"She's mine," Declan counters. "That's all that matters."
"Is it?" Jax says, crossing his arms. "Because last time I checked humans who learn about us tend to cause problems. Big ones."
“Are you calling me a problem, Jax?” asks Callum, who seems to find something amusing in all of this.
"I'm not going to expose you," I say, finding my voice. "I'm a journalist, yes. But I'm also not an idiot. Publishing this story would either destroy my career or get me killed. Neither appeals to me."
Jax’s eyebrow lifts. "Smart. But being smart doesn't mean we can trust you."
"Then what would?" I meet his gaze, refusing to look away first. "What do I need to do to prove I'm not a threat?"
"Nothing,” Jax snorts. “There's nothing you can do. You're a liability by existing."
Declan growls, the sound inhuman enough to raise goosebumps on my arms. "Jax. Stand down."
"Why should I?" But Jax does step back, the submission reluctant. "We've protected this territory for generations. Kept the peace. And now you're asking us to trust some human journalist because you felt the mate pull? That's not leadership, Declan. That's hormones."
The men exchange glances, waiting to see how Declan responds.
"You're right," Declan says quietly. Dangerously. "The mate bond affects my judgment. But it doesn't change the facts. Eliza is here. She knows. And whether you like it or not, she's part of this now."
“Then let's make sure she understands what 'this' actually is." Brennan steps forward. He has an easier demeanor than Jax, buthis eyes are just as sharp. "Sit down, Eliza. Time for the crash course in supernatural politics."
We settle on the flat stones scattered throughout the circle. I pull out my notebook, pen poised. Several of them tense at the sight.
"I'm not writing for publication," I explain. "This is how I process information. If it bothers you, I'll put it away."
"Let her write." This from Eamon, a man who's been silent until now—late thirties, with kind eyes and healer's hands. "She's going to remember it regardless. At least this way she can keep it organized."
I shoot him a grateful look and start taking notes as Brennan begins.
"Three rules." Brennan leans forward. "First—nothing we tell you leaves this circle without pack agreement. Second—you don't investigate us. No digging into our histories, no outside verification. Third—if you put any of us at risk, there are consequences. Severe ones. Clear?"
"Clear." I look up from my notebook. "But I need clarification on 'severe.'"
"Exile at best," Jax says flatly. "Death at worst. We protect our own, and we don't take chances with exposure."
I swallow hard but nod. "Fair enough. What do I need to know?"
They explain it all. The mate bond—an instinctive recognition between souls, rare but absolute when it happens. Pack law—a hierarchy based on strength, loyalty, and the alpha's authority. The territories scattered throughout the region, each protected by different shifter groups. The fragile peace that keeps them all from tearing each other apart.
The threats. Old magic waking up. Tensions between packs. Humans encroaching on protected lands. And something else, something they keep dancing around but won't quite name.
"My aunt," I say, interrupting Brennan’s explanation of territorial boundaries. "What was her role in all this?"
They look at each other, silent communication passing between them. Finally, Callum leans forward, his analytical eyes studying me carefully. "Your aunt was a watcher," Callum says carefully. "Not pack, not clan, but someone who existed in the space between human and shifter worlds. She documented what she saw, yes, but she also did more than that. She protected the borders. Kept curious humans from stumbling into dangerous situations. Warned us when hunters got too close."
"She saved lives," Eamon adds softly. "More than once. Shifter and human alike."
Pride swells in my chest, mixed with grief. "She never told me."
"She couldn't," Declan says. "The knowledge would have put you at risk. She kept you separate, safe, for a reason."
"Until now." Torin speaks for the first time—ethereal somehow, with distant eyes that seem to look through me rather than at me. "Until you came here and everything changed."
His tone sends a shiver down my spine. "What do you mean, everything changed?"
Torin stands, moving to the center of the circle. The standing stones hum in response to his presence. Power lives here—old power, the kind that predates civilization.
