His fire has always carried amber and old smoke, distinct from any other immortal I've hunted or been hunted by. He's back. The drownings aren't random. They're sacrifices, feeding something larger, building toward a working that requires death and magic in equal measure.
I dress quickly in the clothes I keep cached in waterproof containers. The sun sits low with afternoon bleeding into evening. Lila will be finishing soon, heading back to the inn to review data, planning tomorrow's collection, building the case that will get her killed.
My dragon fights every step of the walk back to Stormhaven, wanting to go directly to her. Screw secrecy. Screw strategy. Screw the danger that comes with claiming a mate when enemies like Mikhail are circling.
But I need information first. Moira Flynn keeps her ear to the ground and her opinions sharper.
The inn sits quiet in the late afternoon lull, the lunch crowd gone and the evening fishermen not yet arrived. She's behind the bar when I enter, her dark hair pulled back in a practical braid, her green eyes assessing me like she assesses everyone who crosses her threshold. The main room smells like whiskey and wool, peat smoke and the lingering scent of whatever she served for lunch. Comfort I can't feel through the restlessness crawling under my skin.
"Finn." No surprise colors her voice despite the fact that I usually avoid the village during daylight. "The mainland scientist was asking questions this afternoon."
My dragon goes very still. "What kind of questions?"
"Local legends. Old stories." Moira wipes down the counter with precision that doesn't match her careful tone. "Whether we have any tales about dragons living in the deep waters around Skara."
Dragons.
Lila is asking about dragons.
She saw something in that cave, details her scientific mind can't dismiss. And instead of walking away from impossible data, she's digging deeper. She won't let it go.
"Who else did she talk to?"
"Angus at the harbor. Old Dougal at the pub." Moira sets down her cloth and meets my eyes directly. "She spent the whole afternoon at it. She's smart, Finn. Too smart for half-answers and local color. And she's asking the kind of questions that make people nervous."
The word will spread. The Brotherhood will hear. Declan will demand I handle the mainlander poking at secrets we've protected for generations.
"She's been asking about you specifically." Moira's expression changes to something that might be concern or might be calculation. Hard to tell with her. "How long you've lived here. Whether you've always been isolated. What you do that lets you avoid the village completely."
Heat surges through my chest with possessive intensity. Lila is thinking about me, asking about me, trying to fit me into whatever theory she's building.
My dragon preens despite knowing it's dangerous.
"What did you tell her?"
"That you value privacy and that islanders respect that." Moira arranges pastries in the display case with the kind of focus that means she's choosing her next words carefully. "But Finn, you should know that Catriona is backing her investigation. The police chief is giving her access, resources, introductions. She's treating this like a legitimate environmental study instead of shutting it down."
If Catriona is supporting Lila's investigation instead of redirecting it, she's either missed how close the scientist is getting to the truth, or she's made a calculated decision to let her uncover enough to understand the real danger.
Mikhail. Blood rituals that kill humans to fuel supernatural workings.
Either way, Lila's in danger.
I turn for the door, thanking Moira as I leave. My mind is already tracking the path to the cliffs. The Brotherhood needs to know what I found, what Mikhail is doing, what's coming.
The walk gives me time to think. The sun drops lower, painting the sky in shades of amber and rust. Fishing boats return to harbor. Islanders head home for dinner. The mundane world keeps turning, oblivious to what's circling.
Declan is already waiting at the old standing stones when I arrive. His senses probably picked up my approach long before I crested the ridge. Kian and Rafe flank him. We form the Brotherhood's core on Skara. Grayson will arrive if this meeting runs long enough.
"Finn." Declan wastes no time on pleasantries. "We need to talk about Dr. Mercer."
"There's nothing to talk about." I lean against one of the standing stones, affecting a casualness I don't feel. "She's investigating the drownings. She'll finish her study, file her report, and leave."
"She's asking about dragons." Kian's eyes hold the same predator focus his tiger brings to a hunt. "About legends and old stories. People are starting to ask why she cares about folklore."
"People wonder about lots of things. Doesn't mean we need to confirm their suspicions."
"She saw something in your cave." Rafe moves with panther grace despite his human form, circling to cut off the easiest exit from the stone circle. "Something that made her ask questions. What did you show her?"
