"Young wolf—one of Declan's pack who was helping with the hunt." She glances at me, acknowledging my presence without commenting on why I'm here in Finn's cave at dawn. "Brotherhood member. Mikhail's escalating."
The air temperature drops several degrees. "Targeting shifters now."
"Escalation." Catriona's jaw tightens. "He's not just building power anymore. He's making a statement. Showing us he can kill one of ours, that the Brotherhood isn't untouchable."
"Or he's desperate." The words come before I can think them through, my scientist brain analyzing the behavioral shift. "Wounded predators change tactics when cornered. If he's healing from last night's injuries, he might be accelerating his timeline, taking bigger risks because he knows we're hunting him."
Both of them look at me. Catriona with assessment, Finn with something darker that might be pride or possession or both.
"There's a message." Catriona pulls a photograph from her jacket, hands it to Finn. "Carved into the body. We tried to clean it off before the pack saw but it was too late. They're demanding action."
Finn studies the image, his expression turning to stone. He passes it to me without comment.
The photograph shows a young man's torso, pale skin marked with neat incisions that form words in a script I don't recognize. But someone has written a translation in marker along the bottom of the photo:Soon, old friend.
My stomach twists. The methodology is precise, almost surgical—careful work that takes time and deliberation, not the frantic violence of someone acting on impulse.
"He's not desperate," I correct my earlier assessment. "He's confident. This is a countdown, not a warning. He doesn't think we can stop him."
"He's wrong." Absolute certainty undercuts lethal intent in Finn's voice. "I'll rip his heart out before I let him complete the ritual."
"You're the only dragon on the island." Catriona's statement lands like a physical blow. "And he's a phoenix. Immortal, regenerating, as old as you are. We're fighting at a disadvantage."
The mate bond thrums between us, demanding acknowledgment of what we both know and haven't said aloud. Dragon fire rewrites DNA. The claiming creates more than just a mate bond. It transforms.
"Moira mentioned another marine biologist, I think she called her Isla." The words come out steadier than I feel. "Moira said Isla is a selkie—and I can't believe I just said that—who understands both the scientific and magical worlds."
Catriona's eyebrows rise. "Why?"
"Because I need scientific translation of magical mechanics." I hand back the photograph, forcing myself to meet Finn's burning gaze. "And because I'm going to need someone who can explain things my training didn't prepare me for."
Finn crosses the space between us, stopping close enough that I have to tilt my head back to hold eye contact. Heat radiates from his skin. The mate bond thrums with an intensity that steals my breath.
"You don't have to do this." His voice is low, rough, edged with the same restraint he's been holding since he carried me into this cave. "I can find another way to hunt Mikhail. I can protect you without completing what we started."
"Can you?" I hold his stare, refusing to back down. "Because from where I'm standing, we have days to stop a phoenix who's spent centuries planning this. Days before he kills someone else just to prove he can. Days before he tries to drain your power while forcing you to watch someone die. And I'm pretty damn sure two dragons would be better than one."
His expression intensifies. Heat warms the air between us. The mate bond pulls tighter, demanding what neither of us has given permission for yet.
"I'll send Isla to you," Catriona says quietly. "She can explain claiming mechanics better than I can. But Finn's right, Lila. What you're considering isn't reversible. Once a dragon claims you fully, you're bound for life. His life, which is significantly longer than a human lifespan. You need to understand exactly what you'd be agreeing to."
She leaves before a response is possible, her footsteps fading as she climbs back toward the village. Finn follows her to the entrance.
"Brotherhood needs me at the body." He glances back, his expression dark and possessive. "Stay here. The cave is protected."
"How long?"
"As long as it takes." His jaw tightens. "Don't leave."
It's a command, not a request.
Then he's gone, silver mist coiling as he shifts and launches into the sky. Thunder echoes off the cliffs as he disappears toward the north beach.
I'm alone with my scattered notes and the mate bond humming beneath my skin—that pull toward him that's existed since we met, waiting for completion.
Hours pass while I organize data, draw connections, map Mikhail's pattern against the lunar cycle and the drowning timeline. The work grounds me, gives me concrete focus while my body registers what I'm choosing.
Footsteps echo outside later that morning. Lighter than Finn's, more cautious. Isla appears at the entrance. Her practical braid is wind-tangled, her boots muddy from the beach where they must have examined the body.
