Then he's shedding his own clothes with an urgency that matches mine. When he's finally bare, I take him in—all that powerful muscle, the scars that mark his torso, and the thick length of him standing rigid between us.
He lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he pins me against the stone wall. The rock is cold against my back, a sharp contrast to the furnace heat of his body pressed to my front. His cock is hard and hot between us, trapped against my belly, and I rock my hips, desperate for more.
"Grayson, please." My voice breaks on his name.
His hand slides between us, fingers finding where I'm already wet and ready. He strokes through my folds, circling my clit with rough pressure that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. When he pushes two fingers inside me, I cry out, head falling back against the stone.
"So wet for me." He works his fingers deeper, thumb still circling. "So ready."
"Now." I dig my nails into his shoulders. "I need you inside me now."
He withdraws his fingers and positions himself at my entrance. The broad head of his cock pushes against me, stretching me as he enters with one slow, deep thrust that seats him fully inside. The sensation is overwhelming—fullness, pressure, the delicious friction of his thick length filling me completely.
We both freeze for a moment, adjusting. Then he starts to move, and rational thought dissolves into pure sensation.
He takes me against the cave wall with rough intensity that makes me cry out with each powerful thrust. My nails score lines down his back, breaking skin. His fingers grip my hips hard enough to leave bruises, holding me in place as he drives into me again and again. Stone scrapes my shoulder blades with each impact. Water drips from somewhere overhead, landing on heated skin. The ocean's constant voice provides rhythm to our joining, waves crashing in time with his thrusts.
The angle is perfect, hitting that spot inside me that makes everything tighten and coil. Pleasure builds with each stroke, pressure mounting until I'm trembling on the edge.
"Look at me." His command is rough. "I want to see you come."
My eyes snap to his, and the intensity in his gaze pushes me over. My climax crashes through me with his name torn from my throat, magic crackling through my veins like lightning. My body clenches around him, pulsing with waves of pleasure that seem to go on forever. My seal surges forward, not quite breaking through but present enough that her joy floods every corner of my being, her recognition of our mate, her absolute certainty that this is right and perfect and ours.
Grayson follows me over the edge with a low rumble that's more bear than human. His hips slam into me one final time, grinding deep as he comes, and I feel the hot pulse of himspilling inside me. His face buries in my neck, teeth scraping over my pulse point hard enough to mark but not break skin.
For long moments we stay locked together, both of us breathing hard, both of us clinging to each other like we might disappear if we let go. My legs are still wrapped around his waist, his cock still buried inside me, and neither of us seems able to move.
Eventually he sets me down gently, keeping one arm around me while my legs remember how to support weight. We clean up with water from the pool, helping each other with gentle touches that are tender after the intensity of what just happened.
"Stay at the tower tonight." Grayson pulls me against his chest once we're dressed. "Don't go back to your destroyed cottage. Stay with me where I know you're safe."
"I'll stay." Because the alternative—going back to that empty, violated space—feels impossible right now. "But Grayson, tomorrow..."
"Tomorrow we face whatever comes." His arms tighten around me. "Together. You're not alone in this anymore."
The certainty in his voice anchors me. Whatever happens with the council vote, whatever Carrick does when he gets legal approval for his operations, I won't face it alone. Grayson, the brotherhood, Moira, and my own awakening power stand with me.
And if that's not enough to stop what's coming, then at least I'll go down fighting for what matters.
We leave the sacred caves as the sun sets, painting the sky in shades of crimson and gold. My hand finds Grayson's, our fingers lacing together. Tomorrow the council votes. Tomorrow Carrick moves. But tonight I have this—his warmth beside me, the ocean singing at my back, and power thrumming through my veins. Whatever comes next, I'm ready for it.
CHAPTER 15
GRAYSON
The council vote is scheduled for late afternoon, which gives me the morning to do what I do best—patrol the sacred sites and make sure nothing has been disturbed during the night. Isla is still asleep when I leave the tower, exhausted from yesterday's training. I press a kiss to her forehead and leave a note on the nightstand telling her where I've gone.
Cold morning air bites at my skin, sharp with winter's promise as I nod to the man standing guard. Storm clouds gather on the horizon, and the ocean churns restless beneath them, making my bear push against my skin. He knows what today means. Knows that by nightfall, Carrick will either be stopped or he'll have legal cover to begin whatever dark ritual he's been planning.
I make my way down to the rocky beach below the tower where I can transform without witnesses. After years of practice, the transformation comes as natural as breathing. Grey mist erupts around me as thunder rumbles across the water. Silver light flares, and my bear takes over. Four legs, massive shoulders, claws built for tearing through anything that threatens what's mine.
Everything sharpens in bear form. Scents layer thick and complex—salt spray, fish rotting on the rocks, kelp drying in tidal pools. Sounds amplify—waves crashing, gulls crying overhead, the distant hum of the village waking for the day. My bear knows these cliffs, these waters, every stone and current and secret place.
I start at the northern caves where the prowler's trail disappeared days ago. Everything remains unchanged. Fresh scents are absent, disturbances nowhere to be found. Whatever was here then hasn't returned, or if it has, it covered its tracks too well for even a bear's nose to detect.
From there I make my way along the coast toward the eastern trenches where Maritime's divers were mapping cave entrances. The water here is deeper, colder, touched by currents that come from places human ships don't venture. My family has guarded these trenches for centuries because something ancient sleeps in the deepest parts, and waking it would be catastrophic.
The beach shows signs of recent activity. Boot prints in the sand, disturbed rocks where someone moved heavy equipment. They've been here since the attack on Isla, probably gathering more data for today's vote. Preparing to begin operations the moment they get legal approval.
