Chapter 25
Archie
Alow growl rolled through the boathouse—sharp and menacing. Archie’s skin prickled all at once. His breath stalled halfway in, chest locking taut as his body reacted before thought could catch up.
Something was moving just out of sight, slow and deliberate. Waiting for the right moment to strike.
The darkness beyond the collapsed wall thickened. The fluorescent light flickered overhead creating moving shadows in every corner of the building. Archie’s grip tightened on the crossbow until his knuckles ached.
Seven years. Seven years since he’d stood this close to a Selkie and let them live. He shifted his stance. Whatever lurked out there would have to come through him first.
“Get behind me.” Archie’s voice dropped low and firm. He pointed to the narrow strip of floor at his back. Outside was too exposed and out of his line of sight. And he wasn’t leaving Malachi alone with Murdock—injured or not—while his loyalty was in question.
Malachi didn’t argue. He crossed the space in two quick steps, shoulders tense, breath shallow.
Archie felt the tremor in his body as it brushed against him, the barely contained panic running under his skin like a live wire.
He angled his body, putting himself squarely between Malachi and the Selkie.
“Ina?” Archie turned to look for her, taking his eyes off the shadows for half a beat. His finger on the trigger, ready to fire if he needed to.
“I’m going to check the back.” Ina was already moving.
She wrenched the bolt free from the dead Selkie with a wet, sucking pull, wiped it down her trousers, and slid it back into place with practised efficiency.
She rolled her shoulders once, loose and ready, like she was stepping into a sparring ring instead of a nest slick with blood.
Archie watched her for half a second too long, wishing that his nerves were half as steady as hers looked.
“Wait!” Murdock’s voice cracked. He reached out his good arm, fingers clawing at the air as if he could physically hold Archie in place.
His face had gone grey, eyes wide and glassy with fear and pain.
“There’s a child.” His breath hitched. He clutched his wound harder. “Please, don’t hurt the youngling.”
The words sank deep into Archie’s chest, dragging memory up the vault where he kept it buried—blood in the water, bodies tangled in kelp, the sound of Selkie cries tearing through the night.
The choice he’d made back then. Mercy, or what he’d convinced himself was mercy.
It didn’t bring Rhys back. It didn’t achieve peace.
It only opened the door to more bloodshed and death.
“I let the children live last time and look at what happened!” The control in Archie’s voice snapped. His jaw clenched hard enough to hurt. “And look where that got us.”
The boathouse blurred for a heartbeat as flashes of that night slammed through him. Chaos, blood, screams echoing off stone—his or the Selkie’s he couldn’t tell. He forced himself back to the present, back into the damp, coldness of the boathouse.
“I won’t make the same mistake twice.”
The growl came again. Louder. Close enough that he felt it vibrate through the floor beneath its boots. Whatever had been lurking had stopped hiding.
Archie moved. He stepped forward deliberately, drawing the threat out whether it wanted to be seen or not. Sitting still was surrender. Waiting was how you died. If they were here, he would force them into the light—no matter how many of them there were.
“Archie, please!” Murdock lurched, trying to push himself upright. His good arm buckled under his weight. He cried out and collapsed back down, clutching his shoulder as fresh blood soaked through his fingers.
Archie ignored him. He jerked his chin at Malachi to follow. Ina nodded once and peeled off to the right without a word, her shape swallowed almost instantly by debris and rot.
They edged along the wall, boots careful on slick stone.
Archie’s heart hammered so hard in his chest it felt loud enough to give them away.
The light buzzed overhead, casting more shadow than clarity.
Ina had vanished into the maze of shadows and rotten wood, and with her went the last illusion of control.
Metal clanged somewhere across the boathouse. The sound ripped straight up Archie’s spine, cold and sharp. His instincts screamed numbers—how many, where are they, moving or circling—and came back empty.
He pulled Malachi closer without thinking, and edged further into the building.
Malachi’s fingers brushed his elbow. Not pulling, just there. A quiet steadying touch to let Archie know he was okay.
“Ina?” Archie’s voice was sharp enough to cut glass.
“I’m over here,” Ina replied. “That wasn’t me.”
Archie’s stomach dropped. He turned towards Malachi, already pulling in a breath to tell him to run—to get out, not stop or look back.
