Chapter Seventeen
I woke to áedán's hand tracing lazy patterns across my chest, his breath warm on my shoulder.
Morning light filtered through the curtains, turning everything soft and golden.
For a moment I let myself exist in that space—the weight of his arm across my ribs, the smell of him and sex, the quiet certainty that I was exactly where I wanted to be.
Then reality reasserted itself. The missing journal. The conflicting stories. The note. áedán fading.
“You're thinking loudly,” áedán murmured against my skin.
“Sorry.”
“Don't be.” He pressed a kiss to my shoulder. “I can feel you worrying. It's rather endearing.”
I turned in his arms to face him. His hair was a disaster, dark strands falling across his forehead, and his eyes were heavy-lidded. He looked younger, less guarded, and damn sexy.
“We need to find that journal.” I brushed the hair out of his face.
“I know.” He nuzzled me. “But I'd rather stay here.”
“Ten minutes.” I snuggled into his arms.
I couldn't get up anyway. Images from the night before bombarded me and turned my bones into liquid.
We'd both been so exhausted when we finished that I was betting it was late morning, closer to afternoon.
And I didn't care. Sex with áedán had been the most amazing sex of my life.
It had been a while for me. What with my work and then training to join the Velasca, I hadn't any time for romance.
That tube of lubricant had been for self-pleasuring until last night.
I smiled, remembering how much áedán loved the stuff.
He had waxed poetic about the slickness adding to his pleasure.
My body ached in all the best ways, muscles tight and channel tingling.
And I wanted more. áedán had been insatiable—all grasping hands, hungry mouth, and thrusting cock.
In my mind I saw him above me again, his hair wild, then beneath me as I rode him with abandon.
I remembered the feel of his hand stroking me as I moved on him, a smile on my face. Sex had never been so much fun.
áedán made a soft, sexy sound in my ear. “Someone needs attention.” His hand found my erection and squeezed.
I moaned and wriggled my ass against him to find him just as hard as me. “Maybe a little more than ten minutes.”
“Oh, it's going to be a lot more than ten minutes.” His hand left me to direct his cock to my entrance. “You're still slick.” He kissed my neck and slid inside. “Is this all right? You're not too sore?”
“It's very right.” I angled myself so I could push back on him.
“I think so too.” áedán wrapped his arms around me, lifting me off the bed to hold me pressed against him, and started thrusting.
Two hours later, we had lunch in the dining hall, smiling at each other like a couple of teenagers.
After lunch, we went to the Great Archive.
As soon as I walked through the doors, my carefree feeling left.
It was time to work. Not just because it was my job, but mainly because I couldn't let áedán fade.
Julian and Agnes were already there, standing beside Eleanor's desk with identical expressions of frustration. The sign-out ledger sat on the desk between them.
Agnes looked up and met my gaze. “I've spoken to every senior archivist. I even spoke to Brother Thomas, though he hasn't been in the Archive for months.”
“And?” I looked from her to Julian.
“None of them remember approving the sign-out.” Julian's voice was measured, but I caught the edge beneath it. “Which is unusual, but not impossible.”
“In my archive, it is impossible.” Agnes crossed her arms.
“Could someone have removed the authorization form after the fact?” I asked.
“We warded the ledger against tampering.” Agnes's voice came out clipped, precise.
“Any attempt to remove anything from it would leave traces. There are none. Besides, Eleanor would have recorded the sign-out.” She flipped the book to the front where every borrowed book was listed.
“If she didn't record it, it wasn't signed out.”
Julian placed a hand on her shoulder. “Agnes, I understand your concern, but there are simpler explanations. Perhaps the enchantments failed. Perhaps someone stuck it in their bag by mistake.”
“The enchantments don't fail.” She smacked the ledger. “I've maintained them for over a century. They. Don't. Fail.”
“Then we'll investigate further.” Julian's tone was soothing. “But let's not assume malice when incompetence might be to blame. Someone made a mistake. We'll find out who and correct it.”
