Chapter 32
Jamie
Bloody figures.
You turn your back for one night—just one night—and suddenly your pack’s managed to get themselves locked inside a Watch mousetrap.
I’d known it the moment their scents veered hard toward the cliffs. Followed the trail up and along the ridgeline, my boots sliding on shale, until I found a door in the rock, sealed shut. Just the smell of my pack flooding out of a door sealed tighter than a miser’s purse.
I could smell Sera’s scent though, almost as if she was right there in front of me, naked and wet and begging for a fucking. Her arousal was pungent, enticingly warm and tempting, calling me in, and for a second, it went to my head and straight down to my cock.
I stood there for a long minute, listening, my hand pressed to the cold seam of steel.
She was inside and so were the rest of my pack.
“Congratulations, boys,” I muttered. “You’ve all been played like fiddles.”
The urge to laugh was there, but it tasted too much like fear. Not for me; I’d wriggled out of worse than this. But for them. For her. The thought of Sera caged, well, that set something truly ugly curling in my gut.
I pulled back, booted a loose rock into the dark, and made my way down to the quay where we’d left the boat. If I couldn’t pry them out myself, I’d damn well make noise in the right places.
And that’s when I found Logan’s radio, sitting on the bench seat like an afterthought.
I thumbed it on, the old hiss filling the silence. “Well then,” I said, grinning despite myself. “Let’s see who’s listening.”
First frequency: static. Second: dead air. Third: click.
“Do you got the money?” I said, low and mocking, into the speaker.
Silence, and then a voice, and hell, if it wasn’t a little familiar. “Jamie Buchanan.”
I laughed, short and harsh. “Aye, lass. Thought you’d be rid of me that easy?”
It was her. The shadow-girl from London. Last time I’d seen her, it had been in an alley dripping with rain, her hood drawn up, money in one hand and a warning in the other.
“I told you to bring him back,” she said now. “Unharmed.”
“I’ve got a bit of a problem there, lass. You see, I’ve gotten him to the Isle of Man, but now he’s in the Watch’s hands and I’m going to need some help getting him and my mate free.”
Her breath caught. “Your mate, Sera Moore?”
I blinked. “Well, well. So you know the lass’s name. Makes sense. You’re all connected, you English conspirators.”
“There’s something else,” she said. “Our sensors picked up movement from Dublin not long after your pack went dark. Hundreds of heat signatures, Jamie. Not human. Not wolves. But lycans. They went into the water and every last one of them is moving straight for the Isle of Man.”
I went still, knuckles whitening around the radio. “Hundreds.”
“Yes.”
I blew out a loud breath through my nose. “Shiiiitt.” My laugh was humorless, scraping the edge of fear. “That’ll be him, then. The fuckin’ bloody Elder Lycan—and his army.”
“They won’t last,” she said quickly, but there was no conviction behind it. “They die in a few years, everyone knows that—”
“Aye, years,” I cut in, voice flat. “But they’ll last long enough to chew this island to pieces.
We’re going to need an army of our own. The Watch isn’t prepared for that kind of force.
Send as many people as you can spare, lass.
Guns, ammo, hell—bring a bloody tank if you’ve got one rusting in some barn. ”
There was the sound of cloth shifting, like she was pulling her hood tighter around her face. Her voice went sharp again, cutting. “If I wanted this job done right, Jamie, I should have just done it myself.”
I grinned despite the cold knot in my gut. “Och, don’t flatter yourself. You’d look lovely storming the beaches with your knives in hand, but you hired me for a reason. I’ll keep the bastards alive long enough for you to show off.”
A pause. Then, softer: “Hold on until I get there.”
I thumbed the dial down, eyes on the black horizon where the sea heaved like it was alive beneath the moonlight. My reflection in the dark water looked grim, older, a little too much like the stubborn bastard I’d always promised I wouldn’t become.
“Hold on,” I muttered to myself, to the island, to my pack caged behind that locked door, and to what was coming for us tomorrow.
We were going to need a miracle.
