Page 12

CHAPTER TEN

The dogs no longer feared her.

It had taken a while.

Herding dogs were intelligent animals and could scent predators even when they came in unusual forms. When H?ra and Jonathan had looked for their first dog, many had snapped at her.

More than one breeder had asked her, “You’re not a dog person?”

“I wouldn’t know,” she’d replied, having never tasted dog meat.

They got on better now.

Perhaps it was all the time she’d spent inland around humans.

H?ra smelled less like the ocean and more like grass.

She spent more time on grass than she could ever have imagined.

Being outdoors was better than being cooped up indoors, and the wind and rain never troubled her.

The farm’s first dog, a collie cross named Brodie, followed close behind as H?ra guided the four-wheeled Gator down the farm’s “road.” Said road was only the tracks created by the farm’s vehicles, the grooves worn down after hundreds of drives.

Up ahead, her target came into view.

H?ra sighed. Brodie barked.

“I see it,” she called to him.

“Let’s not forget whose eyesight is still better.”

The cast ewe lay ahead, flat on her back and bleating in distress.

H?ra pulled up closer, turned off the Gator, and hopped down.

The mud squelched around her boots, wet soil covering the dried dirt that already crusted them.

A surprise storm had rolled in last night.

As always, she’d stayed indoors while Jonathan and the farmhands secured everything.

She couldn’t risk being seen by the Stormhorses.

Calder would recognize her human form.

The Sire must have been in a temper.

Jonathan had said the storm was “a bad’un.”

She reached the ewe, which bleated more pitifully as she approached.

Once, she would have taken advantage of its foolishness in falling and being unable to right itself, as any predator would with vulnerable prey.

But she’d been in need of rescue too.

When this sheep fed somebody, it’d be a human who bought it at market, not her.

Jonathan had originally intended to raise cattle, which were the most popular livestock on Orkney.

H?ra had convinced him to raise sheep instead.

He hadn’t been difficult to persuade, especially since her treasure had given him the initial funding.

Sister Madeleine’s Bible talked a lot about sheep and shepherds.

That meant Sister Madeleine must like sheep.

It was another way H?ra would prove they were a worthy match.

H?ra crouched at the ewe’s side, slid her hands under it, and easily hauled it to its feet.

Then Brodie took over, chasing it back to the flock, which had eyed the whole business cautiously from a distance.

With her hands on her hips, H?ra watched the ewe return to its fellow sheep and lambs.

Then she returned to the Gator and began to drive again, inspecting the area carefully.

The cattle, gathered separately, seemed well also.

The farm had thirty-five head of Limousin cattle to balance the grazing yearlong.

They could also safely consume worms that would make the sheep sick.

H?ra made sure to get a count as she drove.

Thirty-five cows, present and accounted for.

Everything looked fine.

H?ra put on the brakes and mashed the transmitter button on her walkie-talkie.

“Jonathan?”

After a moment, his voice sounded through the static.

“What’s the damage?”

“Muddy ground and one cast ewe.”

“That’s the lot?”

“Seems like.”

“Well, I’m not complaining. Come on back then. Or have you had your breakfast?”

“Yes. The lamb neck.” As usual, she’d saved time by not bothering to cook it first. “I’ll stay a little longer.”

“Sure, and why not? It’s such a beautiful morning.” Jonathan’s sarcasm had no bite in it.

“No damage. Fuck me, we’re blessed.” The connection ended.

“We’re something, all right,” H?ra murmured.

The Gator rumbled back into motion as she headed for her destination: a small hill over an unremarkable Iron Age tomb.

It was more properly called a mound.

When she reached it, she looked around again.

Nobody in sight.

She rummaged through the leather bag at the foot of the passenger seat.

From it, she withdrew a paper sack and hopped out of the Gator, squelching through the mud until she saw the small opening in the mound.

It was impossible to find unless you knew what you were looking for.

Unless you knew how to see.

As she did each morning, H?ra left the paper sack by the entrance.

It contained a meat-filled pastry and a bottle of beer.

Then she retreated several paces and waited.

After a moment, the trow poked his little head out.

His face was sharp and suspicious, his eyes dark, his skin gray.

H?ra nodded in greeting.

“For you, friend. Thanks for your protection from the storm. May the farm continue to enjoy your favor instead of your mischief.”

The trow smirked.

Without a word, he snatched the bottle and bag and returned into the mound, quick as a wink.

Five years of daily offerings, and H?ra had yet to learn his name.

