Chapter 9 #2
The awkwardness settles like fog, thick and suffocating. We move around each other with exaggerated care, two people pretending this is normal, that we haven't just crossed about seventeen different lines simultaneously.
I remember grabbing Kian's phone during the fight, my fingers shaking as I found Rafe's contact and sent a single word:
Help.
The response came back almost immediately:
On my way.
I'm pulling on my jacket when I hear an engine rumble up the track. Kian's head snaps toward the window, muscles bunching beneath his skin, but then he relaxes marginally. "Rafe."
This situation needed an audience, apparently.
Kian grabs clothes from somewhere—jeans, a shirt—pulling them on as heavy footsteps approach the door. He doesn't bother with the shirt buttons before opening it, and Rafe fills the doorway, all lean muscle and sharp eyes taking in the scene with too much knowing.
His gaze sweeps the cottage—the scattered clothes I haven't finished gathering, the marks blooming purple on my throat, the blood still streaking Kian's skin where he hasn't managed to wash. One dark eyebrow rises, but he doesn't comment. He jerks his chin toward the clearing outside.
"Came to help with the mess." His voice carries undertones of amusement. "Looks like you've been busy."
My face burns. Kian's jaw works, but he doesn't rise to the bait. "Body's out by the treeline. Elite enforcer by the scent. They're escalating."
"Aye." Rafe's expression turns grim. "That's not the worst of it."
Kian goes still in the way predators do before they strike. "What."
"Got word from our contact in Oban." Rafe's eyes flick to me, assessing, before returning to Kian. "The Russians moved up the handoff. Three hours earlier."
The words land like stones in water, ripples spreading outward. Three hours. The artifact delivery to the Russians that was supposed to provide cover for moving the selkies to safety—everything just got compressed into an impossible timeline.
"They know." Kian's voice comes out flat and dead certain. "Someone talked, or they've been watching. Either way, the syndicate knows I've been compromised."
"Looks like." Rafe's shoulders move, muscles bunching beneath his shirt. "Which means the handoff could be a trap. But we can't postpone—the selkies are already in position. We move them tonight or we risk losing our window to get them back to their pod."
My mind races, calculating timelines and resources. This gives us barely enough time to get there. We need to coordinate with the Brotherhood, to get into position with the selkies, to pull off the handoff without the Russians realizing Kian's playing them.
"The enforcer." I gesture toward the clearing, piecing it together. "He came to kill us both. They already knew you were compromised before they moved the handoff."
Kian's laugh sounds bitter. "Which I've just confirmed by killing him. They'll know he's dead within hours. Maybe already know, depending on how tight their communication is."
"So we move now." Rafe's tone brooks no argument. "Get the body handled, alert the brotherhood, and prepare for Oban. We make the handoff, get the selkies to safety, and get out before the Russians realize what's happening."
The weight presses against my ribs. This is real now, no longer theoretical. The selkies the Brotherhood rescued are counting on this handoff working. If it's a trap, if the Russians are waiting for Kian, we could lose everything in the next three hours.
"I need to get in touch with my contacts on the mainland." The words taste like ashes. "Get support lined up, coordinate with—"
"No." Kian's voice cracks like a whip. "The moment you involve official channels, you paint a target on yourself. The syndicate has people everywhere, Catriona. Police, government, shipping authorities. You start making calls, and they'll know you're involved."
"He's right." Rafe's expression softens marginally. "This stays with the brotherhood. Off the books, under the radar. Your badge won't protect you from these people—it'll just make you an obstacle to eliminate."
The truth burns. Everything I am, everything I've built my identity on, suddenly rendered useless. Worse than useless—I become a liability.
But the selkies matter more than my pride.
"Fine." I force the word out. "What do you need from me?"
Kian's eyes search my face, looking for cracks in my resolve.
Whatever he sees must satisfy him, because he nods once, sharp.
"Information. You've got access to port schedules, shipping manifests, security protocols.
Get me everything on Oban harbor. Where the Russians will dock, what routes they're using, blind spots in coverage.
If this is a trap, I need to know what I'm walking into.
If we know how and where they coming, it may give up information we need. "
"Done." I'm already running through databases in my head, calculating what I can access without raising flags. "What else?"
"Be ready to move." His voice drops, intimate despite Rafe's presence. "This goes sideways, the brotherhood can protect you, but it means stepping outside the law you've spent your career upholding."
The choice spreads out in front of me. I can see safety and order and everything familiar on one side, and Kian and the brotherhood and a fight against darkness most people don't believe exists on the other. The only choice that really matters.
"I stopped living a normal life the moment I met you." The words come out steadier than I feel. "Whatever happens tonight, I'm in."
Warmth flickers in Kian's expression. The tiger in his eyes recedes enough to show the man beneath, and the vulnerability there makes my chest tight.
Rafe clears his throat, breaking the moment. "I'll handle the enforcer. You two figure out the logistics." He pauses at the door, glancing back with a smirk.
The door closes behind him, leaving us alone with the wreckage of what we've started. Kian moves to the window, checking the clearing where the body lies. All business now, the predator who just killed a man reasserting control.
"Get that intel." His voice carries no trace of what just happened between us. "Text me when you have it. I'll coordinate with the brotherhood."
The dismissal stings more than it should. I head for the door without responding. At the threshold, I glance back.
Kian stands in the center of the cottage, covered in evidence of violence and passion, his eyes tracking my movement like prey. He's beautiful and dangerous and mine in ways I'm only beginning to understand.
Grayson's truck idles at the end of the track, headlights cutting through the morning mist. He leans against the driver's side door, arms crossed, waiting. Smart. After two attempts on my life, no one's letting me travel alone.
I climb into the passenger seat, already running through what I can access without raising flags. Port schedules, security rotations, shipping manifests. The brotherhood needs to move those selkies to safety, and Kian needs to survive the handoff with the Russians.
I have less than three hours to give him what he needs.