“He is. There are a lot of good people here. Which is why…”
Which is why I don’t want them to know my secret.I don’t want them to be afraid of me.
Rick doesn’t press me to finish the sentence. He only says, “I’m hoping to make some more friends here. I know a couple folks, but it’s tough for me to get close to people.”
“I was close to Lou.” Another confession I didn’t intend to make. And suddenly I’m furious again. I’m angry with Lou for dying when he did, for not giving me the chance to say goodbye, for leaving me stranded with my violent emotions. And I’m raging at myself for feeling angry at him, like it was his fault, like he meant to die or did it on purpose. I’m mad that I always act like everything is about me.
A ravenous hunger carves out my belly, scrapes my insides hollow, leaves me groaning and gaunt. I double over, both arms wrapped around my middle.
No, no, no, not here, not now…
“You good?” Rick touches my back lightly.
The brush of his fingers sends fire coursing over my skin. His scent gushes into my nostrils, floods my incensed brain, flows into my stomach where hunger transforms into obsessive need. I can feel my teeth growing, my bonesstretching. I have only a few seconds to drop my bag and kick off my shoes before joints pop, seams rip, and unnatural strength floods my body. With a surge of muscle and rage, I burst out of human form into the shape of the water horse.
I stand amid the shreds of my clothing, my huge body dominating most of the hollow where we took shelter. My flanks heave and my nostrils flare as I catch a fresh flood of Rick’s scent, infused with fear. Yes, he’s afraid. He should be.
I snarl at him, a sound no horse should ever make. Rick presses his back against the rock, but otherwise he remains still. He doesn’t try to get past me or run; he must realize there’s nowhere for him to go. If he started to flee, I don’t think the predator in me could resist grabbing him in my jaws and ripping him apart.
“You,” he breathes. “I should have figured. I’m a little slow to put two and two together sometimes.”
The secret is out. There’s no use trying to hide any of my identifying features, so I let my eyes light up and allow strands of my mane and tail to shine as well. I have control over their bioluminescence, and when I engage it, they glow the same color as my eyes, a brilliant aqua.
I’m such a pretty monster, really. My little fucking pony with the muscles of a panther and the teeth of a shark.
“Who’s the other one? The second horse from the forest, with the red eyes?” asks Rick. “Friend of yours?”
In this form, I can’t answer, so I just whicker. It’s a softer sound than the growl, far less threatening, intended to put him off his guard.
I nuzzle his shoulder, snagging my teeth in the plaid shirt and ripping it away. I take my time tearing the material off him in long strips. Then I shred and toss aside the white T-shirt underneath as well. I want him bare when I eat him.
He lets me strip him to the waist, and he stands perfectly still while I glide my nose along the contours of his biceps and pectorals. He’s got a thick middle, muscular but not overly defined. The man likes his burgers. I love the meatiness of his body, the strength and health of it. He smells so delicious I can hardly stop myself from taking a giant bite out of his side.
But he would cry out if I did. He would bleed. He’d crumple to the ground, watching me chew his flesh. He’d try to hold himself together, even as I took another bite, and another.
The feeding frenzy of the kelpie is much like that of a vampire, except worse, because it’s fueled by every negative emotion we possess—and we feel those emotions far more deeply than any human or supernatural. I heard my mother mention a curse once, imposed on our bloodline by some vengeful god of the old country. Every kelpie suffers generational torment, a voracious bloodlust and an appetite for violence that can never be sated.
Some kelpies are killed long before their time, hunted and put down by humans. If we are careful with our kills and we survive the vengeance of humans, we can live for a couple centuries. But many kelpies go mad near the end, putting their herd at risk.
What I’m doing right now imperils my entire existence, including the life I’ve built here in CrescentCove. Shifting involuntarily and prowling the forest indicates a lack of control, which would be grounds for expulsion from the area, but killing one of the townspeople on protected land, within the wards, carries a much heavier penalty. The council would probably execute me for it.
And yet the starvation gnawing at my nerves is a pain so great that I can barely form coherent thoughts. This man is my chosen prey, the locus of my rage, whether he deserves it or not. I can’t be satisfied unless I devour him. Resisting the urge is an agony I don’t think I can bear.
Torn between instinct and intelligence, racked and wretched, I toss my head too high and strike it against the slanted rock above us. I scream with the added pain and fury. I’m shaking from holding myself back, foaming at the mouth, my entire body gutted by hunger.
I back out of the recess into the storm, but the rain pelts against my hindquarters so hard it’s like the sting of a hundred whips. In my overly sensitized state, I can’t take it. I move into the shelter again, hissing my frustration between my fangs.
“You’re doing good, beautiful,” Rick says quietly.
I choke on another scream, and my ears prick toward him.
“You can do this.” His voice is deep, calm, soothing. “I know it’s hard. But you’ve done so well all these years, haven’t you? I’m guessing it’s been rough. You’re strong, though. Strong enough to bear this until the storm lets up, or until you can change back. Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anyone.”
He doesn’t understand that it’s never been this hard. Sure, I’ve experienced the frenzy so potently that I killedand devoured people, but I’ve never met anyone who smelled this good, whose body spoke so clearly to my cravings, and yet whose death would destroy me. If I eat him, if he vanishes from the world, it will hurt like nothing else ever has. I want him so badly I can’t stand it, but if I devour him, I’ll miss him so fiercely it will be even worse than the hunger.
My body strains toward him. My very teeth are sore with need; they want to sink into his skin, his muscles. Instead I manage to force myself down, folding my legs beneath me and lying on the pebbly sand. My hide still quivers with urgency, and my stomach growls, but he’s right—I can do this.
Rick stays where he is for a handful of minutes. And then the idiot moves toward me.
