Page 60 of Panther in the Shadows
"Where would she perform the ritual?" I'm already thinking through locations. "Somewhere with power. Somewhere connected to water and death."
"The deepest point in Stormhaven Sound." Moira's eyes widen as the realization hits. "Where the ocean meets thedarkness. Where her power would be strongest. And yours weakest."
The admission stings, but it's true. We'd be fighting Catalina on her territory.
"Then we bring help." Moira straightens, and I see the sea witch rising to the surface. Power ripples through her, salts the air with ozone and brine.
"How long do you think we have?" I watch her face for signs of the calculation happening behind her eyes.
"Twenty-four hours. Maybe less." She's thinking it through, calculating. "She'll want the tide at its lowest, when the Sound is most exposed, when she's forced to work the ritual in the open. That gives us time to prepare." She's already moving, already planning, her mind working through strategy. "We'll need the brotherhood. Declan's storm magic. Finn's fire. Grayson's strength. We can't face her alone."
The thought of having had to ask for help grates against everything I've built. My empire runs on independence, on never owing anyone anything, on handling my problems with my own claws. But she's right. Catalina isn't just powerful. She's had years to plan this. Years to gather strength in the dark. We need every advantage we can get.
"I’ll talk to Declan." The words taste like surrender, but I force them out. "He'll be at Wolfstone Abbey. I’ll catch up with him before dawn."
"I'll prepare magical defenses." Moira's already cataloging resources in her head, I can see it in her eyes. "Salt barriers. Warding circles. Gran's grimoire has protections against death magic. If I can adapt them..."
"Moira." I catch her hand, pull her to a stop. She looks at me with those incredible eyes, and I see the fear beneath the steel. Fear for her people. Fear for Old Tom. Fear for what Catalinamight do if we fail. "Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone. Please."
"I'm not the one who rushes into danger without backup." But there's affection in her voice, warmth beneath the teasing.
"I'm serious." I cup her face, force her to see how serious I am. "You're not getting away from me that easily. Promise me you'll wait. Promise me you won't try to face her alone."
"I promise." She covers my hands with hers. "But Rafe? The same goes for you. Don't play hero. Don't try to handle Catalina by yourself out of some misguided sense of responsibility. This isn't just your fight anymore."
She's right. I know she's right. But the weight still sits heavy in my chest, the certainty that all of this started because I didn't finish what I started in Spain.
"This isn't just your fight anymore," Moira repeats, reading the guilt on my face. "She's using my sister. Targeting my island. So stop trying to shoulder all of it."
I kiss her again, claiming and desperate. She makes a small sound against my mouth, her body molding to mine, and for a heartbeat I consider forgetting Declan, forgetting the brotherhood, forgetting everything except the feel of her in my arms.
But Old Tom is going to die soon if we don't stop Catalina. And Moira deserves better than a man who lets innocents die because he can't control his desire.
I break the kiss, rest my forehead against hers. "I'll be back before dawn. Have the defenses ready."
"Be careful." She touches my face one more time, her fingers lingering like she's memorizing the shape of me. "I mean it, Rafe. Be careful."
I slip out into the darkness, letting the shadows claim me, letting my panther rise enough to enhance my senses. The docks are quiet, the night air thick with salt and coming storm.
The walk to Wolfstone Abbey takes an hour through territory I know like my own skin. Every shadow. Every shortcut. Every hidden path that will get me there unseen. Declan and I formed the brotherhood to protect this island from threats. Tonight, I'm asking him to help me face the biggest one yet.
This is survival.
The house sits alone on the promontory, dark except for a single light in the ground floor study. I smell wolf before I see him. Declan's standing on the porch, arms crossed, looking out at the ocean like he's been expecting me.
"Rafe." His voice is neutral, carefully so.
I climb the steps, let him see my face in the porch light. Let him see the fear I'm not bothering to hide. "The necromancer. I know who she is."
His expression sharpens. "Tell me."
So I do. All of it. Catalina. My betrothed who destroyed me. The sea-walker she became. How Moira's vision confirmed what I suspected. The personal revenge driving this attack. I lay it all out, every ugly detail, every piece of my past I've been hiding for five years.
When I finish, Declan's face is grim. "A sea-walker with a personal grudge. That's worse than we thought."
"I thought she was dead." The defense is weak and I know it. "I thought I left it all behind in Spain."
"Your past just raised a dead girl and turned her into a weapon." There's no accusation in his voice, just statement of fact. "And as yet no one has found Old Tom."