She would certainly never see his underground home, which—if he was like most trows—would be full of treasure.

And empty beer bottles, presumably.

The little mischief-makers had dwelled in Orkney and Shetland for thousands of years, myths to men, facts to other unseen creatures.

And if you got on their good side, they’d bless the land where they dwelled.

H?ra and the trow had a satisfactory bargain.

She brought him food and drink and paid him respect.

Moreover, she didn’t tear him to pieces, even though rumor said he’d be delicious.

Hard to tell which he appreciated more.

In return, the farm enjoyed unnatural immunity to poor weather, animal disease, and even the overabundance of geese that plagued Orkney during the winters.

Jonathan had named the farm “?tlaquoy.” He’d said they had to call it something, said it translated to “Fated Farm,” and what with H?ra’s insistence on her and Sister Madeleine’s destiny, and how he, Jonathan, had always wanted his own farm—well, it sounded nice, didn’t it?

A bit posh, even if folk fussed about the spelling.

The trow had never fussed.

As far as he must be concerned, this land had never had a name and never would.

H?ra brushed her palms together and returned to the Gator.

Brodie remained with the flock.

Were there any stragglers?

Best to drive round and make certain.

The ground bumped and threw up mud on her jeans and rain jacket.

She hated mud. In the ocean, there was no need to wash things or do a lot of other nonsense.

Humans had to work so much, all the time.

At first, H?ra had despaired.

Her life in the ocean hadn’t prepared her to go outside at a certain time of day, throw herself into hard labor, and then rest, only to get up and do it all over again.

Even inland, her human form hadn’t tired easily, but her mind had, along with what Sister Madeleine would have called her soul.

She’d lost everything familiar to her.

Now she was trapped in a strange world she had to navigate while hiding who she was.

On the third night, she’d sat on the edge of Jonathan’s couch, where she’d stayed in those days.

Her eyes suddenly stung with salty water.

Mucus lined her throat and nose, while heat gathered in her chest. She’d thought of the sea, and how she dared not approach it, and strange noises had begun to come out of her.

That night, she’d learned what it was to weep.

Since then, she’d never cried.

Too unpleasant. Instead, she’d thrown herself into her human studies and joined Jonathan in starting the sheep farm.

Why not? She had nothing else to do, and besides, she’d given him the money for it.

Brodie barked up ahead as he chased a couple of stray sheep back into the fold.

H?ra looked at the flock as she drove.

The lambs were fattening up well.

?tlaquoy would have another good year.

According to Jonathan, it was doing much better than most farms did in their first few years.

Its livestock was hardy, its grass good.

The Texel and Cheviot sheep, already known for the quality of their meat, sold well.

H?ra had told Jonathan about placating the trow so it would bless the farm.

He was more willing to believe it than most humans would be.

By now, he knew about H?ra’s whole herd too—it had been impossible to keep it from him after what had happened—but humans didn’t need every secret of the unseen creatures.

For example, Jonathan knew what Stormhorses were, but not how an Each - uisge became one.

He’d just take that the wrong way.

It might even change how he saw H?ra, and as it stood, they had nobody but each other.

The thought of disappointing him, or worse, was…

unpleasant.

She braked and looked around.

Everything looked all right.

She turned off the motor, ready to enjoy some time to herself.

Now that he wasn’t worried about the storm’s aftermath, Jonathan would be making his usual fry-up.

Once the ground was drier, she’d join him and a couple of other farmhands in cutting the grass to make the silage that would feed the sheep during winter.

H?ra liked doing that too.

You got to drive even bigger vehicles, which had beautiful sharp blades.

That was an hour or so off, though.

She had time to sit by herself on a chilly morning and read.

She was nearly done with a book about the history of sheep.

At first, to help her learn reading, Jonathan had given her books for children.

But all too often, the books featured things that didn’t exist in the world around her.

It was hard enough to learn about how life really worked on land; if she had to read made-up stories, she didn’t want them to pretend they were about modern life.

That was why she liked the Bible so much: it was old.

At Jonathan’s suggestion, she’d started reading it for insight into what Sister Madeleine believed.

Now, after she’d been slowly making her way through it for years, she had a list of questions to discuss when Sister Madeleine finally arrived.

Question One: in Genesis, water existed before everything else.

Didn’t that suggest something about the superiority of the ocean over the land?

Question Two: when Noah’s great flood receded, many ocean creatures must have died—why was that fair?

Question Three: why hadn’t Jonah simply asked the whale to spit him out?

