Page 66 of Loched in Love

I pull her a little closer, absorbing her heat against the damp as my boots sink slightly into the soft ground. A purr climbs my throat when her fingers begin to loop through the ends of my beard and I realize I like where she is, safe and warm and entirely dependent on my monstrous strength.

After the sheer terror of watching her swerve off the road, I’m not planning on letting her go anytime soon. I don’t mind her wee books, but I never want to feel that level of fear from her again.

The hill levels out as we make easy work of the final and slippery drop, and within minutes we step off the muddy slope and onto the gray pebble shoreline of the Loch Ness. The water is flat and dark and still as a mirror, heavily cloaked in the low hanging mist. To anyone else it looks like a desolate and freezing lake, but to me it smells of home.

I carefully set the mountain of luggage onto the gravel but keep Elena securely cradled in my right arm. She blinks through the fog, no doubt looking around the vacant water bank for a dock or a boat.

“Are we waiting for a ferry, or…,” she asks, her voice trailing off at the end.

“Not quite,” I reply.

I let my human disguise slip a fraction and focus on the cold and deep currents of the loch, calling to the ancient magic bound to my bloodline. I reach my free hand into the empty air. The atmosphere ripples, sparking with bluish green light, and the familiar heavy weight of my trident materializes in my palm. The golden prongs crackle with a glowing energy that hums under my touch.

Elena raises an eyebrow, looking from the shining weapon to my face. “Are we fishing for breakfast, or is this the part where you show off?”

“Something slightly more dramatic than fishing,” I smile, my pupils dilating as my gaze begins to glow a vibrant deep green.

I raise the trident and strike the butt of the staff firmly against the shoreline rocks. The impact sends a resonant and heavy boom echoing across the water like a muffled thunderclap that vibrates through the soles of my boots as a thick mist uncurls and spreads overhead just above us, shielding us from view as I work my magic and open my home to my mate for the first time.

For a heartbeat the loch remains still and then the water groans.

Elena gasps, her fingers digging into my jacket as the deep and murky lake literally peels back a layer of itself for us. The water rolls back into two immense and towering walls held in place by a glittering barrier of my own magic. A perfectly dry path of smooth, ancient stones emerge from the depths and slope gently downward into the dark heart of the loch.

The walls of water are pitch black and entirely opaque. The loch is too deep, dark, and dense to see through, forming into towering cliffs of churning liquid midnight that loom over us.

Only the very surface of the barrier ripples with the faint blue hum of my containment magic, keeping the crushing weight of the lake from collapsing inward on itself.

I hoist her a little higher, a monstrously smug and satisfied grin spreading across my face as she stares. “Welcome to the neighborhood, love,” I say as I take a step onto the dry lakebed at my feet. “And in we go.”

Now that we’re safely concealed by the thick Scottish fog and the deep trench of the parted loch, I don’t need to worry about any nosy humans on the shoreline seeing us. I flick my wrist toward the pile of luggage resting on the gravel behind us. A faint pulse of blue energy wraps around the oversized suitcases and Maren’s cooler, and they rise smoothly into the air before hovering a few feet off the ground and falling into a neat line behind us like obedient ducklings.

“Merlin’s not the only one with tricks you know,” I say.

With both hands finally free, I adjust my hold on Elena, cradling her securely against my chest. Elena’s jaw drops as she stares up at the massive dark walls of the abyss towering over us. Her gaze is wide, reflecting the shimmering blue light of my spell. For a second I wonder if she’s finally going to panic and lose the plot.

But instead, a soft and breathless laugh escapes her lips, and I release my breath on a whoosh, happy my mate is made of stalwart stuff. She reaches out a hand, her fingertips hovering just inches away from the opaque liquid wall, seemingly enchanted by the lofty scale of it.

“Lachlan.” She whispers, her voice filled with wonder and awe. “This is insane. It’s like we’re walking through the bottom of the world.”

“Only the best for my flower,” I say.

We walk deeper down the steep ancient stone path. The air shifts from the biting chill of the highlands to a crisp and cool moisture that smells of fresh water and peat. The light from above grows dimmer, replaced by the natural luminescence of the underwater trench. Incandescent streaks of aqua and emerald light ripple across our skin, cast by the glowing moss growing along the stone floor.

At the very end of the path the stone corridor opens up into a vast and submerged set of doors built into the bedrock beneath the lake.

The gigantic stone swings inward without a sound, pushed by magic, and a warm, dry air immediately washes over us chasing away the Scottish dampness. The temperature shifts instantly, mimicking a tropical night hidden deep beneath the earth. I step across the threshold, the train of floating luggage gliding silently in our wake.

“Lachlan,” Elena breathes, “what is this place?”

“My home,” I say, unable to keep the proud and monstrous rumble out of my voice.

The cavern is a subterranean cathedral carved from raw glistening basalt. The jagged stone arches so high into the darkness that it creates its own misty internal atmosphere overhead and in the heart of the cavern lies a massive natural water lagoon. It isn’t dark like the loch above and isn’t opaque because it’s not packed with peat moss.

It instead glows with the brilliant, pulsing bioluminescence that shines a neon blue, casting dancing and liquid cerulean ribbons across the ancient rock formations.

Moored right in the middle of this glowing water is a spectacular relic from a bygone era, a massive Spanish galleon ship from centuries past. Its dark polished oak hull is perfectly preserved by my magic, casting a towering shadow across the luminous water. Strings of amber paper lanterns hang from the intricate rigging, their warm golden light spilling across the immaculate wooden decks and reflecting off the brass fixtures.

Before Elena can even process the grand ship, a chorus of loud cheerful squeaks echoes from the water’s edge.