Chapter 1 #2
My magic surges in response to the spike of fear, and I barely manage to force it down before the ocean responds. Can't let the waves crash louder. Can't let the rain that's threatening to fall come any harder. Can't give him any more evidence than he already has to confirm what he knows.
"You're wrong," I say, but the words come out too quiet. Too uncertain.
One hand comes up, fingers catching my chin.
The touch burns through my careful control, igniting something I've kept locked down for longer than I want to admit.
His skin is warm, calloused from whatever work he does when he's not running his empire from the shadows.
The contact sends awareness skittering across my nerves like lightning on water.
Dangerous. He's dangerous in ways that have nothing to do with his predator nature and everything to do with the way my body responds to his proximity.
"I'm never wrong about what matters." His thumb brushes along my jaw, possessive and certain in a way that should terrify me. "And you matter, Moira Flynn. You matter to whoever left that blood. Which means you're going to help me find them."
I should push him away. Should slam the door and pretend this conversation never happened. Should use my magic to drive him back and damn the consequences.
Instead, I feel the truth settling over me like a stone sinking in deep water.
Another sea witch is in Stormhaven. Not just near it—on it.
In my territory. Someone powerful enough to leave a summoning mark on my doorstep without me sensing their approach through the water.
Someone connected to the disappearances that have Stormhaven on edge and every supernatural faction looking for answers.
Someone who's turned sea witch magic into something dark and deadly, and brought it to my island.
The violation makes my magic thrash beneath my skin. This is sacred ground. Protected ground. Mine to watch over, mine to defend.
And Rafael Vega just became dangerous in an entirely new way.
"I don't help criminals," I whisper.
His eyes flash gold, just for a moment. "Careful, sea witch. You don't know what I am or what I've done. Don't pretend you're just an innkeeper when half the island saw you heal a bullet wound two weeks ago."
The words hit like a slap, but he's not wrong. I have been lying. Every day. Every interaction. Every smile and every casual conversation built on a foundation of deception.
"You will help me," he continues, his grip tightening on my chin. Not painful but inescapable. "Because whoever's hunting on my island just made their first mistake. They involved you."
The possessive phrasing should anger me. My island. Like he owns Stormhaven and everything in it. Like I'm just another piece of territory to protect or control.
But there's something else in his voice beneath the dominance. Something that sounds almost like concern wrapped in hunter's clothing. Like he actually cares about what happens to me beyond my utility in solving his problem.
That possibility terrifies me more than threats ever could.
"Why me?" I ask.
Those dark eyes hold mine, searching for something I'm not sure I want him to find. "Because you smell like the ocean. Like salt and deep water and something older. And whoever left that blood recognized it too."
The fear spikes through me, and my magic flares before I can stop it. The ocean roars louder below the cliffs. The rain that's been threatening finally breaks, sudden and violent, lashing against the cobblestones with unnatural fury.
I see the exact moment he feels it. The exact moment awareness clicks into place and he understands the connection between my emotions and the water that surrounds us.
His expression changes. Not fear. Not disgust. Not even surprise, really.
Hunger.
Heat floods through me despite every reason to stay cold. He's not threatened by what I am. He's intrigued. Fascinated. Looking at me the way predators look at things they want to understand before they devour.
Either possibility terrifies me.
"Lock your door, sea witch." His lips brush my temple, there and gone before I can react. The casual intimacy of the gesture steals my breath. "And next time you find blood on your doorstep, don't clean it up."
"Why not?"
"Because blood tells stories." His smile is all teeth and dark promise. "And I'm very good at reading them."
Then he's gone.
One moment he's close enough to touch, the next he's melted back into shadows like he was never there at all. The darkness swallows him completely, no footsteps, no rustle of fabric, no evidence he existed beyond the warmth lingering on my chin and my racing heartbeat.
Shadow-walker indeed.
I stand there in the rain, magic churning beneath my skin like a riptide trying to drag me under. The blood on my doorstep runs in rivulets now, mixing with rainwater, the triangle dissolving but the message remaining clear.
A sea witch is here. On my island.
The disappearances. The bodies. The blood magic.
Everyone blames the panther who runs the docks.
But Rafe didn't leave that blood on my doorstep. Someone else did. Someone who shares my gift and has brought it to my island for purposes that reek of death and dark water.
The Flynns have protected these waters for generations. And now someone thinks they can just walk in and use them for rituals written in blood.
The rain falls harder, soaking through my dress, plastering my hair to my skull.
My magic responds to the water, making it dance around me in patterns that would look impossible to anyone watching.
