Page 22 of Panther in the Shadows
Silvery mist swirls around him, and in a heartbeat a man stands where the predator was. Naked. Scratched raw from the rocks. Blood still welling from the four parallel gashes across his shoulder.
"Are you hurt?" His voice comes out rough. Scraped raw.
"You followed me." Not an answer. An accusation.
His eyes flash yellow. Predator bleeding through. "Damn right I followed you." He stalks toward a boulder where clothes lie folded—he planned this, knew he'd need to shift. Pulls on jeans and a dark shirt with efficient movements, never taking hiseyes off me for long. "You think I'd let you walk into a ritual site alone? After someone left blood on your doorstep?"
He crosses to where I still kneel in three strides. Hauls me to my feet. Not gently. "That thing knows your name. Knows what you are. It's been watching you, waiting for you to use your magic so it can feed on the power."
His hands grip my shoulders hard enough to bruise. The anger radiating off him feels like heat. "You could have died. Would have died if I hadn't been here."
"I can take care of?—"
"No." The word comes out as a growl. "You can't. Not against that. Not alone." His grip tightens fractionally before he forces himself to ease up. "You're in whether you want to be or not. No more hiding. No more pretending you can stay out of this."
"She said—" The words stick. Won't come out. That my dead sister is being used as a weapon. That someone pulled her from the deep and twisted her into something I have to fight.
His hands move to my shoulders. Steady me. Ground me. "That thing, whoever's controlling it—they want you isolated. Terrified. Thinking you're helpless." His grip tightens. "But you're not. We stop whoever's doing this, we stop the ritual."
"How?"
"Together." His gaze locks on mine. Won't let me look away. "We find whoever is performing this ritual and we end them before the next body drops."
"And if I can't? If my magic really does feed that thing?"
His jaw sets. "Then we find another way. But you don't face this alone. Not anymore. Understand?"
The command in his voice—I should argue. Should bristle. Instead, the exhaustion and terror and the memory of those frozen fingers around my wrist make me nod. He's right. It's already hunting me. Already using my existence to strengthen its summoning. Hiding won't save me.
"What now?" My voice steadies slightly
"Now I get you somewhere safe." He releases my shoulders but doesn't step back. "You're staying with me until we figure this out. Your inn has wards, but they didn't stop that thing from leaving blood on your doorstep. My warehouse has protections that will."
"I can't just?—"
"You can and you will." The growl returns, deeper this time. "That thing knows where you live. Knows your name. Knows how to get to you. I'm not leaving you alone to be its next target." His eyes flash yellow. "Grab what you need, lock up, and leave a note that the inn is temporarily closed until further notice. You're staying with me for the time being"
Every shadow on the walk back makes me flinch. Each wave crashes too loud, too deliberate, like something testing the rhythm. Looking for patterns. Rafe stays within arm's reach, moving with that predator's efficiency. The grace that marked him dangerous long before I saw him shift.
Halfway back, my legs quit.
No warning. Just knees hitting dirt, palms catching myself on a boulder. The tremors start in my hands. Spread up my arms, into my chest, until my whole body shakes. The blistered skin on my wrist throbs. Ice crystals still cling to the wound despite the air swirling around us.
"Let me see." Rafe crouches beside me. Takes my arm with a gentleness that doesn't match the violence I just watched him capable of. He examines the damage. His jaw goes tight. "Frostbite from something that shouldn't exist. It'll heal, but slowly. Sea witch constitution should handle it."
"It was my sister." The words pour out. Can't stop them. "My sister who drowned years ago when she was eight. Another sea witch raised her. Pulled her from the deep and bound her to twisted magic. She knew me, Rafe. She remembered that day."
His fingers tighten fractionally on my arm. "Someone's using your dead to hurt you. That's personal. That's targeted."
"She said someone's been feeding on her fear and rage for years. Keeping her bound to the deep until now." My voice cracks. Breaks. "She's been down there all this time. Aware. Suffering. And I never knew."
The ocean surges below the path. Louder than it should be. The tide rises against the rocks. Spray reaches heights that defy physics—responding to the grief churning beneath my skin, wanting out, wanting to rage at whoever did this.
"Control it." Rafe's voice cuts through the roar. "Grief is powerful, but you can't let it control your magic. That's what they want. To provoke you into losing control so they can feed on the power."
Breathing. Focus on breathing. On closing the channels Gran taught me to open. On pushing the magic back down where it belongs, where it can't feed anyone. The ocean calms by degrees. Returns to its natural rhythm. But the effort scrapes me hollow. Leaves nothing inside except exhaustion and the ache of old guilt reopened.
At the inn's back door, he doesn't leave. Instead, he follows me inside. The wards hum their recognition of him—he's been here before, enough times that Gran's protections accept his presence.
