Chapter 11 #2
I've seen him shift before. I watched the transformation in the alley and then from a safe distance, in controlled circumstances.
It doesn't make the sight less terrifying or magnificent. The attack in the alley didn’t really prepare me for witnessing what a predator this size can do to human bodies.
The tiger hits the nearest enforcer first. The man tries to bring his weapon up, but he's too slow, too human.
Claws as long as my fingers rake across his chest, opening him throat to stomach in one fluid motion.
Blood sprays in an arc that catches the loading dock lights, turning the concrete slick and dark.
The enforcer's scream dies before it fully forms. He goes down without making another sound, and the wet thud of his body hitting the ground makes my stomach clench.
Another guard fires. The shots crack loud across the loading dock, bullets sparking off metal where the tiger was a split second ago.
He moves like liquid violence, impossibly fast for something so massive.
The beast flows around the gunfire, muscles rippling under striped fur, and closes the distance before the guard can adjust his aim.
The man's screams start high and terrified, then end abruptly when massive jaws close around his throat.
The crunch of vertebrae carries across the loading dock.
Blood pours down the tiger's muzzle, drips from white fangs as the body collapses.
Dimitri is running. It's a smart choice but has terrible results.
The tiger wheels toward him, blood-soaked and magnificent, but silvery mist erupts again mid-stride.
Thunder cracks. Then Kian is there, human and naked, covered in so much blood it streams down his chest and arms. He snatches a fallen weapon from the ground with the same fluid grace the tiger showed, and the shot cracks once.
Dimitri jerks forward, the bullet taking him high in the back.
The Russian goes down hard, sliding across concrete that's already slick with violence.
His hands scrabble for purchase. They find nothing. His body goes still.
I drop to the ground behind the crate, my back pressed against rough wood, trying to process what just happened.
Kian killed three men in seconds. Tore them apart or shot them down without hesitation, without mercy.
My brain keeps stuttering over the fact that I'm not horrified.
I should be screaming, should be sick, should be anything except what I am.
Instead I'm calculating. Assessing threat levels.
Counting the remaining guards through the broken window.
My training kicks in even as my hands shake against my thighs, even as the copper smell of blood reaches me through the shattered glass.
The warehouse's north entrance explodes open.
The crash of metal hitting concrete makes me flinch.
Finn and Grayson leave carrying bundle-wrapped forms, the selkies they've been hiding for weeks.
Declan and Rafe flank them, weapons raised, and their shots are precise and devastating.
Two guards go down before they can bring their weapons to bear.
A third tries to take cover behind a crate, and Declan's shot punches through wood and flesh with equal efficiency. The guard drops. Doesn't get back up.
The remaining Russian guards don't stand a chance.
They're outgunned, outmaneuvered, caught between the brotherhood's coordinated assault and the spreading carnage Kian left in his wake.
The gunfight is brief, brutal, and entirely one-sided.
Bodies fall. Blood spreads across concrete in patterns that will stain this place forever.
It's over in minutes. The selkies are loaded into waiting vehicles, already moving toward their pod in the harbor.
The brotherhood is preparing to evacuate, moving with military precision through the wreckage.
Evidence of violence covers every surface.
Shell casings glitter under the loading dock lights.
Blood pools dark and spreading. Bodies lie twisted in positions that no living person could achieve.
I force myself to stand. My legs shake, but they hold.
Kian disappears into the back of the warehouse for a moment. Grabbing clothes from wherever he keeps them stashed. When he returns, he's dressed in dark pants and a shirt, blood still streaking his face and hands. "Footage. Did you get it?"
I check the camera. The small device survived the gunfight, still recording. It captured everything. The Russians arriving, the crates, Dimitri giving orders, the moment everything went to hell.
"I got it." My voice sounds distant, disconnected. "All of it."
"Good." He catches my arm, and I realize the camera is still running. I deactivate it with shaking fingers. "Now we run."
But I'm staring at the loading dock, at the line we crossed that can never be uncrossed.
The smell hits me then. Copper and gunpowder, diesel and death. The loading dock looks like a war zone. Blood pools dark on concrete, spreading in patterns that will haunt my dreams. Dimitri lies where he fell, the violence of his death written in the stillness of his body.
"Catriona." His voice sharpens. "We need to move. Now.” His hand tightens on my arm. "They're all dead. But when they don't report back, the syndicate will know something went wrong. We need to disappear before they send reinforcements."
The warehouse district sits silent around us. No sirens, no help coming. Just us and the bodies and the line we crossed. In a city, someone would have heard the gunfire, called it in. But this is Skara. Remote, isolated, and the nearest response would come from the mainland if it came at all.
