Chapter 18
Ina
Ina’s fingers drummed against her mug before she caught herself and curled them into her palm. She bit her tongue, hard enough to taste copper.
She shifted in her seat, and caught Archie and Malachi exchanging quick, sidelong glances—the same look they’d worn their whole lives when something went wrong. Waiting for her to speak. Expecting her to step in and fix everything.
The kitchen clock ticked, echoing through the silence. Each second wound the tension tighter. It scraped along her nerves until she was a breath away from yanking the damn thing off the wall to make it stop.
“Well?” Malachi finally broke the silence. The shadows carved deep hollows beneath his eyes. Too deep for someone so young. Ina’s jaw tightened.
“Well.” Archie nodded and reached for the teapot, giving it a shake. Tea sloshed inside. “Do you want a top up?”
“No, thank you.” Malachi nudged his still-full mug a fraction further away.
Archie set the teapot down without a sound. The Wolfendens were usually heavy-handed, but in times of crisis, they overcompensated with an unnatural lightness of touch, as though terrified they might shatter something fragile.
Ina stifled a yawn. Not from tiredness, but from the effort of restraint—from holding back the truths she’d been swallowing for years.
It had never sat right with her that Archie refused to tell his children about the Otherworld.
The choice had always felt wrong. Dangerous.
She’d raised it before—quietly and loudly. But always met with the same wall.
“I’ll leave you two to it.” She pushed back her chair and stood, easing it rather than scraping it across the floor.
Archie stared at her like a rabbit caught in headlights. “What—” He swallowed hard. “Stay with us, Ina.”
“I’m sick of the secrets.” Ina raised both hands, palms out, holding the line. “If this is happening, then it happens properly. Open, honest communication at this table.”
Archie hesitated, then reached out, inviting her to sit back down. “Please?” A thin smile tugged at his mouth. “There will be no more secrets. I promise.”
Ina studied him, weighing his readiness to keep it. Then she scraped her chair along the floor and sat down again.
Malachi rested his chin on his hand, watching them. His mouth twitched slightly, as though his dad’s panic at the thought of Ina leaving didn’t surprise him at all. Eighteen was old enough to know who usually spoke first.
It was time for him to grow up, but he could only do that if Archie let him. Based on tonight’s events, his life depended on it. Ina wouldn’t allow Malachi to be unprepared the next time the Otherworld came calling. If Archie couldn’t tell him, she would.
“There are things about us that you don’t know—” She caught herself. Closed her mouth.
Ina had been the one to tell Archie about the Otherworld when they were children.
The duty had fallen to her after Daddy disappeared, and Mammy never recovered.
‘Died of a broken heart’ was the official cause of death.
Ina had never believed it. She’d learned early what it meant to shoulder truths no one else wanted.
She drew a slow breath and leaned back instead. This time, she would listen. She watched Archie—the set of his shoulders, the way his eyes kept drifting to Malachi—and willed him to speak.
The silence stretched. But she stayed quiet anyway, even though every instinct screamed at her to take the reins.
“There is so much that we all need to learn.” Archie’s eyes fixed on his mug. “Together.”
Ina’s brows lifted before she could stop them.
Archie speaking first—really speaking—was rare enough that it knocked the air from the room. Malachi stared at him, mouth slightly open, like he was waiting for the sound to fade.
Ina took a sip of tea, more to steady her hands than because she wanted it, and waited.
After Heather died, Archie held himself together through sheer will.
Ina had watched him fold laundry with a face torn between grief and fury, had taken the boys for walks when the house became too quiet, and slept on the sofa outside the Hideaway while he locked himself away looking for something he wouldn’t share.
Heather’s death had never sat right with her. She’d lived with one eye over her shoulder. Ina couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever she’d been running from, had finally caught up with her.
Archie survived her loss, bent but not broken. Rhys’ death was different.
Something in Archie had gone sharp around the edges after that.
Anger slipped into him like a splinter he couldn’t pull free.
He tried for Malachi—Ina would give him that—but the space between them had grown quiet and dangerous.
The Otherworld sat between father and son like an unspoken truth, festering for seven long years.
Malachi had leaned on Ina instead. Always had. And she’d let him, but that bond was never meant to replace Archie.
