The phoenix screams—a sound of pure agony that echoes off the cliffs—and they spiral downward in a tangle of fire and scales. They hit the ground fifty feet from us with impact thatcracks stone, sending fissures spider-webbing across the cliff path. Mikhail's flames explode outward in a desperate burst, a shockwave of heat and light that forces me to look away.
When I can see again, Finn has the phoenix pinned beneath one massive claw. The dragon's jaws are at Mikhail's throat, fangs pressing against scales that glow like molten gold. For one moment, I think it's over.
Then Mikhail's body erupts into flames. Not attack flames, but regeneration.
His entire form burns away, flesh and feathers consumed in fire so bright it leaves afterimages on my retinas. The heat is intense enough that I feel the fur on my back starting to singe. Finn roars, trying to maintain his grip, but there's nothing left to hold. Just ash and embers and the smell of burned magic thick enough to choke on.
The fire dies, leaving nothing but a circle of scorched stone and ash that stirs in the wind.
"No!" Finn's dragon bellows, but it's too late.
The ash stirs, then reforms into a shape rising from the embers. Smaller, weaker, but alive. The phoenix regenerates fast, wings half-formed, eyes burning with fury.
"I will finish what we started, old friend," Mikhail rasps. His gaze locks on Finn's dragon. "And next time, I won't be so merciful."
He launches himself toward the cliff edge, wings barely functional but carrying him forward on sheer will and dying flames.
Finn roars and lunges after him, but Mikhail's already over the edge, plummeting toward the churning ocean below. The dragon launches himself into the air in pursuit.
But Mikhail's phoenix form doesn't hit the water.
Instead, it consumes itself mid-dive. The flames intensify, burning brighter and hotter until the phoenix is nothing butpure light. Then it bursts outward in a flash so brilliant I have to look away, leaving afterimages burned across my vision.
When I can see again, there's nothing. No fire. No phoenix. No trace of Mikhail at all.
Just empty air and the sound of waves crashing against rock far below.
Finn's dragon circles the empty space where Mikhail disappeared, roaring his frustration into the night sky. But there's nothing to chase, nothing to catch. Whatever the phoenix did, wherever he went, he's gone completely.
After several moments, Finn lands back on the cliff path and shifts to human form. His expression is carved from stone, and even from here I can see the tension in his shoulders and the weight of whatever history he shares with Mikhail.
I shift back to human form, immediately positioning myself between Finn and Catriona. She's still in tiger form, and I signal her to stay that way for now. We're all going to be naked when this is done, and I'm not about to let anyone see her like that. Not yet. Not when the claiming mark is still fresh on her neck.
"Catriona," I say quietly. "Stay in tiger form until I tell you to shift back. This soon after your transition could be exhausting."
She makes a soft chuffing sound of agreement and pads closer to my side.
"We need to move," I tell Finn. "Regroup at Wolfstone Abbey."
He nods, silent, and turns away from the edge. But his gaze lingers on the empty air where Mikhail vanished, and I catch the scent of fury rolling off him.
Mikhail's threat wasn't idle. He'll return. And next time, he won't be alone.
Through our connection, I feel Catriona's exhaustion mixed with triumph. We won this round. But we both know it's not over.
I rest my hand on her striped head, letting her feel my approval through our connection. The claiming mark on her neck is still fresh—visible proof of what we are to each other now when she shifts back. She's mine, transformed and part of the brotherhood.
But as we follow Finn toward the evacuation point, something crawls up my spine. Mikhail escaped. The syndicate's still operating. And whatever history Finn shares with the phoenix hasn't been explained.
Catriona stays close to my side, her tiger form a reassuring presence. Her fur brushes against my leg as we walk, and through our connection I feel her pulse, steady and strong, matching mine.
Finn walks ahead of us, shoulders rigid. He doesn't speak or look back. The wind carries salt spray and the faint scent of smoke—Mikhail's lingering signature on the air.
The path back to Wolfstone Abbey stretches before us. Darkness gathers over the cliffs, and Finn's footsteps echo ahead, leading us toward whatever comes next.
FINN
The journey back to Wolfstone Abbey passes in tense silence.
