Page 14 of Wolf of the Storm
I'm still sitting there, breathing hard and trying to convince myself I didn't hallucinate everything, when I hear footsteps. Running footsteps, approaching fast from somewhere in the woods behind me.
A man emerges from the tree line.
Declan MacRae.
He's shirtless despite the cold night air, wearing only dark jeans, his skin slick with what might be rain or sweat. He'sbreathing like he's been running for miles. He sees me on the ground and crosses the distance in three long strides, dropping to his knees beside me.
"Are you hurt?" His hands hover over me, not quite touching but close enough that I can feel heat radiating from his skin. "Eliza, are you hurt?"
"I'm fine. I just...” I stop, because how do I explain what I just saw? "There was something out here. Something impossible."
His jaw tightens. "You shouldn't be out here alone at night."
"How did you get here so fast?" The question comes out sharper than I intend. "How did you even know I was here?"
"I was..." He stops, and I can see him searching for an explanation. "I was nearby. I heard you fall."
It's a lie. I can see it in the tension of his shoulders, the way he won't quite meet my eyes. And there's more wrong with this picture—he's practically radiating heat, his skin fever-hot in the cool night air, and he's barefoot on ground that must be freezing.
Before I can stop myself, I reach out and press my palm against his chest. His skin burns against mine, and I feel his sharp intake of breath, see his eyes flash silver in the moonlight.
"You're burning up," I whisper. "You're sick, you need...”
"I'm fine." He catches my wrist, but doesn't push my hand away. If anything, he leans into the touch, his eyes closing briefly. "You need to go inside. Now."
"What was that thing out here? What did I just see?"
"A wolf. Just a wolf."
"That was not just a wolf." I pull my hand back, and the loss of contact feels wrong in ways I can't explain. "That was impossible. And you—you show up right after it disappears, and you're burning hot and breathing like you've been running and...”
I stop. Because the pieces are clicking together in my head, forming a picture so absurd I can't possibly be right.
Can I?
Declan stands, pulling me up with him. His hands on my arms are gentle but firm, and that heat is everywhere he touches. "Go inside," he says quietly. "Lock the doors. And whatever you think you saw tonight—forget it. For your own safety, Eliza. Forget it."
Then he's gone, melting into the shadows. I stand alone in the moonlit garden, my camera still hanging from my neck. The photos are there—proof of what I saw. Proof no one will believe.
I look down at my palm where he touched me. The skin still burns.
In the distance, howling rises again. But this time I hear underneath it—almost like words. Almost like a warning.
Or a claim.
CHAPTER 4
DECLAN
The emergency call comes through our pack link at two in the morning, sharp and urgent as a blade between the ribs. I'm already awake, have been for hours, standing at my bedroom window and staring at the dark stretch of coastline where Clifftop House sits like a small beacon of warmth against the cold Atlantic night, the inheritance from her aunt that brought Eliza to Stormhaven. The pull toward her hums beneath my skin, constant and maddening, making my wolf pace inside my chest.
Stone circle. Now. All of you.
Jax's mental voice carries an edge I rarely hear from my beta. Technically, he doesn't have the authority to summon me—no beta can command their alpha—but I've given Jax more latitude than most alphas would. He's too valuable, his tactical mind too sharp, to constrain with rigid hierarchy. When he pushes that freedom to issue a direct summons at two in the morning, it means he's judged the situation serious enough to risk my displeasure. My stomach drops. This is about her.
Twenty minutes later, I stand in the center of the ancient stone circle that crowns the highest point of Stormhaven's northern cliffs. The standing stones are older than recordedhistory, worn smooth by countless Atlantic storms, and they hold power that predates even our kind. Moonlight paints everything in shades of silver and shadow. The wind carries salt and seaweed and the electric charge of shifter tension.
My pack is already assembled. Five faces I've known my entire life, brothers in every way that matters, and they all look like they want to tear something apart.