But Malachi wasn’t looking at him. His gaze was locked onto something over Archie’s shoulder, eyes blown wide and bright with terror.
“Look out!”
The warning barely left Malachi’s mouth before something slammed into Archie from behind.
The world tipped sideways. He was driven into the concrete, pain detonating across his back and shoulders. Stone cracked against bone. His vision burst white.
Malachi went flying. The rotten hull of an old boat splintered as he crashed through it, wood snapping and collapsing around him.
“No—” Archie rasped, clawing for his knife.
A brutal kick sent it skidding out of reach.
The Selkie straddled him. Weight crashed down on him. Knees pinned his arms. Cold slick hands locked onto his chest, pressing him flat. The smell hit him—salt, blood, wet scales—and something else underneath it. Something that made his stomach twist.
Archie froze. Recognition flickered, hot and sickening, as his eyes found her face. Seven years had hardened it. But the eyes were unmistakable—that same vivid blue, burning now with feral hatred.
“You killed my husband!” The words were spat straight into his face, thick with grief and fury. Her voice cracked then rose, tearing through the boathouse like a wound ripped open again. “You killed my family!”
She lifted the knife. Sapphire gems glinted along the hilt, dulled by years of salt and blood. Once beautiful. Once held in trembling hands.
“You destroyed everything I had.”
“Thalassa?” Archie's voice broke around her name.
It dragged him back seven years in an instant. Her trembling body, eyes wide with terror. Children clinging to her legs. The baby sleeping in her arms. That fear was long gone.
What stared down at him now was something else entirely—grief sharpened into rage; revenge honed to a killing edge. He recognised it instantly. It lived in him too, desperate to escape.
She raised the blade. Time slowed. Archie couldn’t move; he could barely breathe. The world narrowed to the arc of her arm, the dull gleam of steel, the certainty settling cold in his gut. This is it.
Malachi slammed into her from the side. The impact knocked Thalassa off Archie’s chest. The knife came down—not where it meant to, but close enough.
Pain exploded through Archie’s right thigh. He cried out as fire tore up his leg, white and blinding. His jaw locked tight enough to crack teeth as he fought the scream back.
Malachi hit the ground with her. For half a second, Archie dared to hope. Then she threw Malachi aside like he weighed nothing. She caught him by the throat and hauled him upright, fingers digging in, lifting him clean off the floor. The knife never left her other hand.
Malachi kicked, gasping, hands scrabbling uselessly against her wrist. Panic flared in his eyes as his feet searched for ground that wasn’t there.
Archie tried to rise. Agony crushed him back down. His leg refused to answer him, pain flooding so hard it stole his breath. He clawed at an anchor, dragging himself an inch closer. Sweat burned his eyes. His injured leg trailed behind him, dead weight.
Thalassa turned her head slowly to look at him. A smile curved her mouth—small and cruel. “For my family.”
Archie’s blood iced. Not even he could overpower a full-grown Selkie without a weapon. And now they all knew it.
This was his fault. His mercy had spared her. And now he was going to watch as it cost him his son.
“Please…” Archie begged. He hooked the anchor with trembling fingers and hauled himself onto one knee.
Thalassa’s smile widened. “For Caspian.”
Something inside Archie tore completely loose. His scream ripped through the boathouse as the knife plunged towards Malachi.
Thalassa jerked forward with a grunt. The blade stalled mid-air, its tip hovering inches from Malachi’s chest. Confusion flickered across her face as she looked down. An iron bolt was buried deep between her shoulder blades.
Archie’s heart hammered so hard it stole his breath. For a split second he couldn’t move, couldn’t even think. He just stared at the bolt. Then realisation hit, sharp and staggering.
Ina.
She’d been there all along. While he was being hunted, Ina was still hunting. Watching and waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Thalassa fell forward, her weight slamming into Malachi and knocking them both to the floor. The knife slipped from her fingers and clattered across the concrete.
She rolled off him and onto her back. Air dragged in and out in short, broken pulls.
Each breath rattled, wet and uneven—scraping through her throat as blood bubbled at her lips.
There was no panic in her eyes. Just a steady resigned awareness as she stared up at the rotting beams above, breath tearing out of her in short bursts.
Archie sagged. Relief hit him first—sharp and dizzying, his knees threatening to give way as the certainty landed that Malachi was still alive. That he hadn’t lost another son.