Page 61 of Wolf of the Storm
The wolf leaps.
The seal clicks into place.
The magic stabilizes. I let go of the thread. The storm cuts off like someone flipped a switch, leaving me gasping and drained but alive.
And Declan is there.
He shifts mid-leap, faster than I've ever seen him move. His wolf form slams into the brown wolf with bone-crushing force. They hit the sand five feet from me, rolling in a blur of teeth and claws. Declan is bigger, stronger, driven by protective fury that makes the storm I just called look tame.
The fight lasts maybe three seconds. Then Declan's jaws close around the loyalist's throat, and it's over.
He shifts back to human immediately, blood covering his chest and arms. His eyes are still gold when he drops to his knees beside me, hands hovering over my shoulders like he's afraid I'll shatter if he touches me.
"Are you hurt? Eliza, talk to me...”
"I'm fine." My voice sounds like I've been screaming for hours. "It worked. The seal—it's stronger. I felt it."
Around us, the battle is ending. The brotherhood has superior numbers and experience. Connor's loyalists are breaking, retreating into the tree line. Tessa brings down one trying to flee. Kian's tiger form pins another. Jax stands over two more that aren't moving.
"Connor's not here." Jax shifts back to human, blood dripping from a gash on his shoulder. But he's grinning. "The bastard sent his wolves to test us and didn't even show up himself."
"He got what he wanted." Finn pulls himself from the ocean, water streaming from his human form. "He knows the counter-ritual works. He knows Eliza can reinforce the seals. Now he knows he's in a race—strengthen the remaining seals before he can complete his murders."
I try to stand. My legs don't cooperate. I make it halfway up before my knees give out, and Declan catches me.
"Easy. You just channeled enough storm magic to light up a city. Your body needs time to recover."
"We don't have time." But exhaustion crashes over me like a wave. My shoulders burn. The cut on my palm pulses with each heartbeat. I can still feel the echo of storm magic burning through my veins.
"We have enough time for you to rest. The next convergence point can wait until tomorrow. You're done for today."
I want to argue. But the truth is, I'm not sure I could call the storm again right now even if Connor himself appeared in front of me. The counter-ritual drained something essential, something that won't come back quickly.
Jax appears beside us. His eyes widen slightly when he looks at me. The corner of his mouth quirks up—not quite a smile, but close.
"You did it. The human actually did it."
"Not human anymore. Storm blood, remember?"
His grin is sharp and genuine. "No. You're definitely pack now."
He says it like a vow. Like an acknowledgment. And Declan's pride floods our connection, mixing with his relief.
Moira approaches, her red hair wild from the storm and her face pale from channeling sea-witch magic. "The seal will hold now. Not permanently—Connor can still break it if he completes his ritual. But it's stronger than it was. Strong enough to buy us time."
"How much time?"
"Days. Maybe a week if we're lucky." She looks at me. "But she'll need at least twenty-four hours to recover before attempting another convergence point. Storm magic doesn't replenish quickly, even in those born to it. For someone who carries it through a mate bond? It's going to take longer."
Twenty-four hours. One day for me to recover while Connor hunts his final victims. One day closer to the moment when he comes for me.
"Then we use that day to prepare. We identify every possible convergence point. We set traps. We find out where Connor's hiding and...”
"You rest. The pack will handle preparation. Your job is to recover so you can strengthen the next seal."
Declan starts walking toward where the vehicles are parked, carrying me like I'm something precious and fragile. Behind us, the brotherhood moves into cleanup mode—checking the wounded, documenting the dead loyalists, erasing evidence of the battle from the beach.
I look back at the convergence point as we leave. The symbols Moira drew are already fading, washed away by the tide. But I can still feel it—the strengthened seal beneath the sand, holding back something that shouldn't exist in this world.
