Panther in the Shadows (Tides of Fate #2)

Prologue

MOIRA

Ten Years Ago

The tray slips from Gran's fingers at half-past nine on a Tuesday night.

I hear the crash from the kitchen where I'm washing glasses, hear the sudden silence that follows louder than any scream. The sound of absence. The fishing crowd at the bar goes quiet, that terrible hush that means everyone knows what's happening but no one wants to be the first to move.

I run.

Gran lies on the worn floorboards between tables four and six, her body twisted wrong, eyes open and staring at the water-stained ceiling. The whiskey she'd been carrying pools around her silver hair like a halo of amber. Her lips move but no sound comes out.

I drop to my knees beside her, hands hovering over her chest. "Gran. Gran, stay with me."

She looks at me. Clear-eyed, despite everything. Knowing.

"Moira." My name comes out as barely a whisper. "The sea... calls you now."

"Don't. Don't you dare." My tears burn hot against the cold floor. "I'll get help. Just hold on."

Her hand catches mine with surprising strength. The silver pendant at her throat gleams dully in the lamplight, the ancient sea witch symbol I've seen every day of my life suddenly looking like exactly what it is. A mark of power. A burden passed down through blood.

"No help for this, girl." She coughs, and something red flecks her lips. "Heart's done. Been done for a while now."

"Gran—"

"Hush." Her grip tightens. "Listen. When I'm gone, it comes for you. All of it. The gift, the knowing, the weight. Don't fight it. Let it in or it'll drown you sure as the sea drowned your father and sister."

Prophetic. Final. Around us, the inn holds its breath. Someone has gone for the doctor but we all know he'll be too late.

"I'm not ready," I whisper.

"No one ever is." A smile ghosts across her face. "But you're strong, Moira Flynn. Stronger than me. Stronger than your mother was before she ran from it. You'll bear it because you must."

Her gaze fixes on something past my shoulder, past the ceiling, past everything solid and real.

Then she's gone.

The pendant flares against her skin, hot and bright enough that several people gasp. Old Tom crosses himself. Sarah Thompson backs toward the door.

And the sea answers.

The magic hits me like a tidal wave.

One moment I'm kneeling beside Gran's body, the next I'm drowning in sensation.

Every drop of water within a mile radius suddenly connects to my consciousness.

The ocean outside roaring in my ears. The rain that's just started to fall.

The water in every glass, every pipe, every living thing on the island.

Too much. Too fast. Too everything.

I try to scream but the sound comes out strangled, desperate. Hands grab me—Old Tom, maybe, or Duncan Ross. They drag me away from Gran's body, up the narrow stairs to my room above the inn. Voices shout but I can't make out words over the rushing in my head.

The sea speaks in a thousand voices, each one demanding attention. Currents and tides, temperature and salt content, every fish and seal and whale within range. The knowledge floods in until there's no room for thoughts of my own, no space for breath or reason or self.

Darkness takes me, and I welcome it.

For three days I burn.

Later, people tell me about the fever, about how I thrash and mutter in languages no one recognizes. About how the weather turns violent, waves crashing against the cliffs with unnatural fury, rain lashing the windows hard enough to crack glass.

I remember none of that clearly... just vague images that beckon and terrify me.

What I remember is the feeling of drowning on dry land. Sinking deeper and deeper into cold water that has no bottom. Fighting to surface but the weight keeps pulling me down.

And through it all, voices.

The ocean's voice, ancient and patient and utterly inhuman. It wants me to understand, wants me to accept what I've become. Wants me to stop fighting and just listen.

The voices of every sea witch who came before, their power flowing through the pendant now burning against my chest. Gran's voice strongest among them, guiding me through the worst of it.

And my own voice, small and terrified, begging to be let go.

But there's no letting go. Only surrender.

On the fourth day, I open my eyes.

The room comes into focus slowly. My bedroom, familiar and strange at once.

Dawn light filters through rain-streaked windows.

Someone has left water and bread beside the bed.

The pendant lies heavy against my sternum, no longer burning but warm, alive in ways it never seemed to be when Gran wore it.

I sit up carefully, testing my body. Everything aches like I've been beaten, but I'm whole. More than whole.

I can feel the tide turning three miles out. Can sense the storm moving in from the west. Can count every drop of water in the pitcher on my nightstand without looking at it.

