Chapter 10
ISLA
The cliffs above Warden's Tower rise dark against the fading light as I guide Deepwatch into her slip at Grayson's private dock.
Sunset has given way to dusk, and the water beneath us reflects emerging stars in fragments of silver and black.
My hands stay steady on the wheel despite everything that has happened, but my thoughts remain fixed on the image of Grayson's bear surfacing beside the boat, water streaming from dark fur.
Beautiful. I called him beautiful, and I meant it.
Grayson secures the mooring lines, movements efficient despite visible tension. My hand lifts toward him, then falls back to my side. What happened out there with the divers takes precedence over whatever this thing is building between us.
"The brotherhood needs to know what we found." Grayson finishes with the lines. "Those divers weren't just surveying. They had professional equipment and were filming specific formations. They knew exactly where to look."
"They were mapping the cave entrances." Data patterns align in my head, implications clicking into place. "Not exploring. Mapping. Someone gave them detailed information about places that shouldn't appear on any survey."
"Which means they've got more than just old charts." He straightens from coiling the rope. "They're building a complete picture of the protected zones."
We make our way from the tower down the cliff path toward the village, the only sounds our footsteps on stone and the distant crash of waves below.
By the time we reach the cobblestone streets, most of Skara's residents have retreated indoors for supper, lights glowing warm behind curtained windows.
Lamplight pools on stone. People eating dinner.
An ordinary evening, while we carry what we just witnessed through the dark.
Declan's abbey sits alone on the promontory beyond the village, the ancient stone structure deserted for centuries before his ancestors claimed it. Warm light spills from the windows, and before we reach the door, it opens. Eliza stands in the entrance, worry etched across her features.
"We felt it." She steps aside to let us enter then turns to leave the room. "Whatever happened out there stirred something in the protected waters. Finn says the ley lines are singing."
Inside, the full brotherhood has already gathered.
Declan stands near the fireplace, utterly still but somehow dominating the room.
Rafe leans against the far wall. Finn occupies a chair by the window, his ancient gaze tracking our entrance.
Jax paces near the back wall, each step controlled but barely.
Kian sprawls on the sofa, casual posture belying the predator underneath.
Eliza emerges from the kitchen carrying a tray of mugs. She sets it down and gestures for us to help ourselves before returning to Declan's side. Moira stands near Rafe, her hand finding his with the ease of long practice.
"Tell us." Declan's command is quiet but absolute.
Grayson relays what happened in clipped, efficient sentences.
Maritime divers in the eastern trenches.
Professional equipment and cameras. Footage of the cave entrances before he destroyed their recording device.
Divers retreating in panic after encountering something massive in the depths, something they couldn't identify through the murk but large enough to send them fleeing.
"They weren't exploring." Grayson's jaw tightens. "They were mapping specific formations. Cave entrances. They knew exactly what they were looking for and where to find it."
"The artifacts Carrick's been collecting." Rafe's voice carries across the room. "Ancient navigation charts. He's been preparing for this."
"And now he's putting that preparation into action." Declan turns to me. "What did your instruments pick up before the divers arrived?"
"Temperature anomalies consistent with Maritime's survey equipment operating in the area." I pull out my tablet, calling up the data. "But there's more. These contamination patterns don't match standard industrial output. Wrong chemical signature entirely."
"Wrong how?" Moira moves closer.
"The compounds don't match anything that should exist." Even saying it aloud sounds absurd. "Before I came to Skara, I wouldn't have had a framework for understanding them. But now, knowing what I know, they read like they were created through magic rather than chemistry."
Weighted quiet fills the room.
"He's not just surveying." Finn's voice carries centuries of experience. "The contamination suggests he's using methods with supernatural components. Whether by accident or design, he's already affecting the protected waters."
"Then we're out of time." Jax stops pacing, scarred hands curling into fists. "We stop him now, before he gets any deeper."
"The council meeting is coming up soon." Declan's tone brooks no argument. "We try the legal route first. Isla presents her evidence. If that fails, we move to direct action."
