Chapter 5 #2
"Run." The dragon's voice rumbles like distant thunder, the word somehow comprehensible despite coming from a throat not designed for human speech. Finn's voice, unmistakable even through the inhuman resonance. "And tell those who sent you that Dr. Mercer is claimed."
They run.
The leader trips over his own feet in his haste to escape.
The man who threatened me with the knife abandons the weapon entirely, crashing through underbrush with the desperation of prey fleeing a predator.
Within seconds they've vanished into the forest, and the sound of their retreat fades into silence broken only by waves against rocks.
I stand frozen, staring at the dragon that was Finn moments ago.
The dragon's massive head turns, looking past me into the shadows where Finn's attention had focused earlier. A low growl rumbles from its chest. The vibration travels through the ground beneath my feet. The dragon recognizes the threat lurking there.
Then I smell it—something acrid and sharp beneath the salt air, like smoke but not quite, like burning but without fire. The scent makes my eyes water.
The dragon moves, positioning itself between me and the deeper forest, protecting me from a presence I can't see but it clearly can.
A presence moves in the darkness. I don't see it so much as feel it. The temperature changes like when someone enters a room. The subtle alteration in air pressure tells me I'm not alone.
Then it's gone. Whatever was watching from the shadows withdraws, and the tension in the dragon's posture eases fractionally.
The silvery mist swirls again, and the transformation reverses just as instantaneously. Thunder rolls. Electricity crackles through the air. Then Finn stands where the dragon was, human and naked and furious in ways that have nothing to do with the men who just fled.
"You're leaving." He closes the distance in a few long strides and grabs my arm hard enough to bruise. "Pack tonight. First ferry tomorrow. Don't argue."
"Someone was watching." The words come out steadier than I feel. "In the shadows. I smelled something burning."
His expression goes flat and dangerous. "Not your problem anymore."
"Who was it?" I pull against his grip, but he doesn't release me. "You saw them. That's why you transformed. Not just to save me from those men, but because whoever was in those shadows needed to see what you are."
"Too smart for your own damn good." His fingers tighten on my arm. "That's what gets people killed."
"You're a dragon." The words still sound impossible even after watching the transformation. "That's not possible."
"Don't care what you think is possible." He releases my arm and steps back, putting space between us like proximity is dangerous.
"Those men traffic supernatural creatures.
You saw what I am. They'll kill you for the knowledge or sell you to someone who wants to study how humans break when they learn monsters are real. "
"Supernatural." I taste the word, trying to fit it into a framework built on empirical evidence and peer-reviewed science. "Dragons are real. What else is real? Werewolves? Vampires? Fairies?"
"Shifters. Phoenixes. Sea witches." His mouth hardens into a grim line. "Things you don't need to know about because you're leaving."
The pieces snap together with sickening clarity.
The drownings look like ritual sacrifices.
The algae concentrations suggest deliberate cultivation.
Finn's cave was filled with bioluminescence that moved like it was breathing.
The cellular structures I couldn't classify came from something that isn't supposed to exist.
"The algae." My voice sounds distant, clinical, the scientist in me cataloging data even as my worldview crumbles. "Someone is harvesting it. Using it to kill humans. Some kind of magic powered by marine biology."
"Yes. Blood magic to be specific."
“Blood magic?”
“Yes. A kind of forbidden form of sorcery that utilizes blood as a power source to fuel spells, rituals, or curses.”
“Do you actually believe that?”
“Yes.”
"And you knew. The whole time I've been investigating, collecting samples, building a case. You knew what was really happening."
"Knew. Didn't care." His tone holds no apology, no regret, just flat acknowledgment. "Your investigation. Your problem. Until you became mine."
"But someone else knows now." I glance toward the shadows where that presence watched us. "Whoever was in the forest. They saw you transform. They know you're protecting me."
Raw fury crosses his face, possessive and violent. "Which is why you leave before they use you against me."
I take a step backward, then another, until rocks press against my spine. The collection bag lies where I dropped it, the zipper torn open from impact. Vials roll across volcanic stone, samples I spent days gathering now exposed to contamination.
The combat knife reflects moonlight, and I notice an etched symbol near the hilt, geometric and deliberate, like a brand or marking of ownership.
I file it away as evidence I don't understand yet but might become important.
"I need to go." The words come automatically, survival instincts finally catching up to shock. "I need to process this. Figure out what I'm dealing with."
