Chapter 25
25
Keyanna
I’m righting my clothes when I catch Lachlan peering over at the sinking sun, a frown on his face. “You’d better head back.”
“About that,” I tell him. “I was thinking…I’d like to see it happen.”
He stills, his brow furrowing. “You don’t want to see it, Key. It’s…shocking.”
“More shocking than claws and a ridged dick?” I ask with an arched brow.
His mouth opens and then closes, his lips pursing. “It’s…different.”
“Hey.” I close the distance between us, his chest still bare given the fact that he’d just have to undress in a matter of minutes anyway. I press my hand there, looking up at him. “It’s not going to scare me away, okay? It just feels…wrong. Not seeing everything. If we break—” I stop myself, shaking my head. “ When we break this curse, I want to be able to say I saw it all. All of you.”
“Technically you already did,” he reminds me.
I shake my head. “I didn’t see you change.”
He gives me a long look as if he’s considering, and then he nods stiffly, eyes wary. “All right. But…if it’s too much, just forget you saw anything, aye?”
“I can handle it,” I say, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Don’t worry.”
“You’d better stand back, then.”
I do as he says, taking several steps back as he glances once more at the sinking sun before grabbing for his pants to undo them. He grins when I waggle my eyebrows, giving a small shake of his head.
“Maybe you just wanted to watch me strip, aye?” he jokes, his voice just barely giving away his nerves.
“It’s a bonus,” I tell him.
And it is, honestly. As he shucks his pants down his massive thighs, revealing what seems like miles of bronzed skin and an impressive cock even when soft—I mean. It doesn’t hurt.
“If you keep looking at me like that,” he says, “I’ll likely be too hard to get this done.”
I laugh. “I don’t think it works that way.”
“Aye, but I’ve never been hard as a monster. It’s not something I want to learn how to navigate today.”
“Now I’m a little curious,” I say with another laugh.
“Devil woman,” he mutters, pulling his feet free of his pant legs and dropping them to the side.
He casts one more look toward the sun, then starts backing up until he’s standing in the shallows of the water. He shivers a little with the cold of it, closing his eyes as the sun creeps lower and lower, until it’s only a sliver of light on the horizon.
“Just remember what I said,” he reminds me. “And remember…I won’t hurt you.”
I shake my head. “I know you wouldn’t. I think it’s safe to say, after what we just did, that I trust you.”
His mouth breaks out into a smile, but it’s short-lived, quickly morphing into a grimace. He all but doubles over, clenching his stomach as his skin starts to ripple with movement and color. It’s like moments ago when we had sex, but more violent—a faster change that seems to tear through him all at once. My mouth falls open as his neck elongates, as his features shift into something more monstrous before my very eyes—all the while his skin darkening and forming scales that start to cover all of his rapidly changing body.
He grows and grows, the man standing before me moments ago lost to the quickly forming beast—and after a matter of seconds of watching what looks to me like a very painful shift—the beast I remember saving me floats in the shallows, twisting his neck this way and that as if it’s stiff from the change. His gaze settles on me, and I have to remind myself that this is Lachlan, that he would never hurt me. He’s just so big now.
But then he lowers his head in a submissive gesture, inviting me in, and my feet stumble forward as if they have a mind of their own, bringing me closer to him until they’re submerged in the water. I press my hands on either side of his wide face, peering into his plate-size eyes, which are the same piercing blue I often get lost in.
“There you are,” I say softly, stroking my hand up one side of his face. “You’re still pretty beautiful, you know?”
Lachlan makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a snort, and I pat his cheek playfully. “You are, you stubborn ass. Different but…beautiful.”
He shivers in my hold, his eyes going half-mast as he nudges his massive nose against my cheek. I let him nuzzle me there, and there’s something so strangely intimate about it all, seeing him in this way no one else can, knowing that it’s him inside the beast. I turn my face to press a kiss to his snout—closing my eyes.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “For showing me.”
He makes another noise, a guttural thing that I can only assume is his version of you’re welcome —and I pat his cheek once more before stepping back just a little. I take in his long neck and his giant body, finding a gracefulness in this form that I doubt he’s ever taken the time to appreciate. I doubt anyone has, for that matter.
I give one more kiss to his snout, rubbing my nose back and forth there before telling him, “You’d better go. It’s too dangerous for you to be on the shore for too long.”
Another rumbling sound, one that must be his agreement, because he starts to swim backward, going deeper into the loch. I watch him go until I can’t see him anymore, feeling overwhelmingly grateful that he trusts me like this, especially knowing there are so few in his life he’s deemed worthy of that trust.
