"Relationships. Normal lives. Futures that don't involve duty above everything else, where the waters and what sleeps beneaththem always come first." I tighten my arms around her, suddenly unwilling to let her go despite knowing I should. "My father found that with my mother. She understood what it meant to be mated to the guardian, that this tower and these waters would always demand his attention, that duty would pull him from their bed in the middle of the night. She chose that life willingly. But finding someone who truly understands what it means, who wants not just me but the responsibility that comes with me, who won't resent the duty that has to come first—that's rare. I never expected to find it."
She's quiet for so long I think maybe she's fallen asleep. Then her voice cuts through the darkness, soft but absolutely certain.
"I understand perfectly."
I look down at her, trying to read her expression in the dim light filtering through the chamber's narrow windows. "Do you?"
"I've spent my whole life alone with the ocean." Her fingers resume their tracing, following the lines of old injuries like she's reading stories written on my skin. "Never knowing why I felt more at home in the water than on land. Never understanding why every time I got close to someone, I had to pull away before they could see the parts of me that didn't make sense. Now I know why. I was always meant to be here, in these waters, learning what I am and what that heritage demands."
The words settle into my chest with the weight of prophecy. She understands in ways no one else ever could. She knows what it means to sacrifice everything for duty, to stand guard over something precious even when that guardianship costs you every normal thing you might have wanted.
She's not running from what I am or what I do. She's walking toward it with eyes open and heart willing.
That realization is more terrifying than any threat I've ever faced in battle.
"What are you thinking?" Her question pulls me back from spiraling thoughts.
"That you're either the bravest person I've ever met, or the most insane." I press a kiss to her forehead, gentleness creeping back now that the initial frenzy has passed. "Choosing this life. Choosing me."
"I'm not choosing insanity." Her voice carries amusement mixed with something deeper. "I'm choosing truth. Finally understanding who I am and why I never fit anywhere else. You're part of that truth, Grayson. Your duty. Your waters. Your tower overlooking the sea. It all makes sense in ways nothing else ever has."
Her hand stills on my chest, fingers splaying wide. "We didn't use protection."
The statement hangs between us, neither question nor accusation. Just fact.
"No, we didn't." I cover her hand with mine. "Shifters can't get humans pregnant or vice versa unless there's a claim involved…”
“But my grandmother got pregnant with my mother.”
I nod. “The selkies have always been an exception. It has something to do with the shedding of their sealskin. But other than selkies, unless the human accepts the bond and starts the transformation. Until you accept my bear's claim fully, until your body begins adapting to match mine, there's no risk of pregnancy. And we can't transmit diseases—our healing abilities burn through anything before it could take hold."
"So I'm safe." She relaxes slightly against me.
"Completely." I press a kiss to her hair. "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't tell me if there's anything I need to know."
"I'm clean. Had a full panel done six months ago after my last relationship ended." Her voice is matter-of-fact. "And I'm on the pill. Have been for years because my cycles were unpredictable."
"Good to know." Relief I didn't realize I was carrying eases from my shoulders. "Though the pill won't matter once the transformation begins, if you choose to accept the claim. Shifter biology overrides human contraception."
"When would that happen?"
"When you're ready." I tighten my arms around her. "When you fully accept what my bear wants to give you. I could force the claim, push it through whether you're ready or not, but that's not how this works between us. Has to be your choice."
She's quiet for a long moment, processing. Then her fingers resume their tracing across my scars.
Outside, the wind picks up again. The sound changes pitch suddenly, and my bear's contentment evaporates in an instant. Something is wrong. The quality of the darkness beyond the windows has changed, grown thicker somehow, more present.
I'm out of bed before conscious thought catches up, moving to the window with predatory silence. Isla sits up behind me, blanket clutched to her chest, alert to the sudden tension radiating from my body.
"What is it?" Her whisper barely carries across the room.
"I don't know." But my bear knows something prowls the darkness below, watching the tower with interest that makes my hackles rise. "Stay here. Stay quiet."
The scent filtering through the window cracks is wrong. Familiar but altered, like something I should recognize but can't quite place. Whatever followed Isla earlier has returned, and this time it's bold enough to approach the tower itself.
My bear surges forward with protective rage, ready to tear apart anything that threatens what's mine. Because that's what she is now, whether I planned it or not. Mine to protect. Mine to defend. Mine to keep safe from whatever darkness Carrick has sent hunting through the night.
And looking at Isla's face in the dim light, seeing her pull the sheet around herself and rise with the calm efficiency of someone who understands exactly what's at stake, I realize something that should terrify me but doesn't.
