Page 73 of Wolf of the Storm
The elderly woman tries to run, but she's frail, no match for a wolf's speed. Connor's jaws close around her shoulder. She screams. He drags her toward the center of the stone circle. Toward the largest standing stone with his carved message still visible in dried blood.
The convergence point.
Eliza screams. Not in fear. In rage. She charges after Connor, silver knife in one hand, one remaining salt-iron nail in the other. But another wolf—sleek and dark, female—intercepts her. Eliza doesn't hesitate. The nail drives into the wolf's shoulder, and in the moment of shock, the silver knife slashes across itsthroat. The wolf collapses, and Eliza keeps running, but two more wolves move to block her path.
Everything slows down. The battle, the storm, my own heartbeat. I see it all with terrible clarity.
Connor isn't trying to kill Eliza quickly. He's trying to position her. To have her death happen at the exact right place, at the exact right moment. And he's using the old woman as bait to make her come to him.
My wolf explodes. I lose any connection to my humanity or civility. I stop worrying about collateral damage or young wolves who don't understand what they're fighting for.
The storm above screams with my fury.
Lightning doesn't just strike near me anymore. It strikes through me. Channels through my body like I'm a living conduit, a bridge between sky and earth. The electricity doesn't hurt. It feels right. Like breathing. Like finally embracing what I was always meant to be.
I am the Storm Alpha.
Not just a shifter who can sense weather. Not just a wolf with storm affinity. I am eight generations of accumulated power, of bloodline magic passed down from ancestor to ancestor, all focused into this single moment of protective fury.
Thunder deafens. Lightning turns night to day.
I move faster than physics should allow, riding the storm itself. My paws barely touch the ground between strides. Wolves who block my path get thrown aside by wind that obeys my will. Rain lashes down in sheets, blinding everyone but me. I see through it like it's not even there, every drop a tiny eye feeding me information.
The dark wolf blocking Eliza barely has time to look up before I'm on her. I catch her spine between the shoulder blades. Snap. She drops instantly, and Eliza scrambles free.
"Connor!" she gasps, pointing with her knife.
He's almost at the center now, the elderly woman still in his jaws. She's limp, unconscious or dead, I can't tell. Blood streams from her shoulder, leaving a trail. But Connor positions her carefully at the base of the largest stone, his movements deliberate despite the chaos around him.
Then he shifts to human form, naked and covered in blood, and pulls a knife from where it was hidden near the stone's base. Silver blade. Ritual markings etched along the length. He must have planted it here earlier, prepared for this exact moment.
"No!" I charge, but I'm still twenty feet away.
Connor looks at me. Smiles. And drives the blade into the woman's heart.
Her blood spills across the stone, and the convergence point activates with a sound like reality tearing. The air itself splits open, showing something dark and writhing beyond. The rift is maybe two feet wide, jagged at the edges like a wound in the fabric of the world.
But the old woman's death doesn't complete the ritual. The rift stays small, contained. Connor's smile twists into something manic and triumphant.
"Wrong bloodline?" I snarl, shifting to human form as I close the distance. My hands reach for his throat. "You failed."
"Did I?" Connor backs toward the convergence point. "The Morrisons served MacRaes for seven generations, Declan. You never asked why?" He laughs, blood on his teeth. "My great-grandmother was one of yours. Storm blood runs in me too."
Ice floods my veins.
"Not enough to manifest the power," Connor continues, not defending himself as I reach him. "Not enough to challenge you directly. But enough for this." He spreads his arms. "This was always the plan. A Storm Alpha's death at the convergence point. I'm not strong enough alive to take what should have been mine. But in death? In death, I'm exactly what the ritual needs."
My hands close around his throat. "You're insane."
"I'm devoted." His eyes blaze with zealot certainty. "The old world returns. The Fomori walk free. And you'll spend eternity knowing you couldn't stop it."
I could kill him right here, right now. Snap his neck. Crush his windpipe. End this.
But he wants me to.
The realization hits.
Connor's not fighting back. He's leaning into my grip, making it easy. His feet are positioned carefully over the convergence point, ready to spill on sacred ground at the exact right spot.
