Chapter 10 #2
"Then help me stand." I hold Graeme's stare, letting him see the steel in my spine.
"Someone is performing a ritual that could unleash something that nearly destroyed us seventy-five years ago.
Four more people are going to die unless we stop them.
Eliza has skills we need—investigative training, research experience, an outsider's perspective.
She's already identified patterns we missed.
So you can waste energy fighting me, or you can help me protect this island. Your choice."
"Such as?" A third figure emerges from the crowd.
Connor Eastmoor. I'd almost forgotten he was here—which is exactly the effect he cultivates.
He's the youngest of the four, but he watches everything with pale blue eyes that miss nothing, calculating odds and angles like a chess master three moves ahead.
"The pattern's clear," Eliza says before I can answer. "Magical blood. All three victims had power in their lines, even if minor."
Connor's predatory gaze fixes on her with sudden intensity. "Interesting. Which narrows the remaining targets considerably."
"Exactly." She doesn't look away from him, and pride surges through me at her courage. "We can identify and protect the likely victims. And we can focus our investigation on people with both the knowledge and power to perform blood magic."
"We?" Connor's lips quirk. "You consider yourself part of the investigation?"
"I'm the one who noticed the pattern." Steel threads through her words. "So yes, I'm part of this."
Silence stretches. Then Connor laughs—a cold, humorless sound. "I like her. She's got spine." He looks at me. "I don't trust her. But I like her. There's a difference."
"I don't need you to trust her. I need you to not actively work against her."
"Against her? No." Connor tilts his head, studying Eliza like she's a chess piece he's trying to figure out how to use. "Against you if this goes wrong? Absolutely. But I'm not going to sabotage an investigation that might save all our lives out of principle." He glances at Graeme. "Are you?"
Graeme's jaw works. The war behind his eyes is visible—principle versus pragmatism.
Finally, he growls low in his throat. "Six months.
If she proves herself useful, if she keeps our secrets, if she doesn't get anyone killed—then I'll accept her as pack.
But if she compromises us, MacRae, there will be a reckoning. "
"Fair enough." I extend my hand. After a moment, Graeme takes it. His grip is crushing, a reminder that he could challenge me if he chose. I match the pressure, reminding him why he doesn't.
"The Right of Judgment." The young wolf who insulted Eliza speaks up again, and I'm really starting to hate him. "You invoked it less than a week ago. Forced submission from wolves who weren't yours to command. That's not forgotten."
"Noted." I release Graeme's hand and turn to face the crowd. "The Right of Judgment was necessary to prevent bloodshed. If any wolf here believes I abused that power, you know what to do about it." I let the challenge ring out, daring any of them to step forward.
No one does. But the resentment rolling off some of them is palpable.
"We're done here." Elena's tone brooks no argument.
"We have an investigation to coordinate and targets to protect.
Standing around posturing isn't going to stop the summoner.
" She looks at me. "Southcove pack will assist however we can.
Send me the list of potential victims once you've identified them. "
"And Eastmoor will maintain our usual neutrality," Connor adds. "Though if you need information access, my resources are available. For a price."
"Always a price with you," Graeme mutters, but there's no real heat in it.
The gathering breaks up slowly, wolves dispersing in groups, heading back to their territories. But I catch the glances thrown our way, the muttered conversations. This isn't over. Graeme was right about one thing: I've created fractures in the careful balance we've maintained.
And I'd do it again in a heartbeat.
That night, I find myself at the cliffs behind Wolfstone. The same cliffs where I first showed Eliza what I am. The same cliffs where everything changed.
The moon is nearly full, and its pull sings through my blood, urging me to shift and run and forget everything except the hunt. But I stay human, staring out at the dark water, trying to quiet the storm in my head.
I sense her before I hear her. The mate bond has grown stronger over the past day, settling into something I can almost read like thoughts. She's worried. Scared. Determined.
"You shouldn't be out here alone." My words come out rougher than I intend.
"Neither should you." Eliza moves to stand beside me, close enough that her warmth seeps into my side. "Jax told me where you'd gone. Said you come here when you need to think."
"Jax talks too much."
"He's worried about you. They all are." She wraps her arms around herself against the wind. "I heard what they said at the stones. About me being a trap. About compromising your authority."
"It's not true."
"Isn't it?" Sadness colors her tone. "I am compromising your authority, Declan. I'm causing fractures. That young wolf was right—I don't know your laws, your ways. I'm going to make mistakes. And when I do, people are going to get hurt."
