Page 1 of Loched in Love

Prologue

LACHLAN MACBETH

Three hundred years ago…

Be small. Be small, like a wee sea dragon. I squeeze my gaze shut until pain radiates through my skull and tiny black dots bleed into my vision, while trying with all my considerable power to stay small as the witch queen attempts to turn my monstrous form back to humanoid.

“Stop waving your tail around and just stand still!” Odette shouts, the sharpness in her tone telling me she’s reached the end of her already short patience.

I become immobile just outside the entrance doors to castle Tepesh, but the sounds of my clothes tearing continue even as I clench my hands together so tightly my claws stab into my palms. I never should’ve touched that blasted water hag.

“I’m not moving,” I tell her honest, as I imagine my form shrinking as it usually does when I wrangle my power into obeying me, my body evolving to that of a man and⁠—

“Dammit Lachlan, just tell me who did this, so I know what magic I’m dealing with!” she says, her tone harsh and full of disgust.

My ears flatten to my head as I wince, praying to the auld gods she doesnae do something drastic like turn me into a newt for daring to not answer her. The witch queen has never been known for her restraint nor her patience, which I’m surely trying since she’s been attempting to stop my magical shapeshifting for the past hour. “Is it not working?”

“He’s still growing,” Connor, the Lycan remarks, his voice sounding oddly far away.

I frown, knowing he wouldn’t lie, but I’ve no idea how to stop whatever the Lady of the Lake did to me. Sweat spreads across my forehead as I strain with all my might, wishing with everything I can to turn back. My scaly skin is already beginning to dry out, and annoyance licks down my spine through the end of my tail.

The outdoors quickly becomes uncomfortable as my monstrous form dislikes being above water, and the Romanian air is far too warm this time of year.

“I’d really love to know who’s magic this is,” Odette snaps, her voice like the crack of a whip.

My stomach flips with distress as I try and fail to hold steady and await her magical repair of my body. The witch queen is known far and wide as the most powerful witch in the world. If she can’t fix this, no one can.

“Bloody hell, he’s almost as big as the castle,” Vlad mutters, interrupting my disillusion that my efforts are being rewarded.

I’m as big as what?

I peek open my gaze and the ever-increasing pit in my gut grows when I get a look at the size of myself. Fuck, I’m right in for it now. I glance down at the faces I’ve known for years.

Vlad stands several feet away on the stone bridge outside his castle abode alongside his new compatriot, Connor O’Doyle, while Odette floats in the air above me. The witch’s slender arms are covered in expensive lace, her big dress making her look like a wraith with her hands outstretched and aimed at me, while a pissed off expression plays across her bonnie face.

“It’s not going to work is it?” I say, giving up on shrinking myself when I’m almost to my maximum size as it is. The Lady of the Lake has cursed me truly, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

“You’ve gotten yourself into a right bloody mess this time,” Vlad offers, shoving his pale hands into the pockets of his brown trousers as he glares up at me.

I don’t know what he’s so pissy about, it’s not as if he’s the one out of doors with his bits flapping in the wind. I gaze down at myself, at my long serpentine torso covered in blueish green scales close to the color of the nearby castle moat, and sigh.

“Who did this to you, Lachlan?” Odette asks for the fifth time since I arrived at the castle, the white paint on her face and big dress making her look like a ghost dancing in the sky.

I purse my lips to keep from telling her she looks bloody ridiculous in her frilly lace dress, and that her hair looks like a bloody beehive. The French and their silly fripperies and fashion make me glad Scotland is so far away. Not for the first time this day do I wish I’d never left my loch. “I cannae tell ye, ye ken,” I answer, ashamed of the blunders I’ve made.

She gasps, and I follow her wide gaze to where she stares at my chest and notice the bright shimmery glop of magic that’s slowly spreading and coasting along the rest of me.

“Fucking hells Lachlan, tell me you didn’t bed my cousin,” Odette snaps.

“I didnae mean to,” I say, my voice wavering on the end as my face fully forms to snout, my voice deepening to that of a monster. I shudder unexpectedly when my tail dips into the moat accidentally, the cool water soothing some of my panic.

“You have a cousin?” Vlad questions Odette, as if the tidbit is news to him.

“Vivian, The Lady of the Lake, the mother of sirens,” Odette sneers.

I wince again when Vlad whistles, while O’Doyle questions who the sea witch is, and realize he’s probably too young to remember the tales or know of the old gods.

“Ugh, just don’t touch any water until I figure out what spell she used,” Odette says, muttering under breath about how much of a moron she thinks me to be.