Facing the Selkie as a family could stitch them back into a pack. The Otherworld was closer than it had been for years. The McAllisters had lived on Latharna for generations and were active members of the community, but they had slipped before—and could again.
A cold chill ran down Ina’s spine as she thought about what Tilly had told her: the refuge, the clean vampires. It only took one of their clan falling off the wagon, one lapse into bloodlust, for their secret to come dangerously close to exposure.
The McAllisters were allies. Camilla was a regular fixture at Tilly’s drunken parties—she was a trusted part of their circle. But surely they could see it too: inviting the Otherworld further into Latharna wouldn’t stop with good intentions. It would open the door to more danger. More bloodshed.
If they were going to face the Selkie together—if they were going to survive the growing influence of the Otherworld—Archie had to lead this. Ina wouldn’t let them fracture again. Not now. There was too much at stake.
“Go on,” Ina nudged the moment back into Archie’s hands. She tipped her chin towards Malachi, whose attention hadn’t left him for a second. “We’re waiting.”
Archie took a long slurp of tea, as though the heat might burn some courage into him. “We know very little about Latharna, what it really is and what lives on it. Those things tonight, your ‘fucking fishmen’ …"
Ina’s cup cracked against the table. She froze, fingers tight around the ceramic. She hated swearing, but she swallowed the reprimand before it could surface. Now wasn’t the time to interrupt. She leaned back instead, jaw clenched, and let Archie keep going.
“The Selkie are sea creatures of old.” Archie set his mug on the table, with deliberate care. “They return to Latharna every seven years to have their young. It’s been this way for generations.”
“Selkie,” Malachi whispered, barely disturbing the air, like he was afraid to say their name too loudly in case it might summon them.
“Selkie,” Archie echoed with a nod. “They used to be gentle, unassuming creatures. But their numbers dwindled. More people moved here. Food grew scarce when they came ashore to have their young.” His gaze flicked to Malachi.
“When they’re here, they take whoever they find along the coast. Just enough to sustain their shoal until they return to sea. ”
Ina watched Malachi closely.
Normally, she could read him as easily as the morning newspaper. Now, there was nothing. Not blankness, but control. He sat still, shoulders squared, eyes fixed on Archie absorbing every word without flinching.
Suddenly older than his years. Quieter than Archie had ever been. Steadier too, less impulsive. A daydreamer, but also able to take in every word when it mattered. He definitely got those traits from Heather. The familiar ache settled in Ina’s chest.
“It was their hunger for revenge that almost got you killed.” Archie’s voice faltered just for a beat.
“They came for you tonight because of my failure last time. When they took Rhys—” He swallowed hard, “I was blinded by grief. I left Latharna vulnerable to attack from creatures most people believe only exist in fairy tales. I put this place in danger.” His gaze locked on Malachi. “I put you in danger. I’m so sorry.”
The apology landed heavy.
Ina’s throat tightened, the sting of tears pressing hard to escape. She blinked them back. She’d waited years to hear Archie say that—not for herself, but for Malachi. She wouldn’t steal the moment by weeping.
“Why?” Malachi’s body went taut, like he was bracing for bad news. “Why did you put us in danger? What did you do?”
Ina’s breathing slowed. The boathouse loomed in her mind—the way Archie came back that night hollow-eyed, scales caught in his sleeves, blood drying on his hands.
She’d known where he’d gone and what he’d done.
What he hadn’t finished. If she’d gone with him, there would have been no mercy.
Not from her. It was Archie’s mercy that had come back to haunt Riverside.
“The Selkie nest is in an abandoned boatshed near the old West Harbour.” Archie jerked his thumb vaguely behind him.
“They’re lucky the mayor didn’t bulldoze it to make room for more holiday apartments while they were at sea.
” He cleared his throat. “The night Rhys was killed; I went there. I—” His hand pressed hard to his temple.
“I slaughtered almost all of them. All but one young family.”
Malachi didn’t move.
“I couldn’t do it.” Archie said quietly. “I couldn’t kill the last of them.” His shoulders sagged a fraction under Malachi’s stare. “I think that family came back to Latharna for one reason. Revenge.”
Ina held her breath. The room felt too small. Walls inching closer. Air thick enough to choke on. This was the truth she’d helped bury. The cost of it all laid bare between them now.
She swallowed hard and stayed silent. This wasn’t the moment for her fury or regret.