"Family secret." A small smile, genuine this time. Eliza's one of the few outsiders who's earned a place here. Proved herself. Became part of Stormhaven instead of just observing it. "How are you holding up with all this?"
"Worried. Frustrated." She drains half her coffee in one go. "I should get back. Declan worries when I'm out alone too long these days."
Payment gets waved away. "On the house. Tell your mate to take care of himself too."
"I will." Eliza stands, pulls her jacket back on. "Stay safe, Moira."
"You too." The fishermen return to their theories. Tom orders another coffee. Danny Morrison finally takes a sip of his, then pushes it away and leaves without a word.
The morning slides into afternoon with comfortable routine. But underneath it all, the wrongness builds. Like storm pressure before lightning strikes. Like the ocean drawing back before a wave that will drown everything in its path.
The smugglers' caves should have been left alone. Should have let the shifters handle their own problems. But now the blood on the doorstep means this is personal. Someone knows what lives beneath the innkeeper's mask. Someone knows that sea witches can't ignore violations of their waters any more than wolves can ignore threats to their pack.
The afternoon crowd is lighter. The lull gets used to prep for dinner service. Carrots, celery, onions for the stew. Potatoes forroasting. Garlic because everything's better with garlic, as Gran used to say.
Magic stirs beneath my skin, restless as the ocean outside. It wants to reach out, to taste the currents, to find whoever left that message in blood. But it stays leashed, controlled, invisible.
Patience has kept my secrets safe for ten years. Patience and control and never, ever letting anyone see the full extent of my power.
The door opens again, and this time the shift in air pressure announces him before he speaks. The scent of storm and wolf and authority that precedes Declan MacRae everywhere he goes.
"Moira." He nods, settling onto the same stool Eliza occupied. His grey eyes scan the room automatically, cataloging exits and potential threats. Alpha instincts never rest. "We need to talk."
Coffee pours without asking. He takes it black, no sugar. "About?"
"The disappearances." Both hands wrap around the mug but he doesn't drink. "You've heard about Jamie Fraser?"
"Tom mentioned it." My hands stay busy wiping glasses that are already clean. Busy hands mean not meeting his eyes. "Terrible thing."
"It's more than terrible. It's targeted." He leans forward, voice dropping low. "All the victims had some kind of ties to the docks. All of them disappeared near water. And all of them..." He hesitates, choosing words carefully. "All of them showed signs of magic use before they vanished."
My pulse skips, but my expression stays neutral. "Magic? Declan, that's?—"
"Don't." His voice is gentle but firm. "I know you don't like talking about this, but your grandmother made a bargain with my father. Protection in exchange for honesty. That bargainextends to you, Moira. If there's a magical threat hunting on Skara, I need to know what we're dealing with."
The blood on my doorstep flashes through my memory. Three drops. A message. A warning. A claim.
"I'm not sure what you expect me to tell you." I set the glass down, my gaze meeting his. "I'm just an innkeeper, Declan. I pour drinks and bake scones. Whatever's happening out there has nothing to do with me."
"You're under my protection." Like that settles everything. "Your grandmother made that bargain for a reason. If you're in danger, if someone's threatening you, I need to know."
"No one's bothering me." The lie tastes like ash but delivers smoothly. "I promise, if anything strange happens, I'll call you."
