Page 50 of Wolf of the Storm
I carry Eliza toward Wolfstone, her body cradled against my chest, her heartbeat steady through the bond. Behind us, my pack erases evidence of what we are. Around us, the island sleeps, unaware of the war that's coming.
Santos thinks he knows what he's facing. He thinks silver bullets and enhanced mercenaries are enough.
He's wrong.
CHAPTER 13
ELIZA
The bullet graze on my arm throbs as I lean over the laptop, reviewing security footage for the third time. Dawn light filters through Wolfstone’s windows, painting everything in shades of grey and gold. I started at midnight, unable to sleep, and now six hours later I'm still chasing digital breadcrumbs, doing what I do best—investigating.
Declan's asleep on the couch across the room, finally convinced by Moira's healing magic and sheer exhaustion to rest. The attack on Flynn's Inn was two days ago. Two days of heightened patrols, increased security, everyone looking over their shoulders for Santos's next move.
But Santos isn't our only problem.
Three murders in six months. Three deaths at ritual sites, each victim tied to the old bloodlines that run through this island's history. My aunt murdered—found at the base of the cliffs—and whoever killed her is still out there. Four more deaths needed, if the pattern holds. Seven seals. Seven bloodlines. Seven murders to release the Fomori.
Unless we stop it first.
"You're going to burn a hole through that screen." Jax sets a mug of coffee beside my laptop, his grey eyes shadowed with concern. He hasn't been sleeping much either. The hunt vindicated his initial paranoia about me, but now that vigilance has shifted—he's hypervigilant about external threats, about anyone who might hurt the pack. Might hurt me.
"Thanks." I take the coffee gratefully. "I'm missing something. The connections aren't lining up."
"Show me."
I open my timeline—a digital map of the Isle of Skara with markers for each murder, each ritual location mentioned in my aunt's journals, each significant event. Red pins for the three murders. Blue for the seven convergence points. Yellow for last known sightings.
"Here." I point to the first murder six months ago. "Emma MacLeod, sixteen years old. Found at the tidal pools by Selkie's Cove. Then three months later, old Duncan Ross—the fisherman—swept overboard, they said. Then most recently, my aunt, found at the foot of the cliff."
"All places where the veil between worlds is thin," Jax says.
"Right. Three murders so far. But look at this." I pull up my notes from my aunt's research—months of genealogy, folklore, and island history that she'd meticulously documented. "All three victims had ties to the old bloodlines. Not shifter bloodlines—older. The magic that existed here before shifters, before even the Fae."
Jax leans closer. "What kind of bloodlines?"
"Emma MacLeod—her grandmother was descended from the seal-folk. Pure selkie blood, diluted over generations but still present. Duncan Ross—his family traces back to the sea kings who ruled these waters centuries ago. And my aunt..." I pull up a genealogy chart she'd been working on before she died. "She'd been researching our family history. The Gordons have heldClifftop House for eight generations. Look at this notation she made."
I point to a highlighted section in her neat handwriting:
Stone Warden bloodline—Gordons connected to the standing stones, the ancient circles, the bones of the island itself. Always called to guard the convergence points. Mother spoke of hearing the stones sing. We are the keepers, not the storm-touched. Different bloodlines, different duties.
"Stone Warden," Jax says quietly. "Like the druids who raised the circles?"
"Older than that, maybe. She was still researching it, but..." I swallow hard. "Three victims. Three different old bloodlines. Each one killed at a location that matches their bloodline's power. Selkie blood at the cove. Sea king blood in the waters. Stone Warden blood at the base of the cliff near the ancient markers."
"They're not random targets," Jax says. "They're specific. Planned."
"Seven major convergence points on the island. Seven old bloodlines tied to those places." I meet his eyes. "Three murders down. Four more to go."
"And you're Maureen's niece," Jax says carefully. "But the Stone Warden bloodline is already used. Whoever is responsible killed her for that seal."
"Right. So I should be safe from that angle." Even as I say it, something nags at me. "Unless..."
"Unless what?"
"I'm not just Maureen's niece anymore." The realization forms slowly, ice spreading through my veins. "When I transformed, when I became Declan's mate... I didn't just become a shifter. I became part of his pack. Part of his bloodline."
Jax goes very still. "Storm Alpha. Declan's storm blood."