Whales were generally polite and accommodating.

She had many such questions.

Jonathan said they didn’t have proper answers, but he wasn’t an expert.

Sister Madeleine must know, even if she actually believed the stories were true.

As far as H?ra was concerned, they couldn’t possibly be, but that didn’t matter.

Sister Madeleine didn’t know that the Great Mare had birthed the ocean and the Great Stallion had shat out the land.

She might not take to the idea, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t talk about it.

What might happen next was still unclear.

Was Sister Madeleine still H?ra’s chosen prey?

If H?ra returned to her true form and devoured her—gaining her strength—would she be able to return to the herd in triumph?

Even the Sire wouldn’t be able to deny that she’d played what Jonathan called “the long game” to do something remarkable.

Her dream didn’t have to be out of reach forever.

The stormy sky could still be hers.

Perhaps.

She’d decide when Sister Madeleine finally returned.

Once she saw those grass-green eyes again, she’d know what to do.

In the meantime, there was a task at hand.

With her tongue pressed between her lips, H?ra made her way through a maths exercise.

These were word problems, meaning she had to read as well as work with numbers.

A challenging combination.

She worked until the sky was lighter and then packed her things away.

She looked about and sighed.

It would likely be a day like any other, wearing at her like the oceans wore at the cliffs over time.

H?ra took another look round.

The sheep seemed steady on their feet.

Brodie sat watchfully.

All was well, and it was time to go back.

The Gator rumbled and bumped.

The morning mists were clearing, and the farm came into view through them.

The tallest structure was a barn that contained two tractors, a trailer, and room for silage bales.

Next to it stood a long shed that served for lambing, shearing, and dosing the sheep, depending on the time of year.

She and Jonathan had begun the farm nearly six months after H?ra had washed up on shore.

By then, they’d settled into a life together, and her physical strength and endurance could make up for his lack of the same.

Jonathan handled the business; H?ra watched instructional YouTube videos (remarkable things) and got to work mucking out land and mending fences.

They’d hired men to repair the barn and convert the cow shed.

Two of the hires, Jim and Connor, had stayed on as farmhands; others returned seasonally when extra help was needed.

H?ra parked the Gator by the office building.

It was actually a house, and the front room served as the office.

Jonathan and H?ra lived in the back, where there were two bedrooms, one bath, a sitting room, and a small kitchen.

Jonathan’s old cottage lay on the edge of the land; he let it to Jim, one of the year-round farmhands.

Time to go in. At the back door, she knocked the mud off her boots and headed into the kitchen.

Jonathan was washing dishes.

He didn’t look up from the sink as he said, “Morning, lass. How’d you rest after that storm?”

He never asked her how she slept , since H?ra didn’t sleep.

She slowed her metabolic system—so she had learned it was called—while remaining alert to danger.

Back home, the herd took turns resting and keeping watch over one another.

Here, she simply got into bed.

No need to close her eyes if she didn’t want to.

She could rest standing up too, but Jonathan found that unnerving, so she lay down instead.

“Well enough,” H?ra replied.

“Yourself?”

“I couldn’t, thanks to worrying. Your lot made a dog’s dinner all over the islands. Saw it on Facebook. People are going to wonder how we’ve escaped again and again.”

H?ra shrugged and washed her hands when Jonathan stepped away from the sink.

“Let them wonder. They won’t guess the truth.”

“You mean about your…little friend.” As always when discussing the unseen world, Jonathan sounded hesitant.

“Little friend, big magic. Hang on, you’ve got a bit of...” A baked bean was stuck to his shirt, left over from breakfast. She picked it off with a paper towel.

“All sorted.”

He smiled.

His life had not accustomed him to small kindnesses, she knew, any more than her own had.

It was…not unpleasant to perform such things.

From time to time. “Ah, thanks. Bit of a mess, am I? Anyway, I still can’t believe we buy him off with a bit of pastry.”

That, and I could eat him, H?ra thought.

She also hadn’t told Jonathan about giving the trow beer, thanks to his desire to stay away from alcohol.

She tossed the towel into the bin.

“A little respect goes a long way. Don’t trouble yourself.”

“I can’t help it. I lay awake last night listening to the thunder, and kept thinking.”

He shuffled past H?ra toward the sitting room, where an overstuffed armchair and his tatty sofa faced a television he refused to replace.

Jonathan had adapted to computers as necessary, but said his telly had done for him for years and there was no need to change it.

Fine with H?ra, who disliked television anyway.

