Ina narrowed her eyes and held her aim.
Archie reached Malachi and hauled him back, dragging him against his chest for a beat longer than necessary. Malachi was shaking. The fabric of his hoodie was damp under Archie’s fists. Archie breathed him in—soap, fear, and salt—and grounded himself before the tremor in his hands betrayed him.
The air in the boathouse felt thicker now. Archie swallowed, throat burning.
“You do realise they’re swarming us?” Murdock’s gaze kept darting, never settling. “They know this place better than I do. And there are old weapons in here?—”
A sharp whistle sliced through the air. Archie’s head snapped up.
The impact came a heartbeat later—the sick, unmistakable sound of metal finding flesh. Murdock cried out as the harpoon tore past his shoulder and drove him sideways. He hit the stone floor hard, the breath knocked clean out of him.
Ina fired without thought. Her bolt crossed the space in a blink, burying itself square between a Selkie’s eyes as it lunged from the dark. The body dropped where it stood.
“Stay there,” Archie pointed to the spot where Malachi stood. He didn’t look at him, not trusting his voice if he did, and dropped to his knees beside Murdock.
“Bob?” His hands were already pressing into the wound. Blood spilled hot and fast, slicking his fingers. “You’ll live, but we need to get you to Latharna General.”
Murdock sucked in a ragged breath and shoved weakly at Archie’s hands. “I’ve had worse.” He clamped his palm over the wound, teeth bared as pain cut through him. His eyes slid past Archie’s shoulder. “I tried to convince her to leave,” he rasped. “I swear I did. But she wouldn’t listen.”
Archie froze, like every muscle had been pulled tight at once. “Who?” His voice thick with fear.
“She’s coming.” Murdock swallowed. Whatever fight he had left drained from his face, leaving only fear behind.
Archie straightened slowly, spine firm, shoulders squaring. The air was colder now. He turned, scanning the broken walls and water beyond them, no longer hunting—but being hunted.
“She?”
Chapter 25
Archie
Alow growl rolled through the boathouse—sharp and menacing. Archie’s skin prickled all at once. His breath stalled halfway in, chest locking taut as his body reacted before thought could catch up.
Something was moving just out of sight, slow and deliberate. Waiting for the right moment to strike.
The darkness beyond the collapsed wall thickened. The fluorescent light flickered overhead creating moving shadows in every corner of the building. Archie’s grip tightened on the crossbow until his knuckles ached.
Seven years. Seven years since he’d stood this close to a Selkie and let them live. He shifted his stance. Whatever lurked out there would have to come through him first.
“Get behind me.” Archie’s voice dropped low and firm. He pointed to the narrow strip of floor at his back. Outside was too exposed and out of his line of sight. And he wasn’t leaving Malachi alone with Murdock—injured or not—while his loyalty was in question.
Malachi didn’t argue. He crossed the space in two quick steps, shoulders tense, breath shallow. Archie felt the tremorin his body as it brushed against him, the barely contained panic running under his skin like a live wire. He angled his body, putting himself squarely between Malachi and the Selkie.
“Ina?” Archie turned to look for her, taking his eyes off the shadows for half a beat. His finger on the trigger, ready to fire if he needed to.
“I’m going to check the back.” Ina was already moving. She wrenched the bolt free from the dead Selkie with a wet, sucking pull, wiped it down her trousers, and slid it back into place with practised efficiency. She rolled her shoulders once, loose and ready, like she was stepping into a sparring ring instead of a nest slick with blood.
Archie watched her for half a second too long, wishing that his nerves were half as steady as hers looked.
“Wait!” Murdock’s voice cracked. He reached out his good arm, fingers clawing at the air as if he could physically hold Archie in place. His face had gone grey, eyes wide and glassy with fear and pain. “There’s a child.” His breath hitched. He clutched his wound harder. “Please, don’t hurt the youngling.”
The words sank deep into Archie’s chest, dragging memory up the vault where he kept it buried—blood in the water, bodies tangled in kelp, the sound of Selkie cries tearing through the night. The choice he’d made back then. Mercy, or what he’d convinced himself was mercy. It didn’t bring Rhys back. It didn’t achieve peace. It only opened the door to more bloodshed and death.
“I let the children live last time and look at what happened!” The control in Archie’s voice snapped. His jaw clenched hard enough to hurt. “And look where that got us.”
The boathouse blurred for a heartbeat as flashes of thatnight slammed through him. Chaos, blood, screams echoing off stone—his or the Selkie’s he couldn’t tell. He forced himself back to the present, back into the damp, coldness of the boathouse.
“I won’t make the same mistake twice.”