I vow to myself right there, standing in the shallows of the loch, that I’ll do everything in my power to make sure that trust is earned.
A noise behind me makes me jolt, a shaking of the bushes farther up the shore making me spin around as what sounds like the thumping of footsteps makes my heart begin to race.
Did someone see?
I rush out of the water toward the sound, only to be met with a rabbit bounding out of the bush, causing a rush of air to expel from my lungs, relieved that it wasn’t someone spying. That’s the last thing we need right now.
It hits me then that I ran toward the noise without any regard for my own safety, that I was too concerned with Lachlan to even entertain the idea of my own well-being. The realization gives me pause, because while I’m no expert on the matter…that feels a lot like what love is.
And given that Lachlan’s future is so uncertain despite my fervent proclamations…that thought is way more terrifying than the monster I just let nuzzle me.
The walk back to the farmhouse seems longer than usual; I’m still ruminating on this new possibility with regards to my feelings for Lachlan, making it impossible to do more than meander back toward the main path that leads home.
Home .
I’m not sure when it started feeling like that to me, but I realize that the farmhouse—my grandparents, the land, Lachlan, even the damned cows— all of it makes me feel more at home than I have since the day my dad passed. It makes me wonder about what my future might look like. I think that my grandparents would be thrilled if I stayed here in Scotland, especially now that Rhona and I are finding our footing, but I can’t help wondering if Lachlan would feel the same.
I shudder as I recall what happened back on the shore of the loch; maybe it’s strange that I didn’t feel fear when I noticed that he’d started to shift to some sort of in-between state, but in that moment all I could sense was a burning desire to have more of him. To share parts of him no one else ever had. And God had it been good. I’ll never tell him this, but I might actually miss the claws if we do find a way to break his curse.
When , I correct myself. When we break his curse.
Because there’s no other option, as far as I’m concerned. Hearing him talk about not turning back…it really shook me. I think that’s why, in the moment, I needed to touch him, to remind myself that he’s still here . I needed the tangible proof that we still have time, because I refuse to entertain the possibility that I might lose him after just finding him. He has too much life to live. We have too much life to live. Or at least, I hope that’s the case.
Fuck, maybe I really am gone for the guy. I think that thought scares me more than any monster-y bits he might show me ever could. It’s far too soon, far too nonsensical, and yet the thought of walking away from him now, for any reason, makes my breath come shorter and my chest grow tight. I rub the spot thoughtfully, coaxing the muscles to unwind as I tell myself I have nothing to worry about. Willing it to be true.
When I make it back to the farmhouse, I find it fairly quiet, leaving my shoes at the door as I venture inside. I can hear quiet sounds coming from the den, and find Rhona sitting quietly by the fire, knitting while she rocks in one of the chairs.
“Evening,” she calls. “You just get in?”
I nod from the doorway. “Mhm. I was…” I feel heat flush at my neck as I recall what I was actually doing. “I was just out for a walk.”
“Good place for it,” Rhona chuckles. She gestures to the chair beside her. “Come sit with me a spell before I have to go and start dinner.”
I hesitate in the entry for a moment; I don’t know if I’ll be good company, given that my head is still scrambled with the possibility that Lachlan might not turn back tomorrow— but I’ve had so few moments alone with Rhona since we started trying to make this work, and it’s not as if I can tell her why my brain is a mess of anxiety.
I shuffle farther into the room and plop down into one of the overstuffed armchairs, sinking into the soft cushion and trying to push some of my muddled thoughts away. I notice that the rest of the house appears to be relatively silent, the only sounds to be heard are the faint clicking of Rhona’s needles and the soft crackling of the fire.
“Where is everyone?” I ask.
“Finlay is down at the pub playing cards again with Hamish and a few others,” she tells me.
I scoff lightly. “Hopefully he won’t stoop to getting them plastered just to win.”
“Aye,” Rhona laughs. “Your grandpa takes his cards very seriously.”
“Is Brodie with him?”
“No, he’s…” Her brow knits. “Actually, I don’t know where that boy has run off to. Been gone most of the day, really.” She puffs out a breath. “No doubt working on his little side project.”
“It will be cool to see it when it’s done,” I say. “I’d love to know more about our family.”
Rhona hmphs. “Bunch of lovestruck fools, most of them.”
“What do you mean?”
“Och. Our name means ‘happy,’ did you know?”
“Seems kind of ironic, given the last few months,” I grumble.
