But when my attention moves to Grayson, none of that feels frightening. The certainty in his gaze, the way he's watching me like I'm the most precious thing in his world—that's what I want. Not temporary, not conditional, but forever.
"And it would complete my selkie awakening?"
"Yes." Moira nods. "The claiming would finish what started when you shifted for the first time. You'd be fully selkie, able to access all the powers your heritage carries. But it would also tie you permanently to Grayson and to these waters. You couldn't leave the island without weakening the bond, couldn't abandon your duty as guardian's mate."
"I don't want to leave." The words come easily because they're true. "This is home. These waters, this island, Grayson—this is where I belong."
"Then the claiming is an option." Moira's expression softens. "But not yet. Not until after we deal with Carrick. You need to be absolutely certain before you take that step, and you can't be certain while external threats are pushing you toward decisions you might not make otherwise."
She's right, and I know it. But part of me still wants to reach for Grayson's hand, slice my palm, and bind us together right now. Make permanent what already feels inevitable.
The afternoon training is harder. Moira teaches me to shift while standing on land, which requires different mental adjustments than doing it in water. She shows me how to call forward specific aspects of my seal without fully changing—enhanced senses, stronger swimming ability, the capacity to hold my breath for extended periods.
By the time shadows lengthen and the sun starts dropping toward the horizon, exhaustion drags at my limbs butsatisfaction fills the hollow spaces. Multiple shifts mark the day, and each transformation is smoother than the last. My seal isn't something I have to wrestle into submission. She's just part of me, ready to come forward when I need her.
"That's enough for today." Moira starts gathering her supplies. "You need rest, and we need to prepare for tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" The question comes out wary.
"The council votes tomorrow afternoon." Grayson's expression is grim. "On whether to approve Maritime's development permits."
Right. The council vote. The whole reason I came to this island in the first place, to stop corporate developers from destroying these sacred waters. With everything that's happened—the attack, the shifting, the training—I'd almost forgotten about the official battle happening through legal channels.
"They're going to approve it, aren't they?" The words taste bitter. "Despite all the evidence I presented, despite knowing what it will cost."
"Probably." Moira's honesty is kinder than false hope would be. "Carrick has money, connections, political pressure. He's been working on this longer than we've been fighting him."
"And once he has legal approval, he'll move fast." Grayson moves to stand beside me. "Start dredging operations, bring in heavy equipment, begin whatever ritual he's planning before we can stop him."
The weight presses down on my shoulders. Tomorrow changes everything. Either the council rejects Maritime's proposal—unlikely—or Carrick gains legal cover for his operations and accelerates toward whatever endgame he's been planning.
Moira leaves to return to the village, taking her supplies with her. The sacred caves feel different without her presence,more intimate somehow. Just me and Grayson in ancient stone chambers where the ocean's voice echoes off the walls.
"You were incredible today." Grayson's words are soft, meant just for me. "Watching you embrace your seal, seeing you master this so fast—you're amazing."
Warmth blooms in my chest, spreading outward. "I had good teachers."
"You had natural talent." He moves closer, and electricity charges the narrow space between us. "Most new shifters fight their animal for weeks before accepting what they are. You did it in hours."
"Maybe because my seal is fighting for something worth having." My hands rest on his chest. "You. This. Us."
His arms come around me, pulling me tight against his body. "Us. I like the sound of that."
Then he's kissing me, and all the careful control I've been maintaining shatters. The terror of yesterday's attack, the exhaustion of today's training, the fear of tomorrow's vote—all of it pours out in desperate need. My mouth opens under his, nails digging into his shoulders, body pressed against his like I can make us one person through sheer force of will.
He walks me backward until my back hits the cave wall, cool stone a sharp contrast to his heat. His hands are everywhere—in my hair, on my face, sliding down my sides to grip my hips. Arching into him, I want more, need everything he can give me.
"Isla." My name is a growl against my throat. "We should wait. Get back to the tower."
"No." Pulling at his shirt, desperate to feel skin on skin. "I need you now. Here. I need to feel alive after today."
That's all the permission he needs. His mouth claims mine again, demanding and hungry. His hands slide under my shirt, calluses rough against my skin as he pushes the fabric up and over my head. The cool cave air hits my heated skin, making megasp. My bra follows, his fingers deft on the clasp, and then his mouth is on my breast, teeth scraping my nipple hard enough to make me arch into him.
My hands fumble with his shirt, tearing at buttons until fabric gives way. When my palms hit bare skin, the contact sends electricity racing through me. Muscles flex under my touch as I explore the planes of his chest, the ridges of his abdomen, following the trail of hair that disappears into his jeans.
He makes quick work of my jeans, dragging them down my legs along with my underwear. The pendant swings between my breasts as I kick the denim away, and his attention fixes on it for a moment before rising to my face.
"You're beautiful." His voice is gravel and want.
