Page 7 of Panther in the Shadows
Someone who's turned sea witch magic into something dark and deadly, and brought it to my island.
The violation makes my magic thrash beneath my skin. This is sacred ground. Protected ground. Mine to watch over, mine to defend.
And Rafael Vega just became dangerous in an entirely new way.
"I don't help criminals," I whisper.
His eyes flash gold, just for a moment. "Careful, sea witch. You don't know what I am or what I've done. Don't pretend you're just an innkeeper when half the island saw you heal a bullet wound two weeks ago."
The words hit like a slap, but he's not wrong. I have been lying. Every day. Every interaction. Every smile and every casual conversation built on a foundation of deception.
"You will help me," he continues, his grip tightening on my chin. Not painful but inescapable. "Because whoever's hunting on my island just made their first mistake. They involved you."
The possessive phrasing should anger me. My island. Like he owns Stormhaven and everything in it. Like I'm just another piece of territory to protect or control.
But there's something else in his voice beneath the dominance. Something that sounds almost like concern wrapped in hunter's clothing. Like he actually cares about what happens to me beyond my utility in solving his problem.
That possibility terrifies me more than threats ever could.
"Why me?" I ask.
Those dark eyes hold mine, searching for something I'm not sure I want him to find. "Because you smell like the ocean. Like salt and deep water and something older. And whoever left that blood recognized it too."
The fear spikes through me, and my magic flares before I can stop it. The ocean roars louder below the cliffs. The rain that's been threatening finally breaks, sudden and violent, lashing against the cobblestones with unnatural fury.
I see the exact moment he feels it. The exact moment awareness clicks into place and he understands the connection between my emotions and the water that surrounds us.
His expression changes. Not fear. Not disgust. Not even surprise, really.
Hunger.
Heat floods through me despite every reason to stay cold. He's not threatened by what I am. He's intrigued. Fascinated. Looking at me the way predators look at things they want to understand before they devour.
Either possibility terrifies me.
"Lock your door, sea witch." His lips brush my temple, there and gone before I can react. The casual intimacy of the gesture steals my breath. "And next time you find blood on your doorstep, don't clean it up."
"Why not?"
"Because blood tells stories." His smile is all teeth and dark promise. "And I'm very good at reading them."
Then he's gone.
One moment he's close enough to touch, the next he's melted back into shadows like he was never there at all. The darkness swallows him completely, no footsteps, no rustle of fabric, no evidence he existed beyond the warmth lingering on my chin and my racing heartbeat.
Shadow-walker indeed.
I stand there in the rain, magic churning beneath my skin like a riptide trying to drag me under. The blood on my doorstep runs in rivulets now, mixing with rainwater, the triangle dissolving but the message remaining clear.
A sea witch is here. On my island.
The disappearances. The bodies. The blood magic.
Everyone blames the panther who runs the docks.
But Rafe didn't leave that blood on my doorstep. Someone else did. Someone who shares my gift and has brought it to my island for purposes that reek of death and dark water.
The Flynns have protected these waters for generations. And now someone thinks they can just walk in and use them for rituals written in blood.
