Chapter 7
CATRIONA
I'm standing in a warehouse surrounded by predators who could kill me before I draw my next breath.
Every instinct I've honed through years of law enforcement screams at me to run.
To reach for the weapon I'm no longer carrying.
To put distance between myself and the men watching me with the same kind of intensity that Kian possesses.
But my tactical training overrides panic, taking inventory of details that might keep me alive in the next few minutes.
The man who entered first commands the space with authority that makes grown men step back without realizing they've moved. Muscular in dark jeans and a shirt that leaves no doubt he’s strong, carrying himself with the easy certainty of a man used to being obeyed.
This is one of the men who will decide my fate tonight.
Four predatory men stand between me and the only exit.
Kian stands to my left, positioned where he can reach me quickly but not close enough to crowd. The protective stance would be reassuring if he didn't look ready to tear through anyone who gets too close.
"Declan," Kian says quietly, nodding to the man who entered first. His voice is tight with tension. "Grayson. Rafe. Jax. Finn." He identifies each in turn, and I commit the names to memory even as my heart pounds. These are the brotherhood leaders he mentioned.
Declan's stare locks on Kian, his voice cutting through the silence with uncompromising directness. "You compromised five years of operational security. Five years of building credibility with the syndicate, gathering intelligence, positioning yourself as a trusted asset."
The weight of that hits me. Five years. Kian spent five years embedded with criminals, risking his life to gather intelligence.
"And you threw it away the moment you shifted in front of her.
" Declan pauses, letting that sink in. "Your cover's blown.
You can't go back to infiltrating the Russians now.
The moment syndicate leadership learns their assassins are dead, they'll know someone intervened.
And since those assassins were targeting her, it won't take them long to figure out who. "
"I know." Kian's voice holds no apology. "I made the call."
"You made the call that affects all of us," Rafe says from the shadows. "Without consulting us. Without considering the operational consequences. We lose our inside man because you couldn't let one human die."
"She's a police chief investigating the syndicate," Kian counters, his tone harder than I've heard it. "They sent professional assassins after her. That means she's close to something they want buried."
"Or it means she's a threat they're eliminating," Jax growls. "Humans investigate things all the time. They die all the time. It's the natural order. We don't risk our operations for every cop who gets in over their head."
"This conversation needs to happen somewhere more secure." Declan's voice cuts through the building tension. "Not here. Wolfstone Abbey. If we're discussing operational security breaches and exposure risks, we do it on sacred ground with proper protections."
"Agreed," Grayson rumbles. "This isn't warehouse business."
Declan's stare fixes on me. "You come with us. Don't try to run. Don't try to call for help. You're already in this too deep to walk away, and the only question now is whether you walk out of tonight alive or not."
The casual threat should terrify me. Maybe it does. But I meet his stare without flinching. "Understood."
"Kian, you bring her. The rest of us will meet you there." Declan heads for the door, the other brotherhood members falling in behind him with lethal synchronization.
Then they're gone, leaving me alone with Kian in the cavernous warehouse.
"Wolfstone Abbey?" I ask into the silence.
"Declan's home and pack headquarters." Kian moves toward a door I hadn't noticed, gesturing for me to follow him down a staircase.
"It sits on a promontory headland overlooking the sea and the village.
Where his wolves live. Sacred ground, protected by generations of wards and magic.
Taking you there instead of handling this here, means Declan's willing to hear you out on his own territory. That's significant."
"That's supposed to be reassuring?"
"It's supposed to be honest." He opens another door to reveal a battered truck parked in what looks like a private garage. "Get in."
I climb into the passenger seat, hyperaware that I'm getting into a vehicle with a man who just showed himself to be a supernatural predator. A man who killed three trained assassins in tiger form. A man whose entire brotherhood is debating whether to erase my memory or end my life.
Kian slides behind the wheel with fluid grace, starts the engine, and pulls out into the night without another word.
We drive through Stormhaven's dark streets in tense silence. The village looks peaceful at this hour, windows glowing with warm light, fishing boats rocking gently in the harbor. Normal. Safe. A lie.