Rhona laughs dryly. “Aye, I suppose so. There are dozens of stories down the line about MacKay men sacrificing something or other for love. Finlay’s father used to say it was the MacKay curse. Used to tell this auld story about some auld MacKay way down the line who saved a fairy princess or some other from an evil laird.” She rolls her eyes. “Finlay used to tell the same story to your da when he was a wee lad.”
Something about that makes me pause; it sounds so similar to everything we’ve been told about the story of Tavish and the kelpie but not quite right. “He saved her from some evil dude?”
“It’s just a story,” Rhona says with a cluck of her tongue. “But that’s how Finlay’s father told it. Usually after he regaled us with tales of how he stepped on a weever fish trying to find Finlay’s mother’s ring after she dropped it in the ocean when he took her to Sutherland one summer.”
“What’s a weever fish?”
“Nasty wee things,” she tells me. “Massive stinger on their back. Hurts like hell.”
“So what did Grandpa sacrifice for you , then?” I tease.
“Och.” She shakes her head, but there’s a fond smile on her mouth now. “To hear him tell it—he gave up his wily ways to be with me. Popular as he was.”
I can’t help but laugh. “That does sound like him.”
“Truth be told,” she says, lowering her voice, “I’m not sure your grandpa has sacrificed a day in his life. He’s a lucky bastard, that one.” The mirth ebbs from her eyes immediately, as if remembering. “Well…save for your father, I suppose.”
She goes quiet after that, concentrating on her knitting needles. I can feel pain radiating off her in waves, and it clutches me tight, wishing I knew how to make it better. So much suffering in this family…and for what?
I tilt my chin toward the project bundled in her lap—eyeing the soft-looking emerald color of the yarn with interest. “What are you making?”
“I…” She pauses her needles as an honest blush creeps into her cheeks—making my stoic grandmother appear almost…bashful. “Well, if you must know,” she says, clearing her throat and trying for her usual hardness. “I was making an extra blanket for your bed. It’s getting colder, and I didn’t know how long you meant to stay, so I thought—”
“That’s for me?”
I can feel the smile creeping across my face, warmed by the gesture and even more so by the blatant embarrassment coloring Rhona’s features. It makes her seem softer, doing something so grandmotherly. It makes my chest hurt all over again but with something more like joy.
“It’s nothing much,” she mumbles.
I just smile wider. “It’s already gorgeous,” I tell her honestly. “I can’t wait to use it.”
“Aye, well.” She turns her eyes back to her needles, shrugging softly. “I know Duncan’s auld room can get drafty sometimes.”
I feel my breath catch. “I’m staying in my dad’s old room?”
“Did I not mention that?”
“No, I…” My mind whirrs with the information, part awestruck that I’m sleeping in the same place that housed my dad growing up, part reeling with the knowledge that I’ve barely given the room a second look since I got here—haven’t even really thought that there might be something hidden in there. “I didn’t know,” I say finally. “That’s…interesting.”
Rhona pauses her knitting once more, her eyes softening as she stares at her hands. “It’s been…nice. Having you there. Sometimes it really does feel like a part of my boy came back to me.” A small smile touches her mouth, and when she looks over at me, her eyes are full of warmth. “I supposed he did, though, didn’t he?”
I feel my eyes sting with the threat of tears, and I have to blink rapidly just to will them away. There have been entirely too many emotional roller coasters today, thank you very much.
“Yeah,” I answer thickly. “I hope so.”
She clears her throat, blinking furiously, and I suspect she might be fighting back tears of her own, but I won’t call her on it.
“Best you go and clean up for supper,” she says stiffly. “I’ll be done here shortly.”
“All right,” I tell her.
I push out of the chair, noticing she doesn’t look at me as I do so. I’m still buzzing slightly with the new information about staying in my dad’s room, but instead of rushing up the stairs like part of me wants to—I hold back. I waver for a moment as I try to determine whether it would be welcome or not, finally deciding to just go for it as I close the distance between my grandmother and me, leaning down to hug her around the shoulders. She goes still in my arms for a moment, maybe two, but then she relaxes into them, and I feel the light pressure of her hand as it pats my forearm gently.
“You’re a good lass,” she says softly.
I press a barely there kiss to her cheek. “Thank you.”
“Now go on, I said,” she grunts. “Enough of this silliness.”
I leave her be then, knowing she isn’t the type to show anything she deems weakness in front of others, but I don’t miss the way she smiles gently as she works now. I think maybe she needed the hug a lot more than she would ever let on.
I know I did.