Too confusing. Better to watch real things happen instead of complain about the BBC, shout at footballers, or fall asleep, as Jonathan did.

“Thinking about what?” she asked.

“Among other things, letting the cottage. Jim’s moving out since he’s getting married.” Jonathan rubbed the back of his neck.

“I don’t like it sitting empty.”

“I’m sure you’ll find somebody. Perhaps a tourist, at least for the season. Isn’t there a housing shortage?”

“Tourists!” Jonathan gave an exaggerated shudder.

“What tourist would want to set up near sheep dag instead of the ocean? Even if they did...” He paused.

“I’d rather a Jorsayian. Someone who won’t ask questions.”

Indeed.

For several months after her arrival, H?ra had assumed all humans were as incurious as Jorsay’s residents, who didn’t seem interested in looking too closely at her situation.

Then, outsiders from a bank had come to look into the farm sale; they asked her about her “role in the business” and were visibly bemused when she said she’d brought some treasure.

They’d asked more questions.

Jonathan had called them nosy parkers and gone to talk to a different bank.

It had been a valuable lesson.

You couldn’t take discretion for granted, and no matter how much the islanders might talk about others behind closed doors, they didn’t poke about into their affairs.

Jonathan looked out of the window toward the pastures that stretched beyond, rolling gently over the few hills that Orkney landscapes tended to boast. Hills that it was hell to herd sheep over.

“I didn’t tell you about running into Harry Duggan at the Cliffside Store a few days ago.”

H?ra winced.

Harry Duggan was the exception to Jorsay’s discretion rule.

He was gossipy enough to make up for the rest of the island.

Jonathan continued, “He said give you his greetings, and then asked, ‘Now how old is she again? I’d swear the lass is blessed with eternal youth.’”

“What did you tell him?”

“What could I, except do the math? We told everyone you were twenty-six when you got here. So now you’re thirty-one, and not a change on your face.” Jonathan crossed his arms. “We can get away with it for now, but not forever. Bad enough when you washed ashore and Sue Kilbright said you healed fast. Eventually, folk won’t be able to ignore you’re different, and then what do we do?”

Was H?ra supposed to have an answer to that?

She put her hands on her hips and glared at him.

“Why are you worried about this today?”

“Why aren’t you worried about it ever? You’ll have to face it at some point. We need a plan, and I’ve got no ideas.” A helpless expression crossed his face, a sort of crumple between his bushy eyebrows.

They were white now, as was his beard.

Age had touched Jonathan, but not the creature who shared his dwelling place.

He had a point.

Jonathan added, “I got you that birth certificate, thanks to Eileen.”

He meant Eileen McKay, Jorsay’s registrar.

She lived just outside the village, ran the office out of her cottage, and had been sweet on him in their youth.

He’d said H?ra was his daughter, the by-blow of a one-night stand years ago with a woman who then disappeared and had raised H?ra “off the grid.” It would never have flown in London, he’d said, but who’d care out here?

Now Jonathan continued, “That’s better than naught, it lets you exist in the eyes of the law, but it doesn’t solve the problem. It doesn’t make you human . You’re not like anyone else.”

H?ra tossed her head.

Her ponytail bounced between her shoulder blades.

“I’m pleased you noticed.”

“It’s not funny. You’re near a century old,” he said.

“Stop thinking like a child and look to the future beyond the return of your Sister Madeleine.”

H?ra’s shoulders stiffened.

Of all subjects, Jonathan knew not to make light of this one.

If he had doubts, he was meant to keep them to himself.

He’d been good at that so far, trusting to H?ra’s belief in her destiny.

Even if she hadn’t fully told him what that destiny was.

“I thought it’d be easier when the farm was a going concern.” Now the furrow between Jonathan’s brows could have been plowed by a tractor.

“Thought money would help me see things clearer. All it’s done is draw more attention. I don’t know how long I can protect you.”

In her true form, H?ra could easily bite someone’s arm in two.

She could run faster than any car, outswim any fishing boat.

And her true form wasn’t lost to her.

“I don’t need protection from humans. I repeat—why ask about this now, today? Has something happened?”

“Anniversary’s coming up, isn’t it? Of course I’m thinking about it, and I wish you would too. Or is it that you can’t? Your kind don’t look ahead that way?”

“Correct,” H?ra snapped.

Her kind was chiefly concerned with survival from one tide to the next.

That didn’t lend itself to planning years out.

Humans made everything too complicated.

Jonathan had just said they could keep doing this for a while, so why worry about it?