"And if Carrick's there with counter-evidence?" Kian's question hangs in the air. "He's got lawyers, political connections, enough money to make problems disappear."
"Then I make sure my evidence is irrefutable.
" Steadiness enters my voice from somewhere.
"I have years of data showing these waters are critical habitat for endangered species.
Documentation of Maritime's environmental violations in other projects.
Proof their survey methods are already causing damage.
" I meet Declan's stare. "I can make the case that approving their permits would be an environmental catastrophe and create significant legal liability for the council. "
"Can you make it without revealing what we guard?" Declan's question is gentle but necessary. "Carrick knows the supernatural world exists. But he doesn't know about us specifically, or the exact locations we're protecting."
"I'm a scientist presenting scientific evidence." My hand lifts toward the pendant, then drops. "The council doesn't need to know the real reason those sites matter. Just that dredging these channels will destroy ecosystems that can't be replaced."
Declan studies me for a long moment, then nods. "We'll be there, but we stay in the background. This is your show, Isla. Make them listen."
Brotherhood members disperse gradually, each returning to their posts and patrols. Moira catches my arm as I move toward the door.
"Be careful at the meeting." Her voice drops low enough that only I hear. "You know what Carrick collects. Don't let him see what you're becoming. Don't meet his gaze directly. Don't let him touch you. And whatever you do, don't let him see the pendant."
I nod. Moira releases my arm, and Grayson materializes at my side.
"I'll walk you back." His statement allows no argument, and truthfully, I don't want to argue. Facing my empty cottage alone after everything tonight feels suddenly impossible.
We walk through the darkened village in comfortable quiet, the only sounds our footsteps on cobblestone and the eternal conversation between wind and wave. Grayson's presence beside me is solid, reassuring. Despite the dangers ahead, I feel safer than I have in a long time.
"You did well tonight." His voice breaks the silence as we approach my cottage. "Working with the brotherhood. Adapting."
"I've spent my whole life preparing for this without knowing it.
" Gran's voice echoes through memory, telling tales of seal-folk and sea magic while I sat wide-eyed at her feet.
"Every research project, every paper on marine ecosystems, every grant application arguing for protecting endangered habitats.
I was always going to end up here, fighting this fight. "
"Maybe." He stops at my gate. "Or maybe you were always meant to come home."
Home. Not the cottage I'm renting, not the university I left behind, not even the Edinburgh flat where I grew up. This island, these waters, this community of impossible creatures who guard secrets older than memory.
"Get some rest." Grayson's hand rises as if to touch my face, then falls back to his side. "The meeting matters."
Grayson's footsteps fade into the darkness. I stand with my back against the door until I can't hear him anymore, then force myself away from the entrance and up the stairs.
Sleep doesn't come easily. When it finally does, I'm swimming through trenches where bioluminescence writes words across the dark. Almost readable. Almost understandable. But every time I get close enough to make sense of them, they scatter like startled fish.
Weak sunlight through the curtains wakes me. Gray clouds hang low, promising rain by evening. I drag myself out of bed and spend the day reviewing my presentation until my vision blurs. Cross-checking data. Rehearsing arguments. Making sure every word flows with authority I don't entirely feel.
The council chambers occupy the ground floor of the administrative building, a converted manor house with high ceilings and tall windows.
Islanders already crowd the space when I arrive, their conversations creating a low buzz that fills every corner.
Old Iain Stewart stands near the front, arms crossed.
Angus Muir from the harbor authority talks quietly with a woman I recognize from the general store.
I find a seat near the front and pull out my laptop. My hands won't quite steady as I open files and organize notes.
Movement near the back catches my attention.
Declan and Eliza slip through the entrance and find seats near the rear wall.
Rafe appears along the side, leaning against the windowsill with deceptive casualness.
Jax takes up position by the door, arms crossed and expression forbidding enough that people give him wide berth.
Grayson settles along the opposite wall where he can see both me and the council table.
Kian slouches in a back corner. Finn claims a spot near a window.