I twisted the dial, thumbing through until the next line opened. “Zara Yorke. If you’re breathing, answer.”
It took half a minute that felt like it stretched into an hour before the line crackled.
“—Jamie?” Zara’s voice. Stiff, tired, but alive.
“Aye, it’s me. You lot still hugging the river?”
“We made it north of there,” she said. “But… we’ve lost contact with you guys. We thought—”
“They’re not dead,” I cut in. “Just daft. Walked right into the Watch’s waiting arms and slammed the cage shut themselves. I tracked the scent. They’re behind steel deeper in the rock than I care to know.”
Silence, broken only by the sound of a man’s voice in the background, clipped and angry.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“The Isle of Man, just north of Douglas Head. There’s an inlet; our boat is just past it, hugged up under the cliffs.
” I grinned despite the ache in my chest. “There’s no time to waste.
Find a boat and head in this direction at full steam with every one of your wolves and every weapon you can lay your hands on. ”
“I’ll come,” she said. “We’ll come.”
I clicked the radio off before she said anything more, before the edge in her voice broke and she started asking about her brother.
So that left me alone again, on the rocking hull of a cruiser older than sin, the cliffs looming dark and mute behind me.
I picked up the rifle next to me, set it across my knees, checked the rounds, and sat back.
The night stretched cold and long, and the only sound was the water harassing the rocks like it meant to drown them.
I should have been afraid, but fear wasn’t what I felt. Loyalty, maybe. Or love, the kind I’d never been daft enough to name out loud. Whatever it was, it kept me awake while the island slept.
I thought of Sera, the stubborn tilt of her chin, the steel in her voice, the fire in her eyes.
Thought of the way she’d looked at us, like she wanted to hate us, but couldn’t quite manage it.
Thought of the bond that snapped tight the second I saw her, and how I’d let her walk away anyway because it was her choice.
Now she was behind steel doors, and I wanted nothing more than to break her out, along with the rest of my bloody pack.
I’d get them out. Or I’d die trying.
Dawn came in gray and mean, sky and sea the same color of hammered pewter. I hadn’t slept. I’d been too busy listening to the surf gnaw at the rocks and imagining every way this whole thing could go sideways.
That was when I heard the low chop of an engine pushed hard. I straightened on the quay just as a black boat cut round the headland, spray fanning off her bow.
The woman who’d hired me to fetch Logan Yorke stood at the front of the boat, hood down now, wind dragging her black hair back from her face.
Everything about her seemed like it was deliberate, from the way she braced against the swell, to the clasp of her fists at her sides, to the way her eyes swept the shore before they even landed.
She wasn’t alone. Four men rode with her—wolves, all of them. Their scent hit me before the boat even slowed.
The boat slapped into the quay, rubber fenders squealing. I caught the bow line and made it fast as she hopped off, boots finding stone securely like she’d done it a thousand times.
“Buchanan,” she said. No hello, no small talk, just my name in that cool, all too-knowing voice.
I squinted at her. “You’ve the advantage, lass. I don’t know your name, but you know mine.”
Her mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “For now, let’s keep it that way.”
I snorted. “Mysterious then, are we? Fine.”
“You’ll get it when you’ve earned it,” she said, and stepped aside so that her men could climb out.
The first was broad as a barn and grinning like he had just won some grand prize of sorts. “Griffith Madoc,” he said, voice warm and Welsh. “Griff to friends. I’m the one who lifts the heavy things and tells better jokes than anyone still alive.”
“Bold claim,” I said.
“You’ll see,” he grinned.
The second was leaner, and when he spoke, he had a thick English accent. “Bishop Hale.” His eyes cut to me like he already had a file on me.
“Charmed,” I said dryly.
The third had dark hair laced with gray and a beard encasing his entire jawline. There were knives on his belt and he seemed like the kind of man who’d grown up with them there. He inclined his head once. “Nox Byrne.”
The last climbed out with a medic’s bag slung across his chest, eyes steady, movements precise. “Eamon Tierney.”
