Exile taught me that honor without power is just pretty words. That mercy gets people killed. That sometimes you have to become exactly what you're fighting against, have to dirty your hands and compromise your soul and live with the blood because the alternative is standing by while worse monsters win.
I can't let her die. She's still fighting genuine evil with nothing but conviction and a badge. And somewhere buried under all the violence and compromise and calculated cruelty, I still remember what it felt like to believe the way she does.
I still want to protect that kind of faith even if I can't possess it anymore. Even if protecting it means she'll hate me for what I am.
Movement on the cliffs catches my eye. The watcher is still there, joined now by others. They've been observing this entire encounter, cataloguing the interaction, reporting back to whoever runs the Russian operations on Skara.
They saw her confront me. Saw her refuse to back down. Saw her photograph evidence and challenge my activities with the fearlessness of someone who doesn't understand the stakes. They saw everything.
Which means the timeline just collapsed.
They'll move on her tonight, maybe sooner. The Russians don't wait when they've decided someone is a threat, and Catriona just proved she won't be scared off. They'll make it look like an accident—a fall from the cliffs, a drowning in the treacherous currents, a tragic case of a mainlander who didn't understand how dangerous Skara can be.
I have hours, not days. Hours to figure out how to scare her off this island or bring her under my protection before the Russians decide permanent solutions are simpler than warnings. Hours to choose between letting her hate me and keeping her alive.
Hours before tomorrow night's shipment, which means whatever I do about Catriona can't jeopardize the mission. Three selkies are counting on me to stay focused, to maintain cover, to execute the plan without deviation. They've been captive for months, endured torture and starvation and violationsthat would break most people. They've survived because they believed rescue would come.
I can't fail them.
But I can't let Catriona die either.
The tiger prowls, agitated and violent, wanting to hunt down the Russians watching from the cliffs, wanting to chase Catriona down and drag her somewhere safe, wanting to claim and protect and kill anyone who threatens what's ours. The beast doesn't understand complexity, doesn't care about missions or cover or consequences. It knows what it wants and it wants blood.
I gather my gear, secure the artifacts, and head back toward harbor. The crossing takes longer than usual, my mind working through scenarios that all end in blood.
By the time I reach the dock, I've made my decision. I need to tell the brotherhood. We need to bring her in, reveal the truth, offer protection whether she wants it or not. Better her terror and hatred than finding pieces of her washed up on the rocks because I was too selfish to let her go.
The timing is catastrophically bad. Tomorrow night I'm moving the selkies, executing a mission that requires absolute focus and perfect cover. Bringing Catriona into brotherhood protection means questions, complications, and potential exposure that could compromise everything. It means trusting her with secrets that could destroy us if she decides duty to human law matters more than supernatural lives.
But leaving her exposed means she dies. And I've done enough evil. I've compromised enough. I've watched enough people suffer and die because maintaining cover mattered more than one life.
Not her. Not this time.
My tiger roars inside me, demanding I save her now, claim her now, protect what's ours. The beast doesn't understandoperational security or strategic risk. It only knows she's in danger and we have the power to stop it.
For once, the man agrees with the beast. But ignorance won't protect her from bullets or blades or the kind of violence the syndicate employs when patience runs out.
She needs to know what she's really up against. Even if knowing costs me whatever tenuous connection exists between us. Even if it costs me everything.
I tie off my boat and step onto the dock. The sun climbs higher, burning off morning mist, illuminating Stormhaven in harsh light that shows every flaw and shadow.
My phone buzzes—a text from Dimitri with coordinates for tomorrow's artifact pickup. The Russians' smuggling run that I'm going to use as cover.
The selkie mission. Hidden inside their operation.
I delete the message and pull up Declan's contact. My thumb hovers over the call button.
One choice saves Catriona. The other saves three selkies who've already survived months of hell.
Except that's a lie. Both choices save Catriona. One just costs more than the other. One risks the mission, risks exposure, risks everything I've built to fight the syndicate from the inside. The other leaves her vulnerable for hours longer while I execute tomorrow's operation first, hope the Russians wait, gamble with her life to protect the mission.
My tiger roars inside me, demanding I save her now, claim her now, protect what's ours. The beast doesn't care about operational security or strategic risk. It only knows she's in danger and we have the power to stop it.
For once, the beast and I agree.
I press call.
CHAPTER 5
