Isla stirs against me, barely aware. "Grayson..."
"I know." I hold her tighter. "Hold your breath."
Power surges through my veins as I release the hold on my human form. Thunder splits the dawn sky, and the transformation rips through me—bones restructuring, muscles expanding. Between heartbeats, I'm eight hundred pounds of grizzly with Isla clutched carefully in my jaws.
Water becomes colder from this perspective, deeper, more threatening. Every instinct screams at the vulnerability of fighting here, away from solid ground. I swim hard, powerful strokes propelling us toward shore while soldiers close in from both sides.
Something hits the water beside me. Not a bullet—a net. Weighted edges sink fast, spreading wide. I dive under it, lungs burning. Another net deploys ahead. Then another. They're boxing me in, limiting movement.
A soldier reaches me from the right. Enhanced strength lets him grab fur, trying to drag me down. I twist, releasing Isla long enough to bite. Bones crunch. Blood spreads dark in the water as he screams and lets go.
More replace him. They swarm like sharks, grabbing and pulling. One gets a net over my head despite thrashing. Weighted edges tangle in my legs. I'm strong enough to tear through, but it slows me down. Gives them time to coordinate.
Isla surfaces nearby, coughing and gasping. Her movements are uncoordinated, confusion setting in. She won't make it to shore alone.
I surge toward her, tearing through another net. A soldier blocks my path. I swat him aside, hearing ribs crack. Another grabs my back leg. I shake him off violently, but they keep coming with tactics designed specifically for fighting large shifters in water.
Then pain explodes in my shoulder.
Not a bullet—a dart. Chemical burn spreads from the injection site, fast and vicious. Whatever they hit me with is strong, designed for shifters. Something that doesn't just sedate but blocks the shift itself.
Vision blurs at the edges. Powerful strokes become sluggish. The net around my legs suddenly feels heavier, impossible to tear through. Muscles aren't responding.
Another dart hits my flank. Then another in my neck. Water becomes distant, sounds muffled. I'm still fighting but my body won't obey. Rage can't overcome the chemical assault.
Through the haze, I see them grab Isla. Too weak to resist as they haul her toward the boat. Her eyes find mine—fear and apology.
No. I try to swim toward her but my legs won't work. The drugs are winning, consciousness slipping despite every effort to hold on. They're taking her. Taking my mate while I float helpless.
Men surround me, maneuvering the net, rolling me like cargo. I struggle weakly, but the tranquilizer has me now. Dimly aware of being hauled up the boat's side, I’m dumped onto the deck.
The shift takes me without conscious choice. Power retreats to heal while chemicals course through my system. Human body collapses on wet metal, naked and shivering. Hands boundimmediately with restraints that burn—spelled bindings that react to shifter magic.
I try to shift back but nothing happens. The combination of whatever they injected me with and the magical binding has locked me in human form. Stuck. Helpless. Exactly where Carrick wants me.
Boots approach across the deck. Carrick looks down at me with satisfaction. "Guardian of the Deep Places. I expected more fight from you."
"Go to hell." The words come out slurred. Whatever they hit me with is still affecting my coordination.
"Eventually, perhaps. But first, I have a ritual to complete." He gestures, and men haul me upright. My legs barely support my weight. They drag me to the railing where Isla lies on the deck, wrapped in blankets but still shaking violently.
Carrick kneels beside her, tilting her face up to examine her. The pendant gleams at her throat, and his eyes fix on it with hunger. "Extraordinary. I suspected from your research, Dr. Calder, but to see it confirmed... A living selkie. And fully awakened, if my readings are correct."
Isla's teeth chatter too hard for speech. Her skin has gone pale, lips tinged blue. She needs warmth, needs medical attention. The hypothermia will kill her long before Carrick's ritual does.
"She needs help." I force the words out despite the drug slowing my thoughts. "She'll die before you can use her."
"Oh, I have ways of keeping her alive." Carrick stands, brushing off his knees. "She's far too valuable to let slip away now. As are you, guardian. I need witnesses for what comes next. Someone to understand the magnitude of what I'm about to accomplish."
"You failed." I try to summon rage but the tranquilizer mutes everything. "The ward is repaired. Stronger than before. Your forces are scattered. You lost."
"I found a selkie." His smile is cold. "That's not losing. That's discovering something infinitely more useful than any imprisoned entity. With her blood willingly given, I can do more than wake old evils. I can control them. Bind them to my will. Create an army that answers only to me."
Horror cuts through the drugged haze. Not just power—domination. And he needs Isla's willing cooperation. Which means he has leverage.
Me.
The boat's engine powers up. We're moving, leaving the island behind. I crane my neck to see the shore, hoping the brotherhood saw what happened. We're already distant. They're still fighting at the sacred sites, unaware the real battle has been lost here.