"What happens at the abbey?" I finally ask.
"They'll question you. Test you. Decide if you're valuable enough to keep aware or dangerous enough to eliminate." His hands tighten on the wheel. "And they'll want to know why I violated our most sacred rule for you."
"Why did you?"
The question hangs between us. Kian's jaw tightens, and for a long moment I don't think he'll answer.
"I don't know," he finally says, voice rough. "My tiger recognized something in you. Claimed you before my human side caught up. The moment those assassins touched you, every instinct I have screamed to protect you. To keep you safe. To kill anyone who tried to hurt you."
Heat flashes through me despite everything. Despite the danger. Despite the impossibility of this entire situation.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have." The road winds upward along the coastline, climbing toward the headland.
The ocean stretches to our right, vast and restless under the moon.
Below us, Stormhaven's lights scatter across the harbor like fallen stars.
Ahead, perched on the promontory overlooking both sea and village, an ancient stone structure materializes from the darkness.
Wolfstone Abbey.
It's larger than I expected, built from dark stone weathered by centuries of Atlantic storms. A mix of medieval architecture and later additions, it sprawls across the clifftop with the commanding presence of a fortress.
Windows glow with warm light. Smoke rises from multiple chimneys.
This isn't just a meeting place—this is a home.
A pack headquarters where Declan's wolves live and guard their territory.
Several vehicles are already parked in the small lot beside the abbey. Kian pulls in next to a truck I recognize from the harbor, kills the engine, and sits for a moment in silence.
"Last chance," he says quietly. "I could drive you to the ferry. Send you back to the mainland. You'd never have to see me or Stormhaven again."
"And the syndicate?" I ask. "The traffickers? The twelve children from Cork?"
"The brotherhood would handle it."
"Without the evidence I've gathered? Without the legal framework to dismantle their human operations?" I shake my head. "You said yourself, they keep taking down cells and more pop up. Maybe because they only fight half the battle."
Something changes in his expression. Respect, maybe. Or recognition.
"Then let's go face the brotherhood," he says, opening his door. "And hope they're smart enough to see your value."
I follow him up the stone steps to the abbey's heavy wooden door.
It opens before Kian can knock, revealing a warm interior that's clearly a lived-in home rather than an abandoned relic.
Stone walls lined with modern lighting. Comfortable furniture arranged around a massive hearth.
The scent of wood smoke and something cooking.
Ancient architecture housing contemporary life.
The brotherhood waits in what looks like a great hall, the space large enough to accommodate the pack that lives here. Vaulted stone ceilings soar overhead. Tapestries hang on the walls. The massive fireplace crackles with heat and light.
But they're not alone.
Three women stand near the fire, and the moment I step through the door, their attention fixes on me with varying degrees of interest and assessment.
The first is dark-haired and fierce, watching me with sharp intelligence. The second is red-haired and carries herself with confidence that speaks to strength hard-won. The third has an otherworldly quality that makes me think witch even before anyone speaks.
"Welcome to Wolfstone Abbey, Chief MacLeod," Declan says from his position near the hearth. "Now let's discuss exactly why we shouldn't erase your memory and send you back to investigating mundane crimes."
The implication that I can't be trusted sparks anger hot enough to override fear. "I found evidence of trafficking."
Every eye turns to me.
"The Cork shipment," I continue, my voice steadier than I feel.
"The harbor master's ledger showed livestock—twelve units, Cork to an undisclosed European location.
The shipment had ventilation holes, restraint systems, no refrigeration.
I cross-referenced with the Interpol missing children database.
Twelve children, ages six to fourteen, disappeared from the Cork area in the weeks before that shipment went out.
" I meet Declan's stare without flinching. "I can't walk away from that. I won't."
Silence stretches through the abbey.
"You have documentation?" Grayson asks quietly.
"Ledger photos, shipping manifests, customs discrepancies, financial records showing payments that don't match declared cargo value. Everything admissible in human courts."
I force myself to keep talking, to make my case before they decide I'm expendable.