Page 12 of The Last Kelpie

Then a voice behind me said, “You've been reading the wrong stories.”

I jerked, my whole body snapping to attention at the sound of that voice—masculine, but not too deep, with a hint of a Scottish brogue. It tickled my skin and set my heart racing. I spun around.

A man stood on the grass about ten feet away. He wore jeans and a sweater, both dark enough for him to fade into the shadows. Moonlight highlighted his raven hair with silver, outlining its length—past his shoulders. I couldn't tell what color his eyes were, but he stared at me warily.

Áedán. The last kelpie on Earth. And the most handsome man I'd ever seen. His photos didn't convey how attractive he was. How could they? You needed to experience him in person to see the perfection of his skin, the bone structure that couldn't be captured in flat photographs. He had the kind of beauty that made you forget how to breathe properly. Sharp cheekbones and a full mouth that looked made for kissing. Broad shoulders, lean hips, and long legs. Even the way he stood was enchanting, hip cocked casually, as if he didn’t know the effect he had on people.

I realized I was staring. Realized I hadn't said anything. Realized my mouth was open. “I, um.” I cleared my throat. “Sorry. You startled me.”

“You were standing at the water's edge in the dark.” He tilted his head and looked me over. “I thought you might be lost.”

“No, I'm not lost.” Not lost, but I felt oddly found. “I was just admiring how beautiful the loch is without so many people here.”

His eyes widened, and he stepped closer. “Aye, it becomes itself when they leave.”

I nodded. “I felt that. But here I am, one of those people who ruins it by my presence.”

“I disagree. You have walked along its shore with respect, careful not to break a single branch or scare the animals. You are nothing like the people who tear across the loch in their metal boats, dumping filth into the water.”

“I would never do that.”

He nodded. “As I said, you're different.”

A shiver ran down my spine. There was more to Áedán than his beauty or his myth. From just the few words we'd exchanged, I felt an eagerness to know more about him. Something inside me screamed to grab his hand and never let go. To stop myself from giving in to such insanity, I adjusted my backpack.

Áedán's gaze dropped to it. His expression changed. Not anger, exactly. Something colder. I frowned as he stepped closer. I should have stepped back, but I couldn't make my feet work. I followed his gaze to the pamphlet tucked into my pack's outer pocket.

He pointed at it. “Kelpies dinnae look like that.”

I went still. Julian told me not to reveal myself right away, but it was so hard to hold back. “How do you know what a kelpie looks like?”

“Because I've seen one.” He smiled, but it oozed danger. “They're a bonnie race.”

The wind picked up, carrying the smell of water and something else. Something wild and spicy. Man, but more. He was standing close enough now that I could see his eyes were green and admire the way the striations in them glittered. His long lashes should have softened the glint of danger in his eyes, but they only enhanced it.

“Who are you?” I whispered.

“Someone who lives here.” He looked past me at the loch, then back at my face. “Who are you?”

“Ethan.” I held out my hand. “Ethan Clarke.”

“Ethan Clarke.” He repeated it slowly, as if he were tasting the syllables. He took my hand and held it without shaking. “That's a very English name for someone standing on a Scottish shore in the middle of the night.”

“I'm visiting. England isn't that far.”

“Visiting.” His smile widened. “Looking for kelpies? Is that why you're out here at night?”

“I'm interested in folklore.” It wasn't a lie. Not exactly. I looked down at our hands. His thumb was rubbing the back of mine.

“Folklore.” He said the word as if it amused him, and drew his hand away from mine. “Is that what they're calling it now?”

I didn't know how to answer that. Didn't know what he meant. I especially didn't know why my hands were shaking or why I couldn't look away from his face.

He stepped back. I could breathe better, but I also felt a strange sense of loss.

“You should go back to the village, Ethan Clarke. It's not safe to walk alone here at night. The shore is slippery. People fall.” He turned to leave, then paused. “And if you're going to read aboot kelpies, find better sources. That pamphlet is an insult.”

“Wait.” I took a step forward. “What's your name?”