“Look ahead as you please,” she said.

“I’m going back out. The sheep won’t tag themselves.” Nor would the silage be cut and stored on its own, nor the pens mucked out.

Nor could a cast sheep right itself again.

“Lass…”

“I’ll think about it when I’m working, all right?” It wasn’t a lie.

She’d brood over this silly conversation.

“We’ll get it sorted. And don’t—” She raised a hand to point at Jonathan even as he opened his mouth to object.

“ Don’t doubt Sister Madeleine. I never have, and I never will.”

No matter how long it took.

Sister Madeleine had that strength of character she’d mentioned, the one that let her live so differently from most humans.

If she could commit to such a restrictive life and endure those privations, then of course she had the strength H?ra craved.

And H?ra would never lose faith in that, not in a thousand years.

How was that for thinking ahead?

For a moment, Jonathan looked as if he’d press the issue, and H?ra held her breath.

What would she do or say if he did?

They argued from time to time, but not about this, the thing most sacred to her heart.

“I’ll be in the office,” Jonathan sighed.

“Farmbench needs checking.”

H?ra couldn’t care less about the computer program Jonathan used to track everything, but if it kept him distracted, it’d do.

“Fine. I’ll have my walkie-talkie.”

She stomped back through the kitchen, stopping only to retrieve her muddy boots from the back door.

Then it was back out to the farm, beneath the gray sky she hadn’t flown into, the clouds she hadn’t pierced.

Yet.

Sheep were stupid, but not so stupid that they couldn’t sense an angry predator when it was right on top of them.

Even if said predator wasn’t out for their blood.

“Christ, H?ra,” Jim said as she tried to tag a four-month-old lamb.

The little creature struggled and cried in her grip while Brodie snapped at its mother’s ankles to keep her away.

The field’s mud slipped beneath her boots.

“Let me do it.”

“I’ve got it,” H?ra said between her teeth.

She squeezed the tagger on the lamb’s ear, below the vein that ran down the center, and squeezed.

The lamb squealed and then bounded away the moment she released it.

She sat back on her haunches.

“You’re moving out of the cottage?”

“Yeah, in a couple of weeks. Moving into Isla’s place before the wedding. Jon’s not a bugger about the late notice.” He looked over his shoulder.

“Speak of the devil.”

H?ra turned to see Jonathan’s car, an aging Vauxhall Corsa, bumping down the drive toward the road.

He must be going into Thornhill for the shopping.

“What time is it?”

Jim looked at his watch.

“Going on three. Let’s have a rest.”

They sat side-by-side in the Gator while he ate a sandwich.

H?ra glanced over the flock, which stood a mistrustful distance away.

The newly tagged lamb remained at its mother’s side.

“I’m glad lambing’s over,” Jim said between bites.

“Come the end of April, I’m checking ewe teats in my dreams.”

Dreams sounded awful.

To close your eyes, be wholly unprotected, and experience things that weren’t even true?

Thank the Great Mare H?ra would never have to deal with that.

“Me too,” she said.

“Better than fishing, though. I used to do that.”

“Do you miss the ocean?” She didn’t look at Jim when she asked.

In her peripheral vision, though, she knew he looked at her.

It wasn’t as good as in her horse form, when she could see from all directions.

“Can’t miss what’s everywhere, can you?” he said.

“You can’t miss the ocean on an island.”

H?ra could.

She didn’t dare approach the beach anymore.

You never knew who might be watching.

She could smell the sea on windy days, she could hear it from certain distances, and that was the closest she got to her former home.

What would it be like to walk by the water, or to swim in it, and feel her strength return to the fullest?

“You don’t go near the water much,” he said.

“Not even the ferry.”

Look out.

That was the beginning of a deeper inquiry—the sort islanders rarely made but that Jonathan so feared.

She snapped, “Can you blame me? I nearly drowned.”

“Right,” Jim said quickly.

“Lucky you escaped that. Sounded almost like a miracle, in fact.”

For a moment, his eyes were shrewd.

H?ra’s stomach tightened.

What else had Jonathan just been saying but that folk would ask questions about her, that they talked behind closed doors?

“I was lucky,” she said shortly.

“Of course. Brr, it’s airish, isn’t it? Have a sip of something hot.” He offered his thermos.

“No thanks. I’m not cold.” She never was, and hot liquid felt awful in her mouth.

He hummed and then was silent: the sort of silence that fell when a human was thinking.

Was that all right, or was he speculating about things he oughtn’t?