"You're dealing with people who gut anyone who sees too much." Finn doesn't move closer, but his presence fills the space between us. "Pack. Leave. Forget Skara exists."
"Forget." A laugh bubbles up, edged with hysteria I refuse to acknowledge. "You transformed into a dragon in front of me. Rewrote every law of physics I know. Confirmed that mythology is real and science is incomplete. And you think I can just forget?"
"I don't give a damn what you can or can't forget." His expression goes cold. "You stay here, you die. Simple as that."
The threat hangs between us, brutal and honest. He's not trying to scare me. He's stating facts. Whatever else he is, whatever impossible nature he's revealed, he doesn't want me dead.
I bend down and retrieve the collection bag.
Most of the vials survived the fall intact.
The samples inside represent days of work, patterns that prove deliberate environmental manipulation—evidence that could expose an operation responsible for multiple deaths but evidence I can't use without explaining how I know what's really happening.
"I'll leave." The words taste like defeat. "But I'm keeping my research. Whatever is happening here, people are dying. And if dragons and blood magic and supernatural trafficking are real, then someone needs to document it."
"Document it and they'll gut you for the evidence." His voice drops to something that scrapes across my nerves. "That how you want to die? Choking on your own blood while they rip your research from your corpse?"
I meet his eyes. The aquamarine glow is fading now, humanity settling back over features that shifted from man to dragon and back again. He's beautiful, terrifying, impossible—everything I thought I understood about the world condensed into a form that defies classification.
"I'm a scientist." My voice steadies despite the tremors running through my hands. "I document truth. Whether that truth fits existing models or shatters them entirely."
A dark, possessive look crosses his face. "Then document it somewhere you might survive the week."
He turns and walks toward the forest. The darkness takes him, and the only proof he was ever there is the attacker’s combat knife on the ground and my vials at my feet.
I stand alone on the coastal path, surrounded by tidal pools and evidence of a transformation that violated every principle I've built my career on.
The silvery mist and thunder. The instantaneous change.
The complete cellular reorganization. The wings that spread wide enough to block the moon.
The eyes that glowed with light that has no source in human biology.
A dragon.
My hands shake as I check each vial for damage. The data I've collected represents a lot of work, patterns that suggest environmental manipulation on a scale that requires resources and knowledge far beyond what I initially suspected.
But now I know the truth behind the patterns. Supernatural creatures are harvesting toxic algae for blood magic rituals. Humans are dying as sacrifices to fuel workings I can't begin to understand. And Finn—whatever role he plays in this—is trying to protect me by driving me away.
I shoulder the collection bag and start walking back toward the village. My legs feel disconnected from conscious thought, muscle memory carrying me along the coastal path while my mind tries to process what just happened.
The inn appears ahead, windows glowing warm in the dark night. Normal people inside, living normal lives, completely unaware that dragons walk among them wearing human faces.
I climb the steps to my room with careful precision, each movement deliberate and controlled. The door locks behind me with a solid click that does nothing to settle the anxiety crawling under my skin.
My research materials spread across the desk where I left them this morning—microscope slides, chemical analysis reports, maps showing algae concentration patterns. The data made sense this morning but carries different implications now that I know what's really happening.
I sink into the chair and stare at the evidence I've gathered.
Scientific method demands I find rational explanations for observed phenomena.
But what rational explanation exists for a man who transforms into a dragon in seconds?
What peer-reviewed journal would publish findings that confirm mythology is real?
A shadow moves past my window.
I freeze, eyes tracking the shape that shouldn't be there. It's large and moving with purpose. Then it's gone, sliding past the glass like smoke.
Finn is following from the shadows, making sure I get back safely despite trying to scare me into leaving.
Protecting his mate, some instinct whispers.
The thought comes from nowhere, unbidden and unwelcome. But it fits the patterns I've observed—how he looks at me when he thinks I'm not watching, the possessive edge to his voice when he talks about my safety, the absolute fury in his eyes when those men threatened me.
I turn away from the window and try to focus on the samples, on the data that can be measured and analyzed, on the science that makes sense even when the world doesn't.
But even as I arrange the vials in careful rows, my hands won't stop shaking. The image burns behind my eyelids every time I blink—crimson scales, wings spreading wide, Finn's voice rumbling from a dragon's throat and claiming me.
The ferry leaves at dawn, and every survival instinct I have screams that I should be on it—should pack my samples and leave this island and everything I've learned behind. But even as the thought forms, I know with bone-deep certainty that I won't be.