But the seal is still damaged. The cracks still spread. And the presence below is waking faster now, drawn by blood and magic and opportunity.
I need to repair what Carrick broke. I need to seal what he's unsealed. But how? The knowledge should be lost to me, buried in generations of forgotten memory.
Then the pendant around my neck flares hot. Gran's voice whispers through the water, through time, through blood: "You carry our strength. Use it."
The seal isn't just magic. It's selkie magic, woven by my ancestors, maintained by my bloodline. And I can repair it.
I swim to the damaged ward, pressing my body against the cracks. Power flows from me into the ancient barrier, my bloodsinging in harmony with the magic my ancestors helped to weave. Slowly, painfully, the fractures begin to close.
The presence beneath me roars in fury. The ancient evil, denied its freedom, rages against containment. Pressure builds until my bones creak under the strain. Every instinct screams to flee, to surface, to escape.
But I hold on. I pour everything I am into healing the seal, into strengthening the ward, into keeping the horror contained where it belongs.
The cracks seal. The barrier solidifies. The roaring fades to frustrated silence.
Above me, Carrick's remaining equipment flees toward the surface. He knows he's lost this round. But the hunger in his expression before he fled tells me everything. He knows what I am now. He knows what I can do. And that makes me more valuable to him than anything he could steal from the trench.
I float in the deep darkness, exhausted but alive, changed in ways that have nothing to do with shifting between forms. The seal holds beneath me, stronger now with fresh power woven through its ancient structure. The evil below has retreated into deeper sleep, frustrated but contained.
My selkie body aches from the effort. Every muscle burns with exhaustion. But the ocean cradles me, supporting my weight, welcoming me as one of its own.
I am selkie. I am guardian. I am exactly what these waters need.
The swim back to the surface stretches ahead of me, long and dark. Somewhere above, Grayson still fights at the remote sites, defending the sacred places from attacks that were only ever meant to distract. The battles rage on while I've been in the depths, and he has no idea what just happened down here.
My flippers cut through the water, propelling me upward toward light and air and the man I love. Each stroke bringsme closer to the surface, closer to the battles still being fought, closer to whatever comes next.
Because Carrick may have fled, but he'll be back. He has resources, determination, and now he possesses something more dangerous than either. Knowledge. He recognizes that a living selkie exists. He understands I can do what his technology cannot. And the hunger in his eyes told me exactly what that means.
The water grows lighter as I ascend. Pressure eases. Sounds from above filter down—boats, voices, the distant crack of gunfire from the remote locations where the brotherhood still fights. The battles rage on, unaware of what just happened in the abyss.
I break the surface just as dawn begins to paint the horizon. Cold air hits my face. Salt spray mists around me. And in the distance, I can just make out the northern cliffs where smoke still rises from the attack.
My body shifts back to human form without conscious thought, exhausted muscles protesting as bones restructure themselves. The pendant still rests warm against my chest, my grandmother's magic humming through it. Through me. Connected to the seal far below, connected to every selkie who came before, connected to the duty I've finally embraced.
I tread water, watching dawn break over the island. Somewhere on those cliffs, Grayson fights to protect what's ours. Soon I'll have to swim to shore, find him, explain what happened. Explain that I went into the depths alone. Explain that Carrick now understands exactly what I am.
But for this moment, floating between ocean and sky, I let myself feel what I've become. Selkie. Guardian alongside Grayson. Exactly what these waters need me to be.
And exactly what Carrick wants to capture.
CHAPTER 17
GRAYSON
The northern caves reek of diesel fuel and disturbed earth when I arrive in bear form. Declan's already here, massive wolf circling the perimeter while his pack holds defensive positions along the rocky approach. Equipment lies scattered across the beach—drilling rigs, generators, cables thick as my forearm. Carrick's people retreated when the brotherhood arrived, but they left behind proof of their intentions.
They were trying to tunnel through to the underwater passages. Trying to reach what sleeps below from above.
My bear roars frustration into the night air. Thunder answers, rolling across the water in waves that make the ocean itself seem angry. Grey mist still clings to my fur from the shift moments ago, rage and purpose driving the transformation.
Declan shifts to human form long enough to brief me. "They scattered when we arrived, but they'll be back. This was reconnaissance. They're testing our response times, our numbers." He's already shifting back, grey fur rippling across his skin as wolf takes over. His voice carries through the pack bond. "They'll hit harder next time."
He's right. This is warfare, not a skirmish. Carrick has resources we can only guess at, and he's willing to throw them against us until something breaks.
Rafe's voice crackles through the radio clipped to a tactical vest someone left on the rocks. "Standing stones holding. They've got heavy equipment here too. Moira says the ritual circle they were building would have channeled power straight down to the seal."
Finn reports similar attempts at the southern cove. Kian's people drove off armed teams at the tidal caves. Every sacred location under simultaneous assault, forcing us to spread thin across the island.
