Chapter 14
I don’t give my sister another thought or the gift of any emotion on my part. She had plenty of time to act like a real family member to me, but she was only ever a source of threat and guilt, a reminder of the violence that used to plague my existence.
Rick is my present, and hopefully my future, too. I don’t want to waste a single second of the time that he and I have left together.
In kelpie form, I carry him to Spyglass Stables. He’s not a very good rider, especially not bareback, but we manage to get home without any severe mishaps. Most of my wounds heal on the way back, except for the cuts from my sister’s teeth. Those will take much longer.
Rick is in some pain, but he refuses to discuss it. He insists on behaving as if he’s perfectly fine, although he agrees to swallow a couple painkillers.
As he’s drinking them down with a glass of water, I announce, “If you feel up to it, you're going to fuck me on the kitchen island.”
Rick chokes and coughs. I grin, my heart lighter than it’s ever been. I thought the looming midnight deadline would feel like imprisonment, but it’s oddly freeing. For once I can express exactly what I want, without wondering if it’s going to come across as too needy or too weird.
“You good?” I ask Rick, who’s still coughing.
“Fine,” he wheezes. “Give me a second.”
I’m still naked. Haven’t put on a stitch of clothing since we got back.
I push aside the canisters and the napkin holder on the kitchen island, making a clear space.
Then I hitch myself onto the edge, perching there with my legs apart.
Yeah it’s not super hygienic, but I might literally lose my mind tonight.
If I make it through somehow, I can sanitize everything.
Right now, I just want Rick. Possibly for the last time.
I slide my fingers into myself and show him the glistening wetness.
“Marlowe.” His voice is low, hungry, desperate.
I pull the lips of my sex apart so he can see every bit of me. His pupils dilate and he sucks in a harsh breath. His erection is a thick, obvious protrusion beneath his boxers.
“Get naked for me,” I whisper.
He strips the boxers off and stands there, sunburned, covered in bloody cuts and dirt smudges. He’s magnificently filthy, majestically hard, injured in a way that speaks to my violent nature with a sinister seduction I can’t deny. He has never looked hotter to me than he does right now.
“Come here.” My words are halfway between a command and a plea.
He swallows hard. “Are you sure? After all the—”
“I need this so badly, Rick.”
He surges forward, clasps my face in both hands, and kisses me.
As he moves, the tip of his dick finds my entrance and pops inside, pushing deeper, like it knows exactly where it belongs.
He slides in without a single guiding touch from his hand or mine.
We’re sealed together, joined where our hips meet and where our mouths slide frantically against each other.
We kiss like it’s the last time, because we both know it might be. His tongue sweeps through my mouth, pushing against mine, teasing the edges of my teeth. He grabs my hips and starts a steady pace, thrusting with a rough fervency that has me throwing my head back and groaning aloud.
“Harder,” I beg him. “Deeper. As hard and fast as you can. As rough as you like. I can take it. I need it. Please.”
His arm wraps around my butt and he drags me closer to the counter’s edge. I become a limp doll, a willing puppet clasped in his arms while he shoves into me. His pace kicks up, turning frenzied, and his breathing goes ragged, each one bordering on a sob.
“Rick,” I whisper, touching his face.
He looks up, and yes, those are tears glittering in his eyes. Sweet man.
“No,” I soothe him. “Don’t, don’t. Just be here, just be with me, don’t think about anything else that could happen. Just us. Just here.”
“Okay.” He clears his throat and shakes his head roughly like he’s shaking off the emotion. “Okay.”
I pull his mouth to mine and inhale him, his scent of rich blood and meaty flesh, his fragrance of smooth, hot skin and male musk.
My hunger is deeper than lust. If I remain a kelpie, I think I will always struggle with the desire to devour him in a very literal way.
The one good thing about becoming a horse is that he won’t have to fear that fate.
Follow your own advice, Marlowe. Stop thinking and just enjoy this.
I shut my eyes, focusing on the pleasure building at my core. While Rick thrusts, I place my fingertips over my clit and massage it rapidly, curving my spine and lifting my pelvis to meet each new thrust.
