"The mate bond." My hands shake. "It didn't just connect us emotionally. It connected us magically. His blood became my blood. His storm became my storm." I look up at Jax, seeing my fear reflected back at me. "I have storm blood now. Through the transformation. Through the mate bond."
"Then you're not just Declan's mate," Jax says, his voice flat. "You're also a bloodline target."
"I need to see the harbor footage again," I say, pulling up the security files. "The killer has to be getting supplies, materials for rituals. Stormhaven is isolated—everything comes through the harbor or the airstrip."
I start with footage from six months ago, fast-forwarding through hours of boats arriving and departing, tourists disembarking, supplies being unloaded. Nothing unusual. I move to three months ago. Still nothing that stands out.
Then I reach last month, the week before the third murder, and something catches my eye.
A figure on the dock. The body language is different—not furtive, but confident. Almost casual. I pause the video, zoom in.
The hood is down. The face is clear.
I don't recognize him immediately, but something about him seems familiar. Tall, dark-haired, moving with the easy grace of a shifter. He's meeting someone in the shadows between two storage buildings. The other person stays out of frame, but I can see him accepting something—a package, maybe a book based on the size and shape. He tucks it inside his jacket and walks away.
"Jax." I replay the footage. "Do you know who this is?"
He leans over, watches. His expression goes carefully blank.
"That's Connor," he says quietly. "Connor Eastmoor."
The world narrows to a hard truth. "The Brotherhood Connor? One of Declan's allies?"
"The same." Jax's voice is tight. "He has connections across the supernatural community. Resources. He's helped the pack more times than I can count."
It could be innocent. Could be anything.
Something about the exchange makes my investigative instincts scream.
I check the timestamp: 7:47 PM. Then I cross-reference it with the dates of the murders. The timing matches—within two days of one of the deaths.
"Jax," I say, my voice tight. "Look at this."
He watches the footage. Watches the man on the dock. His expression doesn't change, but I feel tension radiating from him.
"That doesn't prove anything," he says carefully.
"No. But this might." I search through more footage, faster now, knowing what I'm looking for. There—at the harbor multiple times over the past six months. And there at the tidal pools near Selkie's Cove the week Emma MacLeod died. His vehicle spotted on the coastal road at odd hours.
He's tall. Male. Moves like someone who's been around shifters his entire life.
Because he is one.
"It's Connor," I whisper.
Jax goes very still beside me. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure enough to bring this to Declan." I stand, my legs shaky. "We need to...”
"Need to what?" Declan's voice cuts through our conversation. He's sitting up on the couch now, eyes alertdespite just waking. The mate bond must have stirred him when my emotions spiked.
I turn the laptop toward him. "Connor. It's Connor."
Declan doesn't speak. He just watches the footage, his expression going from confusion to disbelief to something cold and lethal.
"He was at every location," I continue, showing him the timeline. "Every murder, every ritual site. He's been hiding in plain sight because who would suspect Brotherhood? Who would suspect one of your allies?"
"Show me everything."
