Page 43 of The Last Kelpie

“Morning.” I focused very hard on my plate. “Did you sleep well?”

“Not particularly.” The sensuality turned into amusement. “You?”

“Not really.”

“Hmm.”

I risked another glance at him. He was watching me with an expression that was entirely too knowing. Heat crept up the back of my neck. Then he reached for me. I froze. He picked something off my shirt. Blinking, I focused on it—a blond hair.

“Just a hair.” Áedán flicked it away.

“Oh.” I chuckled and smoothed a hand over my shoulder-length hair. “Thank you.”

“You look nice today.”

“Thanks. Uh, about last night—” I started.

“Ethan.” He said my name like it was something precious. “Eat your breakfast. We can talk aboot last night later, if you want. Or we can just—” He paused, searching for words. “Let it be what it is. See what happens.”

I nodded, my throat tightening.

We ate in companionable silence. I was hyperaware of everything about him. The way he held his fork, elegant even in such a mundane task. The way he tilted his head when he was thinking. The way his knee brushed mine under the table and didn't move away. This man had been born a horse. He spent half his life underwater. Still, he was more civilized than many of the men I had known in college. Maybe that wasn't a high bar.

Across the hall, Brannoc was arguing with the espresso machine again. Zephyr had climbed into someone's lap and was being fed bits of sausage. Zoe laughed at something Eleanor said. Everything felt so normal and yet so fantastical, terrifying in its casual acceptance of the extraordinary. And Áedán fit in there. He belonged in a way I wasn't sure I ever would.

“Julian is meeting with Caelum. I'd like to spend some time with my old friends.” Áedán stood, collecting his empty plate and mug. “Maybe finish that chess game with Zoe. Do you mind?”

“Of course not.” I tried not to feel disappointed. “I'll probably—I need to clear my head anyway. I think I'll take a walk and then head to the Archive. We never got around to looking through the kelpie books.”

He looked at me for a long moment. “I've changed my mind.”

“About what?”

“Talking aboot the kiss.” He leaned down, close enough that his scent invigorated me, and whispered, “I intend to kiss you again and then, hopefully, more than that.”

Before I could respond, he straightened and left. I sat there for another few minutes, my heart doing acrobatics, before I finally gave up on acting normal and went outside.

The central garden was beautiful in the morning light. Roses bloomed in neat beds, their petals heavy with dew. Lavender lined the pathways, releasing its scent with every brush of wind. Up ahead was the low hill where Velas's oak stood, its branches spreading wide against the pale sky.

I started walking mindlessly. My feet carried me along the grass path, into the maze of flowers. I needed to think about the note and the altered stories. I needed to think about Áedán and the possibility of sharing more than a kiss. I should have gone straight to the Great Archive and started searching for when Áedán's stories had changed. But I knew I wouldn't be able to focus until I worked through my spinning thoughts.

A few minutes later, a soft chirping sound made me look down. Zephyr had appeared at my side, his golden eagle head tilted in curiosity. His lion's paws were still slightly too large for his body, giving him an endearing awkwardness despite his obvious majesty. His tail wagged in greeting.

“Hello, Zephyr.” I reached down and stroked his sleek, feathered head.

He chirped again and bumped his head against my hand. I scratched his neck where the feathers merged with golden fur, and he started purring.

“Want to come with me?”

Apparently he did. He trotted beside me as I climbed the gentle slope toward the oak tree, his paws occasionally tangling together. By the time we reached the top of the hill, I was smiling despite my worry for Áedán.

The oak was even more magnificent up close. Deeply furrowed bark covered its massive trunk, easily fifteen feet around. Thick branches spread in all directions, creating a canopy of green that filtered the sunlight into patterns of gold on the grass.

This was where Caelum had buried Velas. Velas, the monk who had saved a man who was also a myth and then fell in love with him. I reached out and touched the bark. It was warm under my palm. Áedán had said we wouldn't have been able to hold hands in public in the past. I wondered what it was like for Velas and Caelum. As a monk during the 1400s, Velas would have taken a vow of celibacy. Breaking his vow would have been bad enough if he'd done it to be with a woman. But he'd fallen in love with a man. A magical man. What had they gone through to be together?

“He would have liked you.”

I spun around.