“It’s coming, it’s coming,” I whisper. “Oh god... it’s... I’m... Rick, Rick—”
The orgasm hits like the shift from human to horse, like a magical transformation altering every cell of my body, illuminating each delicate nerve. I am altered from the inside out, laid bare, my truest self revealed.
Rick comes with a rough gasp. Panting, he presses in deep, then finishes with a few slow thrusts. His head sinks against my shoulder briefly, then he kisses the side of my neck.
Something about that kiss reminds me of the way my sister nearly bit his throat, and a chill runs through my very bones.
“You almost died,” I breathe. “She nearly killed you.”
He groans, then releases a low chuckle. “Really, Marlowe? Right now?”
“Sorry. I guess ignoring everything else is easier said than done.”
“The bad stuff sneaks up on you, even during the good stuff.” He pulls out slowly. “What now? Do we go again, or do you have any other last requests?”
I grab the paper towel he hands me and pat myself dry. “I’m hungry.”
Rick cuts me a wary look laced with wry humor.
“You’re safe.” I smirk at him. “I want pie, I think.”
“You got any here?”
“No.”
“There’s always leftover pie at the diner. We could go into town. It’ll still be crowded because of the festival, but—”
“The festival!” I hop off the island. “Kryhollow is playing a late set tonight. They’re an indie band that I absolutely love. We have to go. What time is it?” I glance at the clock next to the fridge, answering my own question. “How fast can you shower?”
Rick looks at me blandly. “I own a diner.”
“And that’s relevant because...”
“I know how to get ready fast.”
“Prove it.”
Thirty minutes later, we’re pulling in behind the Toast & Tide.
The streets, lanes, and small parking areas of Crescent Cove are stretched to the limit, overstuffed with tourists’ cars, but thankfully no one has encroached on the two parking spots at the rear of the diner, probably because they’re marked in red and boast multiple signs threatening towing, fines, and other dire punishments.
Lou installed the signs, but the paint is new.
Like his uncle, Rick is prepared to defend what’s his.
I turn off my truck and glance over at him, trying not to laugh at what he’s wearing—a pair of Tess’s sweatpants from before she started jogging with Ashala, and an oversized T-shirt of mine that has a certain demonic boy band on the front.
We bandaged each other up after showering, and both his arms have a few bandages covering the worst of the cuts.
“You look super hot, Rick.”
He rolls his eyes.
“No really, you do.”
“Would you stop?” He sighs and opens the passenger door. “We should have asked your sister what she did with my truck. I was unconscious for a while, and I never saw what happened to it.”
I wince. “She probably dragged it out into the bay or dropped it off the top of the bluff. You can tell insurance that it got stolen.”
“Yeah. That’s a tomorrow problem. Let’s get you to the festival.”
We hop out of the truck and slam the doors.
Music fills the night sky, echoing from the town square a ways down the street.
There’s a space in the square where the organizers erect a stage every time Crescent Cove hosts a performance event.
On Halloween it’s where the witches perform their showcase, revealing the new spells and charms they’ve been working on.
In December, the stage holds shrines to all the winter legends and deities, while the rest of the square turns into a holiday market.
Spyglass Stables usually has a booth at the market. We partner with a man in town who carves beautiful wooden rocking horses infused with magic to make them extra fun and super durable. We give out brochures, Mega S’mores, and rocking horse rides.
This town is full of so many memories, and I had plans for many more. It’s hard to imagine all those memories and possibilities being suddenly cut off.
If I become a regular horse, how much of my former life will I remember? How deeply will I be able to think or feel? As much as I love and understand horses, I have only an outsider’s sense of their cognitive limits. It’s hard to know what to expect.
Rick is standing by the truck, waiting, his dark hair haloed in the light of the lamp over the diner’s back door. His eyebrow is cocked, the only sign of his impatience.
“I was thinking that I’ll miss holiday markets,” I blurt out. “And coffee, and talking.”
“You do seem to enjoy talking.”
“Hey now. I’m an excellent conversationalist.”
“With so much practice, you should be.” His grin is forced, and there’s a sorrowful strain in his eyes.
I don’t challenge him on it or try to cheer him up. He’s suffering, too. In a twist of fate I could never have anticipated, he fell for me, hard and fast. Facing the tragic end of that love so soon is agonizing for both of us.