"You were shot."
"I was grazed. There's a difference." She reaches out with her good hand, her fingers gentle on my jaw. "You saved me. All of you did. No one died except the men who came here to kill."
"This time." My voice is harsh. "Santos knows about us now. He knows what we are, where we live. He'll keep sending people."
"Then we end him first." Her voice is steady, certain. "We find out where he is, we use Connor's resources, we make him regret ever hearing the name Stormhaven."
I want to argue. Want to put her on a plane back to London where she'll be safe. But the stubborn set of her jaw, the determination in her eyes through the bond—she's chosen this. Chosen me. Chosen this life.
"We need to increase patrols," Jax says. "Double the watch on the ferry dock and the airstrip. If more mercenaries are coming, we need to know before they reach the village."
I nod. "Tessa, coordinate with Finn's network. I want to know every person who sets foot on this island. Rafe, contact Connor. He has intelligence assets—use them. Find meeverything on Carlos Santos. Where he operates, who he works with, what he values most."
Rafe's already pulling out his phone, his fingers flying across the screen.
"And the rest of the Brotherhood?" Finn asks quietly. "Do we bring them in?"
I look around the destroyed inn, at the evidence being scrubbed away, at Moira binding Eliza's wound with mundane bandages over healed flesh, at my pack working together to erase our nature from human eyes.
"Not yet. We keep this contained. The six of us, Tessa, Moira. No one else needs to know the cartel has targeted us specifically."
"Seven," Eliza corrects. "The seven of us. I'm pack now, remember? You don't get to protect me by excluding me."
She's right, and I hate it. Hate that she's in danger. But she earned her place in the pack. She survived the hunt. She has a right to stand with us.
"Seven," I agree.
Moira finishes bandaging Eliza's arm and steps back. "She'll need rest. Real rest, not the 'I'm fine' rest she'll try to convince you she needs. That wound won't infect thanks to the salt-magic, but it still needs time to heal properly."
"I'll make sure she rests."
"Good." Moira's expression softens slightly. "You did well tonight, Declan. Your father would be proud. You protected the innocent, minimized exposure, and kept your head despite the bond screaming for revenge. That's good alpha work."
The praise shouldn't matter. I'm nearly thirty years old, I've been alpha for six years. But hearing it from Moira—who's kept Stormhaven's secrets, who understood what my father asked of her—eases something tight in my chest.
"We got lucky. If you hadn't been here...”
"But I was here. That's preparation, not luck." She glances around the inn, at the damage we're still cleaning up. "Though we may not be this lucky next time. Carlos Santos won't make the same mistakes twice. He'll send more people, better equipped, with better intelligence."
"Let him try." Jax's voice is cold, promising violence.
I wish I felt that confident. Standing in the destroyed inn, with Eliza's injury still fresh and the knowledge that we've only seen the beginning of Santos's revenge, all I feel is grim certainty.
This is war now.
I pull Eliza close, careful of her arm, and breathe in her scent—salt and citrus and home. Through the bond, I feel her exhaustion, her pain, but also her determination. She's not backing down. She's with me, with us, until the end.
"Come on," I murmur against her hair. "Let's get you home. We have planning to do, and you need rest."
"I'm fine...”
"You were shot. You're not fine. You're also not arguing." I soften the command with a kiss to her temple. "Please, Eliza. Let me take care of you. Just tonight. Tomorrow we plan. Tonight, let me know you're safe."
She leans into me, and I feel her surrender through the bond.
"Okay," she whispers. "Tonight."
I lift her carefully, mindful of her injuries, and carry her toward the door. Behind us, my pack continues their work—erasing evidence, securing the scene, making sure no trace of the supernatural remains.