But there's no one here now. Just me and the ocean and the secret I've kept for ten years suddenly feeling far too fragile.
I look down at the dissolved triangle, at the water carrying blood into the cracks between stones.
And I see it.
Not with my eyes but with my magic. The blood carries an echo, a signature of the person who left it. Salt-magic like mine but perverted. Twisted into something that tastes of deep water and drowning and things that should never surface.
I know what she is now. And she knows exactly where to find me.
I press my hand flat against the wet stone, let my magic trace the patterns in the blood. I shouldn't. This is exactly the kind of deep magic Gran warned me against. The kind that opens connections both ways, that lets whatever I'm tracking sense me in return.
But I need to know.
The vision hits like a tidal wave, dragging me under before I can brace for it.
Dark water closes over my head. Cold seeps into my bones.
Bodies drift in the current—the missing dock workers, weighted down with stones, their blood feeding symbols carved into the seafloor.
They’re dead—their skin grey-blue, eyes filmed over, their bodies moving with wrong, jerky motions like puppets on strings.
The drowned don't always stay down.
And then I see her.
Standing at the edge of a sea cave I recognize from smuggling stories.
A woman with salt-white hair and eyes that glow faint blue in the darkness.
Power radiates from her like heat from a forge, but it's not sea witch magic.
It's necromancy. Blood magic. The kind that pulls at what should stay buried.
She turns as if she can sense me watching. Smiles.
"Hello, Moira." Her voice carries through water and vision both. "I wondered when you'd look."
I try to pull back but she holds me there with casual strength. Her necromantic magic wraps around mine like chains, and I feel the corruption in it. Blood magic. Death magic. The kind Gran warned me could call to the drowned.
"Your grandmother was strong," she says, circling me in the vision like Rafe circled me in reality. "Strong enough to bind what I've spent years learning to free. But bindings can be undone. And the drowned remember everything."
She's talking about raising the dead from Stormhaven's waters.
"I know about your sister," she continues, and her smile is terrible.
"Little Elspeth Flynn, who drowned when she was eight.
So much potential, wasted in the deep. But I can bring her back, Moira.
I can give you what you've wanted for eighteen years.
All you have to do is help me. Or..." Her eyes gleam.
"You can resist, and I'll raise her anyway.
Except she won't be yours anymore. She'll be mine. "
The vision breaks, leaving me gasping on my knees in the rain.
She’s not familiar. Could she be here on my island? In my waters? Using my tides for rituals that reek of blood and corruption? Killing shifters who live under my protection? Using their deaths to wake something that should stay sleeping?
The territorial violation makes my magic surge with rage I haven't felt in ten years. Every instinct screams to find her, to drive her out, to show her what happens when you invade a sea witch's territory.
I stagger to my feet, magic thrashing inside me like a trapped animal. The ocean responds, waves crashing high enough to send spray over the cliff edge. I force it down with an effort that makes my teeth ache, lock it behind the practiced control I've maintained for ten years.
I can't let it show… can't let anyone know how much power flows through me. Can't risk Declan MacRae deciding I'm more threat than asset, but Rafe already knows. The most dangerous predator on Skara now knows exactly what I am.
And if whoever's hunting here thinks I'll help them, I won’t. I’ll die trying to stop them.
I stumble into the inn, lock the door behind me with shaking hands. The fire's burned down to coals in the hearth. The tables sit empty, chairs stacked on top for tomorrow's cleaning. Everything normal and familiar and utterly inadequate protection against what's coming.
My reflection stares back at me from the window glass. Hair plastered to my skull. Eyes too wide. Gran's pendant gleaming at my throat like a beacon.
I look like a woman who's just seen her carefully constructed life begin to crumble.
I look like prey.
Thunder rumbles outside, and I don't know if it's natural or my magic responding to my fear.
The pendant burns warm against my chest.
I press my hand over it, feeling Gran's magic humming beneath the silver. She survived forty years as Stormhaven's hidden sea witch. Kept the full depth of her power secret even from those who knew what she was. Protected these waters from threats that came from the deep and from the land alike.
I've barely managed ten.
Two weeks ago, I revealed myself to save a life. Now another sea witch has invaded my territory, one who's twisted our gift into something monstrous. And Rafe knows far more about what I can do than anyone should.
Outside, the rain falls harder. The ocean crashes against the cliffs—responding to my anger as much as my fear. And somewhere in the darkness, two predators circle—one who's been watching me for years and one who thinks she can claim my island for her dark rituals.
Both of them are about to learn I'm not as helpless as I seem.