The power sits in my chest like a second heartbeat, vast and terrible and mine.

A knock at the door makes me flinch.

"Come in," I say, and even my voice sounds different. Deeper. Edged with something that tastes of salt.

The door opens to reveal a man I've seen around the island but never spoken to directly.

Magnus MacRae, alpha of the wolf pack that secretly governs Stormhaven.

Tall, grey-haired, storm-grey eyes that see too much.

He carries himself with the quiet authority of someone who never needs to raise his voice.

"Moira." He closes the door behind him. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I drowned and came back wrong."

A slight smile. "Not wrong. Different. Your grandmother warned me this day would come."

Of course she did. Gran and Magnus MacRae had some kind of understanding, some arrangement I've never been privy to. The shifters left her alone, and she... did what, exactly?

He must read the question in my face because he moves to the window, hands clasped behind his back. "Siobhan watched the tides for me. Told me when threats came from the sea. Used her magic to help hide what we are from the humans who would fear us."

"And you want me to do the same." Not a question.

"I want to offer you protection." He turns to face me. "A sea witch of your power won't stay secret long. Others will sense you, will come looking. Some will want to use you. Others will want you dead simply for what you are."

His meaning settles over me like a shroud. "And in exchange for this protection?"

"You watch the island. You warn me of supernatural threats from the water. You use your magic to help keep Stormhaven's secrets buried." His expression remains neutral. "You continue what Siobhan began."

It isn't a request. We both know that. Without his protection, I'll be vulnerable to every supernatural faction that might take interest in a newly manifested sea witch. With it, I have a chance at survival.

"How long?" I ask.

"As long as you live here. As long as the magic lives in you." He pauses. "I won't lie to you, Moira. This is a burden. But you were born to carry it."

Born to it. Just like Gran said. Just like every Flynn woman before me, stretching back generations to when the first sea witch pledged herself to these waters.

"All right," I whisper. "I accept."

He nods once, sharp and final. "Good. I'll make sure the pack knows you're under my protection. Anyone who threatens you answers to me."

He leaves as quietly as he came, closing the door with a soft click.

I stand on shaking legs and move to the window. Below, the inn is closed, black crepe hung on the door for Gran's death. Beyond it, the ocean stretches grey and restless under morning clouds. My ocean now. My responsibility. My prison.

The pendant warms against my skin as if in answer.

I press my palm flat against the cold glass and feel the tide's pull in my bones, the storm's approach in my blood. Everything connects to me now—every drop, every tide, every current. All of it aware of my existence, and me of theirs. No part of me separate from the sea anymore.

This is my life now. Hidden in plain sight, serving drinks and watching for threats, using power I barely understand to protect an island full of people who can never know what I truly am.

The weight settles over me like the ocean itself—vast, crushing, inescapable.

I press my forehead against the glass. The ocean roars louder, responding to the loneliness I won't let myself feel.

Gran's pendant burns warm against my chest.

A reminder. A warning. A promise I didn't choose but will keep anyway.

RAFE

Seven Years Ago

Blood dries quickly under the Mediterranean sun.

I stand in the courtyard of my family's estate and watch Diego's blood turn from red to rust on the ancient stones…

a gash along his ribs and his head bent at an odd angle.

My hands won't stop shaking. His body was removed hours ago but I can still see him there, silver knife clutched in his hand, eyes wide with shock that I was faster.

Around me, the panther clans gather for judgment. Fifty shifters from five families, their scents mixing with orange blossoms and the sea breeze that always smells like home. Used to smell like home.

Now it just smells like the end of everything.

"Rafael Vega." My father's voice rings out across the courtyard, formal and cold. "You stand accused of murdering your brother, Diego Vega, and attempting to harm your betrothed, Catalina Reyes."

"That's not what happened." My voice stays steady despite the shaking in my hands. "Diego attacked me. He and Catalina were planning—"

"Liar!" Catalina's voice cuts through mine, sharp with grief that would sound genuine to anyone who doesn't know her.

She stands between her father and mine, tears streaming down her beautiful face, dark hair wild like she's been pulling at it.

"You were jealous. You thought Diego wanted control of the Vega territory. You killed him!"

"He had a silver knife," I say through gritted teeth. "He ambushed me in the courtyard."