Page 82 of Bane Bloom

It withered my heart, the idea that he might go to her after the intimacy we had shared. But I determined to keep going. If it was true, it was best I knew. It would make it easier to let him go.

The rising moon made a bright mirror of the lake, and it washed the track in cool light. Thomas had moved almost beyond my sight, so I lifted the hem of my skirt and began to run. The cowslip crown slid from my head and rolled away. The shawl, too, attempted escape, but I managed to catch it and tie it around my neck.

Once I’d passed the last farmhouse, I found myself in the open, near the lakeshore, and quickly stepped into the shadow of a big oak tree. I could see Thomas standing alone at the water’s edge, not far away.

His bare feet were planted on what looked like hard-packed clay, boots and coat discarded to one side. He unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt and dropped them at his feet. But this time he didn’t stop there. My heart hammered as he peeled off his trousers. Moonlight limned the strong, graceful lines of his body, and I began to tremble.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him.

He waded into the shallows. My eye followed the curve of his spine inward and then out again as it joined with his bare, rounded backside. I let out a tremulous breath.

What I saw next, I attributed—for only a moment—to a trick of the moonlight and my fixation on his beautiful form.

His back seemed to stretch and thicken. Then he bent at the waist, and his long legs narrowed and tapered, while his arms grew to match their length, until he was equally balanced on four limbs.

I stopped breathing and stepped from behind the tree. I moved toward him, no longer caring if he saw me.

His head now stretched and enlarged, ears shifting to prominent triangles atop his head while his nostrils formed large, ridged circles at the bottom of a bony face. His flesh had gradually changed in both color and texture until he was covered in white hair. Even the hair on his head changed to white silken strands that lifted in the breeze.

Phantom. Thomas is Phantom.

One glossy hoof pawed the water, sending droplets into the air, as I’d seen Phantom do on the beach at Pine Cottage. Then he lowered his head and drank.

I crept closer.

Splinters of memory worked themselves free. I recalled the story of Thomas’s father from Prudence’s diary. The quiet warrior who spoke with the voice of the ocean, and moved with its rhythm.

At first light he was gone. All but the echo of hooves pounding the shoreline.

And then Thomas’s own words . . .

“She was granted something unnatural, a child with no father, and no future.”

I’d taken this to mean that a child with no father was unnatural, just as a child with no mother. But no, he’d meant that his mother had been granted an unnatural child.

“Have you ever heard of a ‘nokken’?”

A nokken was like a kelpie, he’d said. And Nancy had told me that a kelpie could shift between horse shape and human, to make it easier to lure victims.

I took another step, and my shoe crushed an acorn.

The graceful creature whipped around, tossing his head and snorting, and I faltered back. His eyes met mine—those blue eyes, how did I miss it? We watched each other nervously for long moments before finally his neck loosened. He took a few long strides, lowering his head and stretching toward me.

I held out my hand, and his muzzle snuggled into my palm.

“Oh, Thomas,” I murmured, raising my other hand to stroke his soft neck. “No wonder.”

Pine Cottage really was a part of him, his very existence the result of his mother’s longing and her inability to resist the temptations of the Elfbloom. The spirits of the glasshouse were truly his family. He was one of them.

Yet he was human, too.

But how human in this form? Would he understand me if I spoke to him? When he was himself again, would he remember? I recalled describing my meeting with Phantom to him, and the words he’d said that had so pleased me.

“Maybe he took a liking to you.”

Sighing, I laid my cheek against his neck, taut muscle and fine, soft hair. He let out a quiet nicker.

I wrapped my arm under his neck, feeling the rhythm of his heart through layers of flesh and muscle. I tried not to think about what this meant, how it would change things between us. But as the shock of witnessing his transformation began to ebb, I realized I didn’t really view him any differently. It fit. It made things make sense.