His eyes find mine across the cave, and the look that passes between us holds weight. He doesn't move toward me immediately. Doesn't speak. The silence stretches taut while he stands there dripping seawater onto stone, his chest rising and falling with breaths that come harder than flying should require.
The mate bond thrums between us, pulling tighter with each heartbeat. Through the connection, I catch flashes of what he won't say aloud—the sight of me bound to that altar, the smell of my blood in the air, the knowledge that he'd been secondsfrom watching Mikhail's blade finish what the ritual started. His dragon had been ready to tear through anything between them and me, consequences be damned. The Brotherhood's coordinated attack plan hadn't mattered in that moment. Only reaching me before the ritual completed.
He'd killed for me last night. Would have died for me if that's what stopping Mikhail required.
"Any sign of him?" My voice comes out rougher than intended, hoarse from exhaustion and the residual effects of Mikhail's ritual.
"No." Tension radiates from every line of his body as he moves deeper into the cave. "The Brotherhood's been searching all night. Declan has his pack checking caves on the eastern cliffs. Rafe is tracking shadows. Grayson is watching the docks. Nothing."
He pulls on clothes from a cache near the pool, water still streaming from his skin. Fabric sticks to damp flesh, and looking away takes more effort than it should. Better to focus on cataloguing my own physical state. The bandage is secure, my throat still tingling from last night's kiss, and everything about this situation defies the logic my training provides.
The bond shifts between us, tightening in a way that has nothing to do with conscious choice. The connection has been growing stronger since the moment he pulled me from that altar—each hour that passes, each shared glance, each breath taken in proximity to him deepens something that already ran too deep for comfort. What started as an inexplicable pull when I first walked into his cave has transformed into a constant awareness of him that borders on need.
He feels it too. The rigid set of his shoulders, the way he keeps his distance despite the cave's close quarters, the control it costs him to stay on the opposite side of the pool—all of it speaks to restraint stretched dangerously thin. Dragons takewhat they want. He wants me. The only thing stopping him is the choice he's determined to protect, even when his instincts are screaming at him to finish the claim and bind me to him permanently where nothing can touch me again.
Nearly losing me shifted something fundamental between us. The bond knows it even if neither of us has named it aloud yet.
I test my body's limits, sitting up slowly. "How long until he comes back?"
"Soon." Certainty fills his voice, the kind that comes from knowing an enemy too well. "He's wounded but he's healing. Phoenix regeneration is fast when they're not dead. He's planning. Building toward whatever he couldn't finish last night."
Facts first, then hypothesis formation, then conclusions drawn only from evidence, never assumption—that's how my training taught me to process data.
"The drownings followed lunar patterns." I swing my legs off the nest of furs despite protesting muscles. "Deaths clustered around tidal extremes. Spring tides, neap tides, celestial alignments affecting gravitational pull on ocean waters."
Finn turns then, fixing me with an intense stare. "You're analyzing his methodology."
"Forming hypotheses." Standing requires focus. I move toward the scattered notes near the pool—the ritual destroyed my tablet but hard-copy backups survived. "Mikhail isn't random. He's methodical. Every drowning victim, every location, every timing follows a pattern. I need to test my theories against what you know about him."
I spread the papers across stone, organizing by date, location, victim profile. The work gives me something concrete to focus on while my body hums with awareness of what I'm choosing. Finn watches from near the entrance, a solid presence in my peripheral vision.
I begin to draw connections between data points. "Maximum tidal range when combined with current orbital positioning. The drownings accelerated as we approached this alignment. Theory one: he's been building power through ritual sacrifice, using lunar cycles to amplify the effect."
"Accurate." Grim understanding fills Finn's voice. "Blood magic scales with celestial alignment."
That validates part of my hypothesis. "Theory two: The drownings weren't just power accumulation. They were practice runs. Testing ritual mechanics before attempting something bigger." I look up at him. "Am I right?"
"Yes. I recognized the ritual structure last night. Old magic. Siphoning immortal essence through sacrifice. He perfected the technique using human victims before attempting a dragon."
Ice floods through my veins, but pushing forward matters more than fear. "Theory three, and this one's more speculative: He's been studying your behavioral patterns. How you react when someone you care about is threatened. The drownings created a scenario where he could observe your responses to deaths in your territory."
Finn goes very still. Dragon-still, that predator freeze before the strike. "Keep going."
"He killed Saoirse centuries ago. Watched you isolate, retreat to the ocean, cut yourself off. That was baseline data." I tap the papers, following the logic chain. "Now he's trying to replicate those conditions. Create a scenario where you're emotionally compromised while he attempts to drain your power. Make you watch someone die whose loss would—" I meet his burning gaze. "Does that match what you know about him?"
The temperature drops. When Finn speaks, his voice carries edges sharp enough to draw blood. "He needs me broken to succeed. The ritual drains essence, but resistance matters. Grief weakens defenses." He goes utterly still, predator-still. "You'reright. The drownings were research. Building a profile of what breaks me so he can weaponize it."
The silence settles heavy between us.
"Days," the words taste bitter. "We have days to stop him before he has optimal conditions."
The air stays cold around him. "And he knows it."
The cave entrance darkens as someone blocks the dawn light. Catriona MacLeod stands there, her expression grim, her uniform splattered with something dark that might be blood or mud or both.
"Another body." Her voice carries the exhausted flatness of someone who's been awake too long dealing with horrors. "North beach. Tide brought it in earlier."
Finn rises in a single motion, moving to meet her. "Who?"