Agnes looked as if she wanted to argue. Instead, she picked up the ledger and headed for her desk at the entrance to the Archive.
Julian watched her go, then turned to me. “She takes the Archive's integrity personally.”
“She should.” I couldn't help it. I was angry. The Great Archive was the most important part of the Velasca. It held the written myths. It should have been more secure than a prison. “If someone can remove a book without proper authorization—”
“If.” Julian held up a hand. “We don't know that's what happened. Give it time, Ethan. These things usually resolve themselves.”
“I don't have much time, Julian.” áedán leveled a hard stare on Julian.
I took his hand and faced Julian with him.
“I know.” Julian's calm facade cracked, and his eyes twitched with pain. “But I don't think one missing book is going to change things.”
“How many books go missing from the Archive every year?” I raised an eyebrow.
Julian glanced at our joined hands. “Not many.” He held up his hand before I spoke. “I will continue looking for the missing journal. But there is rarely one copy of a book. You have the title, Ethan. Maybe you could find mention of it in other books?”
“You're right!” I let go of áedán's hand and hurried toward the Scottish Collection, áedán close behind.
“Good luck!” Julian called after us.
I spent the next three hours searching through related materials, looking for any mention of the Kilmartin Journal.
I even looked for a copy online, but it was a rare book that had never been copied.
áedán fetched us dinner, including tea and a plate of shortbread that Mateo had insisted we needed to fortify our endeavors.
“Any luck while I've been gone?” áedán settled into the chair beside me, close enough that our knees touched, and took a bite of his fish.
“No.” I gestured at the stack of books to my right. “I found several references to Kilmartin as a location—standing stones, ancient settlements, the usual. But nothing about the journal itself.”
“Maybe that's the point.” áedán picked up one of the books, a nineteenth-century survey of Scottish folklore. “If someone wanted to hide information aboot kelpies, they'd start by removing the primary sources.”
“But why?” I rubbed my eyes, exhaustion creeping in. “What's in that journal that's worth stealing?”
“The truth, probably.” He set the book down and ate another forkful of fish. “The version of us that doesn't fit the monster narrative.”
“I don't think so. There are lots of books containing the original stories. Why leave all of those behind?”
“I don't know, but you need to eat.” áedán pushed my plate toward me. “Now, Ethan.”
I gave in and ate. Every time I glanced at a book, áedán growled at me. Even after I finished, he insisted I have a cookie before I got back to work. Luckily, Zoe showed up as I was finishing my cookie and took áedán off for some fresh air, saying, “Kelpies shouldn't spend so much time indoors.”
With them gone, I sank into my work without interruption. Unfortunately, research can only continue as long as you have sources to investigate. My sources were limited. In other words, I ran out of books.
It was late by then anyway, and áedán had yet to return.
So I put the books away (no one had touched the mess we'd left the night before).
On my way back to the table, I noticed Agnes standing beside the shelf where the Kilmartin Journal should have been.
She had one hand extended, her fingers hovering over the empty space.
She wasn't searching. Wasn't checking the surrounding volumes.
She was just standing there, perfectly still, her hand tracing the absence.
I stopped walking. Something about the moment felt private, as if I were witnessing something I shouldn't. Then she noticed me. Her hand dropped. For a moment, we just looked at each other.
“The Archive remembers everything.” Her voice was soft, almost conversational.
“Every book that's ever passed through its doors.
Every hand that's touched them. Every word that's been read within these walls.” Agnes's gaze returned to the shelf.
“The enchantments aren't just protective, they're also preserving.” She paused, her finger returning to trace the gap between the books.
“Which means someone wanted this forgotten.”
The words hung in the air between us.
A shiver soured my stomach. “You think someone deliberately removed it. Not just took it out. They removed it from the Archive's memory.”
“I think someone tried.” Her expression turned troubled. Not confused or uncertain—troubled. “But the Archive is as old as the Velasca itself. Caelum laid the first wards into these walls himself. You can't simply erase something from its memory without leaving scars.”
