Page 17 of The Last Kelpie

“I'm not going to do that.” Heat flashed up into my face at the thought of other people looking at Áedán naked. He wasn't an object to be inspected. Then I went still as I realized that it was already happening—I cared about Áedán.

“But isnae that why you're here?” He took a step closer.

“To take naked pictures of you? No.”

He laughed again, and the sound shivered over my skin. “I didnae mean that, and you ken it.” He moved closer, stopping six inches away from me. “Why did you come back today, Ethan? Was it only to save me?”

“No,” I whispered.

“Then what else?”

I didn't have an answer, didn't know how to explain what I was feeling. How did I tell him that somewhere between the previous night and that morning, between anger and vulnerability, between the horse form and the man, something had shifted? That I was standing on the shore of a Scottish loch looking at a creature that shouldn't exist, and all I could think was that I didn't want him to stop existing.

Finally, I gave the only answer I had. “I don't know yet.”

Áedán looked me up and down as if I were the naked one. “You're right. I'm not gone yet, and I cannae let my clan down by giving up.”

“Then you'll work with me?”

Something in his expression softened. “Aye, come back tomorrow, and we can begin.” He turned toward the water, then paused and looked back over his shoulder. “Ethan?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for not running away.” Then he walked into the loch.

The water accepted him the way it had the night before, closing over his head without a sound. But this time, I saw the transformation in reverse. The man dissolved back into the horse, the horse faded into water, and the water settled as if he'd never been separate from it.

I stood there for a long time after he disappeared. The sun rose higher, breaking through the clouds in places and turning the water silver where the light hit. The mountains were the same dark shapes against the sky. Birds called from the trees as they had before. The world continued around me as if nothing extraordinary had happened.

But it had. I'd seen the last kelpie in his true form. I'd called him beautiful. And he'd believed me.

Chapter Eight

The next day, I woke to the sound of Áedán knocking on my door. I had no idea how he'd found me, and he wouldn't say. But it wasn't as if he had a large area to search. The village of Luss was tiny. Pier Road, named for the pier it led to, was less than a third of a kilometer long and lined with 19th-century cottages, tea rooms, and gift shops. It formed a hub, with a few streets branching off it, and a few more crossing those, but that was it. One street led to a church, and another led to a distillery. Yup, even in a tiny town with about two hundred residents, there was a distillery. Welcome to Scotland.

Áedán walked beside me with his hands in his pockets, looking like any other tourist. He had dressed casually in jeans, a dark sweater, and a pair of boots that had seen better days. But people noticed him anyway. A woman with a camera glanced up, then did a double-take. A shopkeeper paused in arranging a window display to watch him pass by. Áedán didn't seem to notice. Or maybe he was so used to it that it didn't register anymore. He'd said that people stared at him, but I'd thought he meant they stared at him when he was in horse form or when he was doing something mythical. I should have known they stared for the same reason I did, because he was gorgeous.

We'd come to the village because I wanted to talk to the locals. Surely there were people in Luss who remembered the stories I had read. I hoped they could shed some light on the changes.

“There,” Áedán said.

I followed his gaze to an old woman sitting on a bench near the water. She wore a thick wool coat the color of heather, her white hair pulled back in a bun. A woven basket sat beside her on the bench. She was looking out at the loch, hands in her lap.

“Do you know her?” I asked.

“She looks familiar.” Áedán frowned. “But I'm not sure.”

We approached slowly. The woman didn't turn until we were a few feet away. Then she looked up, and her eyes—pale blue, sharp despite her age—moved from me to Áedán and stayed there.

“Good morning.” I smiled at her.

She smiled back, and it made her look younger. “Good morning to you both.” Her accent was thicker than Áedán's.

“I'm researching local folklore. Kelpie legends, specifically.” I gestured at the bench. “May we sit?”

“Please.” She shifted the basket to make room.

I sat. Áedán remained standing for a moment, still watching her. Then he lowered himself onto the bench.