"So you'll learn." I turn to face her, framing her face with my hands. "That's what being pack means. You're not expected to know everything on day one."
"But I'm not just pack." Tears threaten in her eyes.
"I'm your mate. Which means my mistakes don't just affect me—they affect you.
Your leadership. Your pack's safety." She pulls back from my touch.
"Maybe... maybe I should leave. Go back to London. At least until this ritual situation is resolved. Once the summoner is caught, once the threat is over, then maybe...”
"No." The word comes out as a growl, my wolf surging forward at the suggestion. "You're not leaving."
"Declan...”
"No." I close the distance between us, backing her up until the boulder presses against her spine and she has nowhere to go. "You're not running. Not from this. Not from me. Not from what we are."
"I'm destroying what you built!" Her voice breaks. "You heard Graeme. You saw how they looked at you. Like you're weak. Like you're compromised. And maybe they're right. Maybe I am making you...”
I close the distance between us, one hand tangling in her hair, the other gripping her hip.
My mouth crashes against hers with bruising force—no gentleness, no hesitation, just raw need and the absolute refusal to let her go.
She gasps against my lips, and I swallow the sound, deepening the kiss until there's no space left between us, no room for doubt or fear or anything except this.
A whimper escapes her throat—whether protest or surrender, I can't tell and don't care.
Then her body melts into mine, her back arching against the boulder, and she's kissing me back with the same desperation.
Her fists clench in my shirt hard enough that I hear fabric tear.
She's not trying to push me away—she's holding on like she's afraid I'll disappear if she loosens her grip.
I press closer, my body pinning hers against the stone, and she makes another sound—this one definitely not a protest. Her nails dig into my shoulders through the shirt, and the sharp bite of pain only makes me kiss her harder.
When I finally pull back, we're both gasping for air. Her lips are swollen, her pupils blown wide, and I can feel her heart hammering against my chest where we're pressed together. "You're not making me weak. You're making me fight for what matters. There's a difference."
"Is there?" Tears spill down her cheeks now. "Because from where I'm standing, all I see is you having to choose between me and everything else. Your pack. Your allies. Your position. How is that fair to you?"
"It's not about fair." I rest my forehead against hers.
"It's about what I can live with. And I can't live without you.
Won't live without you. So yes, they'll adapt.
Or they'll answer to me. But you're not going anywhere.
You're pack. You're my mate." I pull back enough to look her in the eyes.
"You're going to be my wife, if you'll have me.
And everything else? Everything else can burn. "
She stares at me, eyes wide. "Did you just... was that a proposal?"
"That was a statement of intent." I brush tears from her cheeks with my thumbs.
"The formal proposal will come later, with a ring and proper words.
But I need you to understand: this isn't temporary for me.
This isn't something I'm going to give up when it gets hard.
You're mine, Eliza. Permanently. Irrevocably. Forever."
"You're insane." But she's smiling now, even through the tears. "Absolutely insane."
"Probably." I kiss her forehead, her nose, her lips. "But I'm your kind of insane. So you're stuck with me."
"Stuck with you." She laughs, the sound wet and broken and perfect. "You make it sound like a prison sentence."
"More like a life sentence. Without possibility of parole."
She kisses me again, softer this time. Sweeter.
When she pulls back, steel mingles with the tears in her expression.
"Then stop trying to protect me from the consequences.
I knew what I was choosing when I said yes.
The investigation, the pack politics, the summoner—all of it. We're in this as partners."
"Partners," I agree. "Though I reserve the right to be overprotective and possessive."
"And I reserve the right to ignore you when you're being unreasonable."
"Deal."
We stand there for a long moment, the wind whipping around us, the sea crashing below. Tomorrow will bring new challenges. More resistance. More questions about my judgment and her loyalty. But right now, with my mate in my arms and the moon rising overhead, I can breathe.
I tighten my grip on her hand, and she squeezes back. Tomorrow we'll dive into her aunt's hidden research. Tomorrow we'll hunt for the summoner. Tomorrow we'll face whatever comes.
But tonight?
I press a kiss to her temple and sense her exhaustion through the bond. "Come on. Let's get you inside before you freeze."
"So romantic," she mutters, but she's smiling.
"I'll show you romantic once you're warm."
The pack can wait. The summoner can wait. Right now, my mate needs sleep, food, and her alpha reminding her exactly why she's not going anywhere.