Page 63 of Loched in Love

“But the magic is still bleeding off you, Elena. I can practically see it now that I’m looking for it, and it’s rising with each second as it gets trapped in here with us. We’ve got to go.”

I look down at my hands on the steering wheel. My brain, it completely short-circuits and backfires. Everything is backward. The rear view mirror is to my left, the window is to my right, and the gear shift sits awkwardly by my left thigh.

Oh my god. This is so weird.

I turn the key and the ignition sputters to a life along with the dashboard.

“Right. Driving on the left. Shifting with the left hand. No big deal, right?” I mutter like a mantra, pushing in the clutch and putting the car into what I hope is first gear as I send a prayer up to whoever’s listening to at least make sure we make it through this and I don’t accidentally kill us both.

This whole adventure is going to make one hell of a story for Natalie. If I make it through this.

Chapter 24

ELENA PIERSON

Icarefully ease on the gas once we make it out of the parking lot, and the car jerks forward, the tires spinning slightly before catching asphalt on the narrow coastal road.

My knuckles are white as I grip the wheel, and my gaze is wide as I stare down at the pavement trying to not freak out.

Holy shit this feels so wrong.

Every primitive instinct in my brain is screaming that I’m driving head first into oncoming traffic even though the road is completely empty, and I’ve never been so nervous in my life.

Beads of sweat pool at the nape of my neck from the hot and cold flashes that have been rolling through me, unaccustomed to the weird levels of adrenaline coursing through my body.

“You’re doing brilliant, love,” Lachlan says softly, though I can hear the tight, rigid tension in his own voice. He’s trying to be sweet, supportive, but his gaze is still hyper focused on the mirrors tracking the road behind us and he’s gripping the handle above his head like it’s a lifeline.

My stomach is in my throat as I try to breathe through the ever constant waves of panic I’m experiencing. I don’t want to ask if he’s tracking for any human man affected by my invisible selkie aura, or if he’s worried I’m going to crash and commit vehicular homicide.

“Thanks,” I squeak, struggling to find second gear with my left hand and accidentally turning on the windshield wipers instead of the turn signal. The blade swipes dryly against the glass with a loud screech. “Oops, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he reassures me, his grip tightening just a fraction on my knee. “Just keep us moving north and we’ll be right as rain.”

We cruise down the winding road for less than two minutes before a massive painted sign appears before us.

My heart instantly drops into my stomach and panic overcomes my senses.

Roundabout ahead.

My fingers tighten on the steering wheel, and I feel my butthole pucker in apprehension.

“Oh no,” I whisper, my throat going completely dry.

Up ahead, a massive traffic circle looms. Cars are already whizzing through it, spinning clockwise in a dizzying blur. Roundabouts are already stressful, but a Scottish roundabout that has to be approached from the left side of the road while trying to shift gears with the wrong hand, feels like a death trap.

“Lachlan,” I gasp, my foot hovering frantically over the brake as we rapidly approach the yield line. “How do I do this? Who has the right of way? I don’t know where to look! What do I do?!”

“Just give way to the right,” Lachlan says, and points, as if he didn’t just spend three hundred years locked in a moat. His large body tenses as we barrel toward the traffic circle. “Look right, Elena. Just look right and go. You’ve got this lass.”

I stomp on the brake, the little coupe screeching to a halt an inch from the line. A sleek silver sedan whips past our front bumper from the right, and the male driver slows down just a fraction to stare through our windshield with a sudden fixation, his gaze on me.

“He’s looking at me! He’s slowing down!” I panic. My left hand violently grinding the gear shift into what I pray is first gear, I start forward into traffic. “Okay, I’m going! I’m going!”

I squeeze my eyes shut and send up a prayer as I press the gas and dump the clutch down with my foot, flooring it.

“There!” Lachlan shouts.

Opening my gaze, I spot the ‘Loch Ness’ sign and with a desperate yank of the wheel, I narrowly cut across the lane, swerve past the concrete divider and drive out of the roundabout circle from hell.