Chapter 16
DECLAN
Twenty-four hours after the eastern shore ritual, and I can feel the island bleeding.
Four seals remain. Four bloodline carriers plus Eliza are still breathing.
Connor needs just three more deaths plus Eliza to complete his ritual.
When the others have fallen, he'll come for Eliza.
The woman whose connection to ancient magic makes her the keystone.
Kill her, break her seal, and the Fomori walks free.
I won't let that happen.
"Movement in the north." Rafe's voice crackles through the radio clipped to my belt. "Three vehicles heading toward the druid-blood's farm."
"South too," Kian reports. "Boats approaching the fae-blood's cottage on the peninsula."
My jaw clenches. Connor's changing tactics. No more careful, spaced-out ritual murders. He's striking everywhere at once.
"Western cove," Grayson adds, his tone grim. "I've got eyes on four shifters circling the earth-warden's property."
Four locations—north, south, west and the village. Four remaining carriers. And only six of us to defend them all.
"We split up," I say, the words tasting like ash. Everything in my alpha instincts screams against dividing our forces. The strength of the brotherhood comes from unity. But we don't have a choice.
Through the mate-bond, I feel Eliza's spike of fear. She's upstairs in Clifftop House, listening to every word through her own radio. Safe for now. But not for long.
"Rafe, take the north. You know the druids best."
“On it,” replies the panther-shifter.
"Kian, the south is yours. Use the water. Grayson, hold the western cove—the earth-warden trusts you."
"That leaves the village," Jax says quietly. "Flynn's Inn. Where the last carrier is hiding."
I meet his grey eyes. My most volatile brother. The one who hated Eliza on sight, who attacked her during the trials. The one who now watches her back with the intensity of a convert's faith.
"You and I defend the village," I tell him. "With Eliza."
"I’m not staying behind," Eliza's voice comes through the radio. Not a question. A statement.
"No," I agree, my wolf rising with pride even as my human side wants to lock her away somewhere safe. "She's not. The last carrier is a child, Jax. Eight years old. Her grandmother runs Flynn's Inn."
Jax's expression hardens. Whatever darkness lives in him, it's never touched children. "Then we hold that line."
"Finn, you're on mobile response," I continue. "Wherever the breakthrough happens first, you reinforce. Tessa coordinates from here—she'll track everyone's position and keep the communications running."
My sister's face appears in the doorway, laptop already in hand. Her blue eyes are sharp with focus. This is what she does best—seeing patterns, managing chaos, keeping her brothers alive.
"Go," she says. "I've got your backs."
The brotherhood scatters like wolves on the hunt.
The village is too quiet when we arrive.
Flynn's Inn sits at the heart of the old quarter, a stone building that's weathered centuries of storms. Moira Flynn meets us at the door, her face creased with worry. Behind her, I catch a glimpse of a small girl with dark curls clutching a stuffed rabbit.
"They're coming, aren't they?" Moira asks. "That's why you're here."
"Yes." I don't lie to her. "We're going to keep you safe."
"The child," Jax says quietly. "What's her name?"
"Nessa." Moira's hand trembles as she touches the doorframe. "Her parents died last year. Car accident."
Through my connection to the storm, I feel it—the gathering pressure. Weather that has nothing to do with nature and everything to do with the power coiling in my chest. My wolf paces beneath my skin, ready. Eager.
"Eliza, upstairs with them," I order. "Jax and I will take the perimeter."
She starts to argue, then sees something in my face that stops her. Instead, she nods and slips inside, her hand briefly squeezing mine. Through our bond, her determination pulses like a second heartbeat.
Don't you dare die on me, Declan MacRae.
Not planning on it.
But as Jax and I take our positions—him by the front entrance, me circling around back—my radio explodes with static.
"Contact north!" Rafe's voice, tight with exertion. "Four shifters, maybe five. I'm engaged."
"South under attack," Kian reports. "At least six. They brought boats and firepower."
"Western cove compromised," Grayson growls. "They're using silver. I need...” His transmission cuts off.
My blood turns to ice. Silver means Connor's not taking chances. He's throwing everything at this.
"Finn, go west," I snap. "Grayson needs backup now."
"On it."
Then I smell them. Wolves. Multiple packs, their scents foreign and aggressive. Connor must have called in mercenaries—shifters with no loyalty to Skara, just to gold and blood.
"Jax." My voice drops to a rumble. "We've got company."
"How many?"
