Page 67 of Wolf of the Storm
I don't have answers.
But I'm going to find them.
Before it's too late.
CHAPTER 17
ELIZA
We make it back to Clifftop House just as dawn breaks over the eastern shore. None of us have slept. How could we, when Connor's bloody message is still carved into the standing stones, when six seals are broken, when I'm the final target?
Declan hasn't let go of my hand since we left the village. I feel everything—his exhaustion, his rage, his bone-deep concern at the thought of losing me. The Storm Alpha who can call lightning and become the living storm itself is afraid. Not of Connor. Not of the Fomori. Of failing to protect his mate.
"We need a plan." Jax is still covered in dried blood from the dock battle, his grey eyes hard as flint. "Connor's proven he can hit us anywhere, anytime. He's got resources we didn't account for."
"Mercenary packs." Rafe nurses a nasty gash across his ribs, but he refused medical attention until everyone else was seen to. "Professional killers with no loyalty to the island. Just gold and bloodshed."
Kian limps in from the kitchen, supported by Tessa. The attack left him with a broken leg and cracked ribs, but he's alive. Despite he, Grayson and Rafe’s best efforts and valiant fighting,the last three seals Connor needed fell. All that’s left is the seventh seal and Eliza.
"Don't." Declan's voice is quiet but firm. "You held them as long as you could. We all did."
"Not long enough." Kian's voice cracks. "People died today. Good people and that bastard Connor has six seals."
The room falls silent. That's the reality we're facing. Not just political maneuvering or pack disputes. Connor is murdering innocents to release an ancient evil, and he's willing to destroy anyone who stands in his way.
Including me.
"He'll come for Eliza next." Finn looks like he's aged ten years overnight. "She's the keystone. Storm blood, mate bond, the most powerful convergence point. Her death completes the ritual."
"Then we hide her." Tessa's fingers fly across her laptop. "Get her off the island. Mainland, somewhere Connor can't reach...”
"No." My voice cuts through the discussion. Everyone turns. "Running won't stop this. Connor will just start killing people until I come back. You know he will."
Declan's hand tightens on mine. His wolf howls through our connection, raw denial bleeding into me.
"Eliza...”
"He's already proven he'll murder children." I meet those storm-grey eyes steadily. "How many innocent people die while I hide? How long before he finds me anyway? This ends when we end it. When we stop him."
"She's right." Grayson's deep voice rumbles from the doorway. He's heavily bandaged from the western cove battle, moving slowly, but alive. Finn got him out before Connor's wolves could finish the job. "Connor's backed us into a corner. We fight, or we surrender the island to him and whatever he's trying to unleash."
My phone buzzes on the table. Unknown number. A chill works through my core even before I open it.
A video file. My hands shake as I press play.
Connor's face fills the screen, his handsome features twisted with something manic and certain. Behind him, I can see the standing stones in the pre-dawn light. The carved message still visible.
"Eliza Warren." His smile is all wrong. "I have to admit, you've been more trouble than I expected. But it ends tonight."
He steps aside. The camera pans slowly, deliberately, showing each hostage in turn.
Eight people bound and kneeling. My chest tightens with each face I recognize.
Thomas Macintosh, who runs the bookshop where I spent some time researching island folklore. His face is bruised, one eye swollen shut. Margaret Donnelly from the bakery, who smiled at me each time I stopped in and sometimes slipped an extra scone into my bag. She's crying silently, her shoulders shaking. Peter Harrow who captains the ferry and told me stories about the selkies. Blood runs from a cut on his temple.
The fish monger’s wife, Elspeth. Gerry, the taxi driver who drove me from the ferry that first day. A teenage girl I've seen working at the pub. Two fishermen whose names I don't know but whose faces I recognize from the docks.
Real people. Innocent people. People who smiled at me, helped me, welcomed me to this island.