Thankfully, down the hill, she saw movement.

“Here comes Connor.”

“Does he?” Jim craned his head forward and squinted.

“I don’t see…no, I’ll be damned. You’ve got eyes like a cat’s.”

H?ra liked cats.

They had a healthy sense of self-worth.

“Thanks. He’ll take over for me when he gets here.” Clearly, she wasn’t in a proper mood to tag the sheep.

“I’m going to hose down the shed.”

“Does it need washing? The flock’s been out here.”

“I’m sure it does.” Or at least H?ra needed to aim powerful jets of water at something and not make conversation with anyone.

She hopped off the Gator.

“I’ll walk back.”

When she reached her destination, she hosed down the shed, well used to its smell by now, and checked the equipment.

The big water buckets needed refilling, along with a fresh dose of dietary supplement.

There was always something.

Farming never stopped.

At least it kept her busy.

Less time to think about what she’d lost.

One hour passed.

Two. Jonathan did not return.

He didn’t need this much time to do the weekly shopping.

It was going on five o’clock.

Had something happened?

No. She would not worry.

Jonathan had acquaintances in the village, and the farm did business with many folk.

He avoided the pub nowadays, but he might be sitting down for a cup of tea with somebody.

H?ra wasn’t his entire world, just most of it.

I don’t know how long I can protect you, he’d said, as if he weren’t an aging man who relied on the unnatural strength of her arms. How long until H?ra couldn’t protect him, either?

Not from the herd, not from the storm, but from the brute force of human time that would grind him down faster than H?ra could keep up.

She hadn’t planned to stay long enough to see that.

She wasn’t ready for it.

Finally, there came a welcome sound: the rumble of Jonathan’s car in the drive.

H?ra looked up from the straw she was shoveling.

The car was rumbling much faster than usual.

And when it stopped, the tires screeched, as if the driver had slammed on the brakes.

Jonathan never drove that fast. Something was wrong.

H?ra was through the pens’ door in a trice, tossing the shovel to the ground.

Her heart, once the size of a human head, was now the size of a human fist, and it punched her chest accordingly.

When she got to the car, Jonathan was scrambling out of it.

He didn’t seem sick or injured, but his eyes were wild, his face was flushed, and his mouth was stretched in the biggest smile H?ra had seen since he’d signed the deed to the farm.

She began, “What?—”

“Open the boot and help me put the food away,” he gasped.

“We’ve got to make the place neat. And then you’ve got to scrub up while I start cooking. We’ve not got much time.”

“Make the place neat? Time for what?”

“Not what. Who.” Jonathan grabbed H?ra by her forearms. There was sweat on his forehead.

He shook her, and then he laughed.

“Your Sister Madeleine. She’s here. I saw her at Annie’s Crafts, ran right into her, no warning. She was just there .”

H?ra’s human ears rang with the force of a kirk’s bell.

“She’s here,” Jonathan repeated, his eyes bright as the sun off the water.

“Do you understand what I’m saying? Sister Madeleine is back.”

Return to me.

Sister Madeleine. The green eyes.

The dark veil. The husky voice, the proud face, the strength of character.

The blood. The mouth.

The sea, the sea, the sea.

Return to me.

“If you’re joking,” H?ra whispered, “I will eat your heart.”

Jonathan seemed unfazed.

He was still smiling.

“I expect you would. No joke. I swear by God it’s true. And guess what?”

“What? What? ”

“She’s not just on Jorsay. She’s coming here. She’s coming to dinner tonight.”

H?ra forgot every polite human habit Jonathan had ever taught her.

A cry escaped her with the force of an ocean that slammed against a cliff, fighting to change its shape.

She bent at the waist and braced her hands on her knees.

Her eyes stung with salt for the first time in years.

Her face burned, her chest ached, and she cried out again.

Jonathan’s hand gripped her shoulder.

“Oh, lass. My lass. Shush now. All’s well. It’s everything you hoped for, isn’t it?”

Not yet it wasn’t.

Sister Madeleine was somewhere on this island.

And if Jonathan was to be believed, soon she’d be within reach.

Close enough to touch, to smell, to seize.

To taste once more.

No.

H?ra must not. She must not .

Humans weren’t like that, Sister Madeleine wouldn’t like that, she wouldn’t understand.

H?ra just had to wait a little longer.

The first step was to have Sister Madeleine in sight again.

She’d waited this long for her woman.

She could wait longer to get what she wanted from her.

As soon as she figured out exactly what that was.