I close my eyes, letting my senses expand. Six. No—eight. They're surrounding the inn from multiple directions, coordinating their approach. Professional. Trained.
"Too many," I admit.
Jax's laugh is low and dark. "Good. I was getting bored."
The first wolf bursts from the alley between buildings—a massive grey male with scarred flanks. He doesn't hesitate, just launches straight for the inn's back door.
I shift.
The transformation ripples through me like lightning, bones restructuring, muscle mass expanding. My clothes tear away as my wolf surges forward—black as a storm cloud, large enough that my shoulder reaches a man's chest height. Power courses through me, wild and electric.
I meet the grey male mid-leap. We collide in a tangle of fangs and fury. He's strong, experienced, but I'm the Storm Alpha. My territory. My mate inside that building.
I'm rage incarnate.
My jaws close on his throat. Not to kill—not yet. A warning. He thrashes, claws raking my shoulder, but I hold firm until he whimpers submission. Then I throw him aside and face the others.
Six more wolves pour into the courtyard. Behind me, I hear Jax's snarl as his own shift takes him—smaller than my wolf but lean and vicious, all grey fury and cold precision.
The battle becomes chaos.
I lose track of individual opponents. It's all instinct now—dodge, strike, tear. My wolf knows what to do. Trust the animal, Declan. Trust the power.
Then my radio crackles with Tessa's voice, tinny and distant through the chaos: "Declan, the docks. They're hitting the docks too. The cartel's using the attack as cover."
Of course they are. Connor's not just after the bloodline carriers. He's crippling our entire operation, burning our resources, forcing us to choose.
The village or the docks. Nessa or our livelihood. An innocent child or the entire pack's survival.
Jax! I shout through the pack bond. With me. Village and docks. We hold both.
His grey eyes flash understanding. Impossible odds. Suicide mission.
He grins, blood on his fangs. About time.
We run.
The village streets blur past. My wolf is faster than any vehicle, Jax keeping pace beside me. The docks are half a mile away—nothing at this speed. Storm clouds gather overhead, responding to my fury, my desperation. Thunder rolls like war drums.
I feel it then. The connection I've always danced around, always held back from fully embracing. The thing that makes me Storm Alpha, not just pack leader. Not just a wolfshifter.
The storm isn't just responding to me.
It is me.
Lightning forks across the sky, but I'm not separate from it.
I'm the electricity in the air, the ozone charge, the fury of nature unleashed.
Rain begins to fall, but each drop is an extension of my awareness.
The thunder that crashes isn't background noise—it's my voice, magnified and made manifest.
I am the storm.
At the docks, Connor's people have torched two warehouses. Flames lick the sky despite the rain, chemical fires that won't be easily extinguished. A dozen cartel soldiers with automatic weapons are trying to finish the job, to burn everything we've built.
Beyond them, I see three vehicles racing back toward the village. Toward the inn. Toward Nessa.
I have seconds to choose.
Jax reads my hesitation. Go, he snarls through the link. I've got the docks.
Alone?
Send me the storm.
He’s right.
I close my eyes and stop fighting my instincts. Stop trying to control the power. I let go completely.
The storm responds like a wild animal finally released from its cage.
Lightning strikes the dock—once, twice, three times.
Precise hits that send cartel soldiers scrambling, weapons flying from shocked hands.
The rain intensifies into a deluge, water streaming from the sky so thick it's like standing under a waterfall.
Thunder cracks with every strike, concussive force that rattles buildings and stops hearts.
Through the storm's awareness, I see Jax move. He's not just one wolf anymore—he's a grey shadow dancing between the chaos, using the rain and wind as cover. Strikes and vanishes. Strikes again. The cartel soldiers don't know what hit them.
I spin and race back to the village, my paws barely touching wet cobblestones. The three vehicles have reached Flynn's Inn. Men pour out, and I count five more wolves among them. Connor's really emptied his arsenal for this.
The inn's front door is still intact. Still closed. Eliza, Moira and Nessa are still inside.
I shift mid-run, human form slamming back into place just long enough to grab a fallen plank of wood as an improvised weapon. Then I shift again, the transformation so fast it's almost instantaneous. Back and forth, using each form's strengths.
A wolf lunges at me. I meet him human, using the plank to deflect his trajectory. Shift. Wolf-form tears into his flank. Shift back. Human hands grab a second attacker and throw him against the wall. Shift.
The world becomes a blur of transformation, each one faster than the last. I'm not just one or the other anymore. I'm both, seamlessly flowing between forms like water taking different shapes.