Page 2 of Panther in the Shadows
I remember none of that clearly... just vague images that beckon and terrify me.
What I remember is the feeling of drowning on dry land. Sinking deeper and deeper into cold water that has no bottom. Fighting to surface but the weight keeps pulling me down.
And through it all, voices.
The ocean's voice, ancient and patient and utterly inhuman. It wants me to understand, wants me to accept what I've become. Wants me to stop fighting and just listen.
The voices of every sea witch who came before, their power flowing through the pendant now burning against my chest. Gran's voice strongest among them, guiding me through the worst of it.
And my own voice, small and terrified, begging to be let go.
But there's no letting go. Only surrender.
On the fourth day, I open my eyes.
The room comes into focus slowly. My bedroom, familiar and strange at once. Dawn light filters through rain-streaked windows. Someone has left water and bread beside the bed. The pendant lies heavy against my sternum, no longer burning but warm, alive in ways it never seemed to be when Gran wore it.
I sit up carefully, testing my body. Everything aches like I've been beaten, but I'm whole. More than whole.
I can feel the tide turning three miles out. Can sense the storm moving in from the west. Can count every drop of water in the pitcher on my nightstand without looking at it.
The power sits in my chest like a second heartbeat, vast and terrible and mine.
A knock at the door makes me flinch.
"Come in," I say, and even my voice sounds different. Deeper. Edged with something that tastes of salt.
The door opens to reveal a man I've seen around the island but never spoken to directly. Magnus MacRae, alpha of the wolf pack that secretly governs Stormhaven. Tall, grey-haired, storm-grey eyes that see too much. He carries himself with the quiet authority of someone who never needs to raise his voice.
"Moira." He closes the door behind him. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I drowned and came back wrong."
A slight smile. "Not wrong. Different. Your grandmother warned me this day would come."
Of course she did. Gran and Magnus MacRae had some kind of understanding, some arrangement I've never been privy to. The shifters left her alone, and she... did what, exactly?
He must read the question in my face because he moves to the window, hands clasped behind his back. "Siobhan watched the tides for me. Told me when threats came from the sea. Used her magic to help hide what we are from the humans who would fear us."
"And you want me to do the same." Not a question.
"I want to offer you protection." He turns to face me. "A sea witch of your power won't stay secret long. Others will sense you, will come looking. Some will want to use you. Others will want you dead simply for what you are."
His meaning settles over me like a shroud. "And in exchange for this protection?"
"You watch the island. You warn me of supernatural threats from the water. You use your magic to help keep Stormhaven's secrets buried." His expression remains neutral. "You continue what Siobhan began."
It isn't a request. We both know that. Without his protection, I'll be vulnerable to every supernatural faction that might take interest in a newly manifested sea witch. With it, I have a chance at survival.
"How long?" I ask.
"As long as you live here. As long as the magic lives in you." He pauses. "I won't lie to you, Moira. This is a burden. But you were born to carry it."
Born to it. Just like Gran said. Just like every Flynn woman before me, stretching back generations to when the first sea witch pledged herself to these waters.
"All right," I whisper. "I accept."
He nods once, sharp and final. "Good. I'll make sure the pack knows you're under my protection. Anyone who threatens you answers to me."
