Page 30 of Loched in Love

“I have a question,” she asks. She turns on her side, pillowing the side of her face on her hand, and my attention goes to the curvy hills and valleys the bedcovers make along her form.

“Anything,” I reply.

“You said I’m your mate, but what does that mean exactly?” she whispers.

I take a steady breath, and think a moment of how to explain to her without scaring her off instantly with the talk of mate bonds and magic, plus all the other potential pitfalls given once a mate bond is accepted, it’s permanent.

However, the thought of telling her how to reverse our matehood before she’s gotten the chance to know me rankles in the worst way. I’ll not rush her, and I’ll explain how it’s not permanent unless she wants it to be later. There’s time enough for talk of bonds when she’s well rested.

“You’re my mate. It’s how your falling into the moat broke the spell’s hold on me, because you’re meant to be my true mate. But that doesn’t mean you don’t have a choice in the matter,” I tell her honestly.

“What do you mean?”

“Can I see your hand?” I ask.

She reaches across the bed linens without hesitation, causing my lips to lift at the edges in the quiet way she already accepts me. I open her palm and bring my fingertips to graze at just the center there.

“Did you know there are some seahorses that bond and mate with their partner for their whole lives?” I ask.

“I did know that,” she murmurs, covering a small yawn.

I let the silence stretch between us before I move my hand again. I allow the light pressure of my forefinger to share my true intentions and lay my emotions bare for her to see directly from the source.

A light blue spark of light, faint in its intensity, flows between us. The touch between us acts like calming balm, reducing anxiety through the mate bond and creating a sense of belonging and sureness.

“You’re my anchor, Elena. My seahorse,” I say, appeased that she at least feels secure enough to fall asleep next to me.

I move to kiss her forehead, pressing a light peck there, and pray she decides to like me again tomorrow.

“Goodnight, my flower.”

Chapter 10

ELENA PIERSON

Ashaft of white light cuts through a gap in the curtains, effectively slicing across my closed lids, and I groan as I’m forced awake. Attempting to pull the blanket to shield myself, my sleep-fogged brain snaps to attention when I find myself unable to move, my body heavy.

My cheek is pressed into something firm, warm, and covered in soft fabric. I inhale, and the scent of cucumber melon hits me immediately, causing a strange stirring in my middle. Then I feel him.

Lachlan.

I blink against the sharp strands of bright morning sun, and the first thing I see is his huge chest covered in the gray of his shirt and the deep red of his beard. His expression is lax, while the subtle rhythmic breathing lifts his chest. He huffs in his sleep and lets out a snore, and I bite my lip to keep from letting out the giggle of happiness that’s suddenly bubbling up my chest.

He’s so very beautiful.

Vibrant sparks of deep auburn and fiery copper dance everywhere the sunlight kisses his hair, glowing against the light porcelain of his skin that I know can turn greenish blue at a moment’s notice. His eyelashes rest on his cheeks and his mouth is upturned into a small curve of a smile while an arm is thrown carelessly over his forehead, revealing one broad forearm covered in a smattering of freckles.

I want to kiss each one. The thought comes and I freeze, my breath catching in my throat as the arm strewn casually over my hip tightens as if it belongs there.

According to him, it does.

The relaxing swaying motion and light sound of the clack-clacking of the train traveling along the tracks combined with the comfortability of his arms puts together the most soothing atmosphere I’ve ever experienced. He makes me feel without even trying.

The memory of how sweet he was last night, of how concerned he seems with my reaction in general brings warmth billowing inside my chest, and my stomach seizes with butterflies.

The quiet functional organ of my heart has never skipped a beat over any male in my acquaintance but this one. Attraction to the opposite sex is a foreign language I’ve never managed to grasp, no matter how many dates Nat shoved me into, or how hard I tried to feel a magnetism to anyone.

Until now.