"Come on." Kian pulls me toward the truck. "We disappear now, sort it out later."
I follow because this is what I chose. Bodies on the concrete, blood under my boots.
The truck's engine roars to life. Kian drives without lights, navigating by memory through back streets I didn't know existed. The island stays dark and quiet around us.
My phone sits silent in my pocket. No alerts yet. If anyone heard the gunfire, they haven't reported it. But it's only a matter of time.
"Where are we going?" My voice sounds hollow.
"Safe house." Kian's eyes never leave the road. "The brotherhood maintains secure locations. We'll regroup there."
"And then?" I just provided tactical cover for a shootout that ended with multiple casualties. "What happens when the syndicate investigates?"
"Survival." He glances at me, and my tiger looks out through human eyes. "We document everything we learned tonight. We build the case against the syndicate. We make sure those selkies get home safely. And we stay alive long enough to see it through."
"Good." The selkies will see their families again. Lives salvaged from darkness, finally heading home because we chose to act.
Everything else can burn.
Kian navigates through roads that grow progressively rougher, the pavement giving way to gravel, then dirt tracks barely wide enough for the truck.
Trees press close on either side, branches scraping against metal.
The headlights cut through darkness that feels absolute, miles from the nearest streetlight or house.
My hands shake. I press them against my thighs, but the tremors won't stop.
The camera is still clipped to my collar, its small weight suddenly feeling massive.
Inside its memory sits proof of crimes the syndicate thought they'd hidden, documentation of exactly what they're willing to do to protect their operations.
"We need to get this to someone who can use it." I remove the camera, hold it carefully. "Someone outside the syndicate's reach."
"I know people." Kian's voice carries the weight of years in the shadows. "Contacts who specialize in making evidence disappear into the right hands. We'll get it where it needs to go."
The drive winds through roads that barely qualify as paths. Eventually we arrive at the safe house. The location is remote, defensible, invisible from the main road. The brotherhood's vehicles are already there when we pull up.
Finn meets us at the door. "The selkies are stable. Weak, traumatized, but they're moving. Rafe's getting them home."
"Casualties?" Kian asks.
"On our side? None. On theirs?" Finn's expression stays neutral. "Total."
I walk into the cottage and sink onto the nearest chair. Adrenaline crashes through my system, leaving exhaustion in its wake.
The safe house is smaller than Kian's cottage, more spartan. Functional furniture, minimal decoration, the kind of place that exists solely for emergency use. Declan stands near the fireplace, arms crossed. Grayson sits at the small table, cleaning a weapon with methodical precision.
Declan approaches. "You held it together back there. That matters."
"I provided tactical cover for an extraction that ended in a shootout." I don't soften it. "I knew what I was signing up for."
"You helped save innocent lives." His voice carries absolute certainty. "The syndicate made their choice when they decided trafficking was acceptable. You made yours when you decided stopping them mattered more than following rules designed to protect monsters."
I think about the camera in my jacket. The evidence I gathered. The case I can build if I survive long enough to testify.
"Dimitri's crew won't check in." I look at Kian. "The syndicate will investigate. They'll find the bodies. They'll put together that something went wrong."
"They will." His certainty is absolute. "And they'll come looking for answers."
My phone buzzes. I pull it out, read the message from an unknown number that makes my blood run cold.
Your island has become expensive, Chief MacLeod. Perhaps the mainland would be healthier for your career.
I show the message to Kian. He reads it, and his expression goes predatory.
"They're fishing." The growl in his words makes my spine straighten. "Testing to see if you react. They know their crew isn't responding, but they're still piecing together what happened."
"They're threatening me."
Kian's hand covers mine. "Then we'd better make sure they get the message that threats don't work on you."
I sink deeper into the chair and close my eyes. The adrenaline crash hits hard, leaving my thoughts scattered. Dawn will come. Bodies will be discovered. The investigation will start, and the syndicate will connect the dots faster than I can run.
My phone buzzes again. Another message from the same unknown number.
Silence can be expensive, Chief. Or profitable. Your choice.
I show it to Kian. His expression goes cold. "They're offering you a deal," he says quietly. "Money to look the other way and leave."
"They don't know I was part of this."
"Not yet." His eyes meet mine. "But they will. And when they do, the offer disappears and the threats get real."
I delete both messages and set the phone face-down on the table. The syndicate thinks they can buy me or scare me. They're about to learn they're wrong on both counts, but first, I need to survive long enough to prove it.