“What kind of scars?”
She looked at me then, really looked at me, and I saw something in her eyes that made my stomach drop. Fear. Agnes Whitlock, who could reduce senior Velascans to nervous children with a single glance, was afraid.
“That's what worries me,” she said. “I don't know.”
There was nothing else to say. So I went back to my table, collected my things, and left the Archive.
My mind spun through possibilities. Someone had taken the journal.
Someone had tried to erase it from the Archive.
Someone was systematically altering kelpie mythology, making them into monsters one edit at a time.
And now, there was only one kelpie left.
I found áedán in the central garden, sitting beneath Velas's Oak with Zephyr sprawled across his lap. The griffin has his beak tucked against áedán's chest while he made soft chirping sounds that seemed far too delicate for a creature with talons like daggers.
“Someone likes you.” I settled onto the grass beside them.
áedán scratched behind Zephyr's ears, earning a rumbling purr. “I suspect he's just using me for warmth.”
“Maybe.” I stroked Zephyr's back as I leaned over and kissed áedán.
When we eased apart, áedán said, “We need to go back to the loch.”
I'd known it was coming. I had felt it building in áedán all day—the restlessness, the way his gaze kept drifting toward the windows.
Then he hadn't returned after leaving with Zoe.
He didn't just need to be outside. He needed to be in his loch.
I'd taken the kelpie out of water and expected him to behave like a man.
But I had to save him, and I knew the journal was important. “What about the journal?”
“It can wait.” His voice was gentle but firm. “Ethan, every day we spend here is another day I'm fading. Another day closer to forgetting who I am.” He turned toward me. “I can feel it—the edges of myself getting softer. Memories that should be sharp are becoming fuzzy.”
My chest tightened. “How long do you have?”
“I don't know. A few months, maybe less.” His face twitched, and I saw the fear beneath his calm exterior. “I need to be home, where I'm strongest.”
“But if we leave now, we might never find out who took the journal. Never understand what they're trying to hide.”
“I know.” áedán reached over and took my hand. “But I'd rather spend whatever time I have left at home with you than waste it chasing ghosts through the Archive.”
He was right. I knew he was right. But the researcher in me rebelled against leaving questions unanswered.
“The altered stories. The missing journal. The spiral. It all connects somehow. If we could just—”
“Ethan.” He squeezed my hand. “I love that you want to save me. I love that you think there's an answer waiting to be found. But I think we've found all there is to find here. Come home with me. You can work from there.”
“You're right. I've looked through all the kelpie books here and found every reference I could find on the journal.
I can continue working on my laptop at your cottage.
I can even talk to Moira again and look through the books I bought in Luss.
I should be able to find all the changes and when they were made.
Once I know what's been done, it will be easier for me to write a proper rebuttal.”
“A rebuttal?”
“Yes, to the new stories. It's the best way to start changing them back.
I'll publish an academic paper that will prove how much your myth has been altered.
Then we can work on spreading the original myth.
Even if someone is working against us, it should buy us some time.
Once you're stable, we can work on finding who did this.”
Relief flooded his face. “Thank you.”
Zephyr chose that moment to wake up, stretching with a yawn. He blinked at us with enormous golden eyes, then chirped hopefully.
“Yes, I know you're very handsome,” áedán told him solemnly. “But we have to leave soon.”
The griffin's head swiveled toward me, as if seeking confirmation of this terrible news.
“He's right,” I said. “We're going back to Scotland.”
Zephyr chirped like a creaky door, then lifted his head to nudge my chin with his beak.
“I think he's protesting.” áedán chuckled.
“I think you're right.”
Zephyr got off his lap with a huffing sound, launched into the air, and flew away.
I snorted. “I guess that was griffin-speak for, 'Fuck off.'”
áedán burst out laughing, stood up, and held a hand down to me. “Come on. Let's get some sleep. It's going to be a long drive tomorrow.”
“Sleep, eh?” I took his hand and got to my feet.
He smirked. “Well, maybe not right away.”