They all looked to the woman, and she only nodded once, as if that was introduction enough. She didn’t give me her name, didn’t even hint at one. Just folded her arms and looked up at the cliffs as though she was considering leaping off the boat and scaling them all on her own right then.
“So,” I said, planting my hands on my hips. “We’ve got the Watch sitting fat in their cave, and if your intel’s right, a sea full of lycans heading straight for us. Tell me, mystery lass, do you have a plan?”
Her eyes flicked back to me, dark and cool. “First, we get your pack out. Second, we hold this island until there’s nothing left to hold.”
Griff cracked his knuckles, smiling. Bishop’s mouth twitched in disapproval. Nox’s grin was chilling, and Eamon just adjusted his bag like he was already tallying up the damage.
“Sounds like a proper morning. Right then,” I said, hitching my rifle higher on my shoulder. “You’ve come all this way, mystery lass, so let’s hear it. What clever ideas do you have for breaking into a steel hole in solid rock full of people who hate our guts?”
She crouched, tugging a waterproof map from her coat, slapping it down on a crate. Pencil lines marked the headland in neat, clean strokes.
“The Watch have three obvious access points,” she explained. “Front cave entrance, old service tunnel here, and the vent shafts further inland. The cave is a kill zone. The service tunnel is sealed, but could be breached. The vents…” she tapped the paper, “…are our best chance.”
Bishop knelt beside her, arms folded, mouth pulled into a thin line. “They’ll have every corridor stacked with firepower. No way through without a body count.”
“Aye,” I said, crouching opposite him, tracing the vent lines with a gloved finger. “But these vents cut into maintenance corridors, aye? Nothing to worry about there. Just ducts, catwalks, and some poor sod who forgot to oil all the hinges since 1945.”
Nox’s grin widened. “Quiet in. Loud out.”
Griff chuckled, big and easy. “Loud’s my favorite part.”
Eamon crouched near the map too. “If the lycans arrive while you’re still inside—”
“They will arrive,” the woman cut in, eyes flicking to me. “Hundreds, by water, and if the Elder Lycan leads them himself, this island won’t hold.”
I blew out a breath, raking a hand through my hair. “So we’re fighting them off with six people and a prayer. Brilliant. No wonder you needed me.”
Eamon glanced toward the cliffs. “Did you tell him that the Brits are coming too?”
“On their way,” the woman said.
Silence fell, heavy and bitter.
Finally, I clapped my hands together. “Well, that paints a cheery picture. So, here’s what I say: we wriggle into the Watch’s bowels together, and we find Sera and the others, then we get the fuck off this island before all hell breaks loose.”
Griff grinned like I’d just told him he’d won the lottery. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
Bishop gave me a long look, then nodded once. “Strength in cohesion. Divide, and the Watch will crush us piecemeal.”
Nox twirled one of his knives, catching the light. “All together then.”
Eamon gave a small, exasperated huff, adjusting the strap on his medic’s bag again. “Better for me, anyway. Easier to patch you idiots if I don’t have to chase you down in different corners of the island.”
The woman’s pale blue eyes found mine. “And if the British arrive while we’re inside?”
I bared my teeth in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Then we’ll greet them the same way we greet the Watch—with the pointy end first.”
Her mouth twitched, almost approving. “You don’t lack confidence.”
“Confidence?” I grinned. “No, lass. I just lack options.”
Bishop rolled the map tight, tucking it back into his coat. “One team. One strike. Maximum force at the point of contact. We make it count, or we don’t make it at all.”
Griff cracked his knuckles again, the sound like snapping branches. “Good. I would have hated missing out on the fun.”
The woman straightened, cloak whipping in the sea breeze. “We’re out of time,” she said simply. “We do this together now.”
I looked up at the cliffs, the black mouth of the cave yawning like it was laughing. My pack was in there, shackled and strung up like meat. The sea was crawling with lycans, the bloody British were on their way, and Zara’s pack was somewhere out there in the fray too.
“Aye,” I said, a grin sliding across my face. “Then let’s go and earn our bloody keep.”