Sounds fade to distant movement. Footsteps. The brotherhood cleaning up. Grayson's rumble asking questions. The girl's broken Russian responses.
Catriona's fingers stay locked with mine. Anchor point. The only thing keeping me conscious.
Zharkov learned what we can do. He'll come prepared, and it might kill us, but that's tomorrow's problem. Right now there's only her hand in mine, her pulse under my fingers, the steady rhythm of her breathing.
My eyes close.
CHAPTER 17
CATRIONA
Kian's breathing evens out around dawn, the ragged edge finally smoothing into actual sleep instead of labored survival.
I haven't moved from this spot on the cottage floor in hours. My back aches from the stone wall I'm leaning against, my hand's gone numb where his fingers are still wrapped around mine, and dried blood cracks across my palms every time I flex them. The bullet wound in his chest has closed over, pink scar tissue already forming where a bullet tore through muscle and bone. Shifter healing is remarkable and terrifying in its efficiency.
The cottage looks like a war zone. Blankets and tarps cover the shattered windows, makeshift barriers against the cold Atlantic wind. Furniture lies broken and overturned. Dark stains spread across the floor where the enhanced bear bled out. Grayson and Declan hauled the bodies into the clearing hours ago, stacking them like cordwood for Finn to incinerate once the sun rose high enough that dragon-fire wouldn't draw attention from the village.
The Russian wolfshifter sits in the corner near the fireplace, wrapped in one of my jackets. Zharkov sent them out withnothing, expecting none of them to return. She just stares at the flames with hollow eyes.
Rafe appears in the doorway, silent as smoke. "The perimeter's clear. No movement from the Russians since the attack ended."
"Zharkov's regrouping." Declan follows him in, still in human form, radiating authority. "He sent a probe. Got the intelligence he wanted. Now he'll plan the real assault."
"How long do we have?" My voice scrapes past exhaustion and fear I refuse to name.
"Days. Maybe a week if we're lucky." Declan crouches beside Kian, checking the wound with efficient movements. "He's stable. The silver's out, the healing's kicked in. He'll wake up pissed off and starving, but he'll wake up."
"Good." I flex feeling back into my fingers, finally releasing Kian's hand. "Because we need to move fast, and I need information the girl can provide."
The Russian shifter's head jerks up at that. Fear crosses her face, then sinks beneath resignation. She expects interrogation. She expects pain. The syndicate taught her that cooperation comes with a price.
Slowly, I cross to her with careful movements. The scars visible on her wrists tell enough of that story. "What's your name?"
Silence stretches for several heartbeats. Then, barely audible: "Anya."
"Anya." I lower myself to sit across from her, close enough to talk but far enough to give her space. "I won't hurt you. Nobody here will. But I need you to tell me everything you know about Zharkov's operation."
"Why should I trust you?" Her accent thickens with emotion. "You're one of them. A shifter's mate. Part of the brotherhood. You could be just as bad as?—"
"I'm not a shifter." The correction snaps out sharper than necessary. "I'm the police chief of Stormhaven. The one who shut down the selkie trafficking ring you mentioned. The one who's been building a case against the syndicate."
Anya's eyes widen slightly. "You're human."
"For now." The words taste strange on my tongue, carrying the truth I haven't fully processed yet. A decision hovers at the edges of my awareness, waiting to be acknowledged. "Which means I still have law enforcement connections the brotherhood doesn't. Resources that can help us take down Zharkov's entire network, not just the local operation."
"There are so many operations." Anya pulls the jacket tighter, fingers trembling against the fabric. "Across Europe. Russia. Asia. North America. Everywhere there are supernaturals, there are syndicate cells hunting them. Capturing them. Experimenting on them."
"Tell me about the experiments." My phone comes out, recording app already open. Official police business requires documentation, supernatural crimes or not. "What are they doing to the shifters they capture?"
What follows is worse than anything I imagined.
Anya describes facilities hidden in remote locations, staffed by scientists who've spent decades studying supernatural biology. Enhancement serums that increase strength and speed while burning through the shifter's sanity. Genetic modifications that warp natural abilities into weapons. Conditioning programs that break minds and rebuild them into obedient soldiers.
"My sister." Anya's voice cracks. "Katya. They took her months ago. She was just a wolfshifter like me, small and fast but nothing special. They injected her with something that made her bigger and stronger. The serum changed the color of her eyes to that unnatural glow you saw in the enhanced shifters."
"Where is she now?"
"Dead." The word falls flat and final. "The enhancement burned through her system too fast. Her heart gave out during a training exercise. They didn't even bury her properly. Just incinerated the body and moved on to the next subject."
