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CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Normally, Madeleine slept well in H?ra’s arms. Tonight, although H?ra held her as securely as always, she couldn’t nod off.

She’d lain awake for two hours.

That wasn’t good, since the coming day would be another long, busy one.

They all seemed to be.

She loved them, although her muscles ached at the end of each one.

Even on rainy, cloudy days, there was immense satisfaction in working hard for a good purpose.

It wasn’t like teaching, which, while rewarding and difficult, didn’t involve tractors, shovels, or sheep poop.

Admittedly, she could have done without the sheep poop.

Leaning into doubt and change seemed to be good for her.

She was happier than she could ever remember being.

Why ruin it by wishing for the impossible?

Why look to the future?

She’d spent years thinking ahead to when she’d return to Orkney and find her angel.

She’d found something else, and for once she was trying to live in the moment.

The moment was wonderful.

The future was bleak.

She groaned and sat up.

She could embroider on the sofa until she got sleepy.

H?ra loved the piece she was working on now, a seascape.

She couldn’t fathom how Madeleine had the patience for all the tiny stitches and had been astonished when Madeleine said the little details were her favorite part.

Madeleine glanced back at H?ra, who lay breathing deeply and evenly.

Her body was relaxed.

You’d think she was asleep, except her eyes were open, if unseeing.

She was “resting,” slowing her system down for the night.

H?ra had told Madeleine she hadn’t slept since their first night together, when she’d had a nightmare she didn’t want to discuss.

Another way they weren’t alike.

They were alike in others, though.

My H?ra .

Madeleine slipped out of bed.

H?ra inhaled and stirred, but she calmed and returned to rest when Madeleine said, “It’s all right, I’m just getting up for a minute.”

A few minutes later, Madeleine looked down at the still-damp patch on the sofa and wondered who she was kidding.

Telling Jonathan she couldn’t be responsible for H?ra?

Then clinging to H?ra every night like she was Madeleine’s only lifeline, craving her more each day?

She’d had no idea she was capable of this recklessness, much less this ravenous need.

So ravenous she’d made this mess.

Madeleine groaned to herself and cleaned the couch.

Then, once she’d finished, she pulled out her embroidery kit.

The repetitive push and pull of the needle soothed her.

The colorful thread slid in and out of the fabric, leaving it brighter and more textured than before.

We belong to each other.

It’s simple .

Simple?

No. True? It seemed so.

Jonathan had told her, effectively, that she couldn’t escape her fate.

She wasn’t sure about that.

She believed in free will; otherwise, how could you ever be held accountable for your own choices?

How could you deserve the happiness you’d worked so hard for?

God sent his children opportunities.

It was up to Madeleine to recognize one such, and then choose to take it or not.

She’d chosen to take it.

So had H?ra, even if she’d phrase it differently.

The Great Mare or something.

Why did it feel like a decision lay before Madeleine, when so much of this was completely out of her hands?

She should be so lucky as to get to decide ?—

“What’s wrong?”

The voice was right behind her, and Madeleine stabbed her fingertip with the needle.

She yelped.

H?ra swiftly rounded the sofa.

Her hair was rumpled.

She frowned. “All right?”

“Yes. Oh, shoot.” A droplet of blood had welled up on Madeleine’s fingertip.

“Can you get me a Band-Aid? They’re in the bathroom cabinet.”

H?ra looked down at Madeleine’s fingertip as the blood drop swelled.

She inhaled, and a familiar expression crossed her face.

The same expression she wore in bed, only sharper.

Wilder.

Madeleine’s breath caught.

H?ra sat down without a word and took Madeleine’s hand.

She looked at the welling scarlet drop and then looked into Madeleine’s eyes.

Asking, silently.

A memory stirred, swift and violent, of the night H?ra had saved her from drowning.

Madeleine had been half conscious, but she’d felt H?ra’s tongue licking the cut in her forehead.

It had stung. She’d forgotten it until now.

She laughed unsteadily.

“Oh boy. Sure you’re not actually a vampire?”

“Please,” H?ra whispered.

Her eyes never left Madeleine’s.

“I won’t hurt you.”

Heat swept through Madeleine, and she ached as if she and H?ra hadn’t had sex on this same sofa just hours ago, which was weird, because this was blood , and all she could manage to do was nod.

H?ra lowered her head.

Her hot, soft mouth closed around Madeleine’s fingertip, and she began to suck.

She might as well have licked between Madeleine’s legs.

Madeleine’s head tilted back, her eyes closed, and she moaned.

The faint sting melted into the warmth, until the only thing left on earth was H?ra’s eager mouth.

H?ra gasped and pulled away.

When she raised her head again, her face was flushed, her eyes glazed over, as if she were drunk.

Her mouth was still open.

She clearly wanted more, although there was no more from such a tiny wound.

Her black hair curtained her face when she turned aside and let Madeleine go.

She said roughly, “Sorry.”

Madeleine’s fingertip wasn’t bleeding now, but it tingled.

“Th-that’s all right. Are you—um—what does that do?”

H?ra didn’t look up.

“Do?”

“I mean, tasting blood. Does it…do something to you?” Maybe that’s why H?ra wouldn’t turn to her.

“A feeding frenzy, like sharks?”

“Sharks!” H?ra laughed, sounding a little scornful.

Maybe that was another insulting comparison, like with the kelpie.

“No. There’s no frenzy. I’m still myself.” She turned to Madeleine then.

Her eyes weren’t glazed anymore, and she wore a little smile, but the hunger was still there, written all over her in a language Madeleine ached to read.

“Just want every bit of you there is, I suppose,” she said.

Madeleine’s face grew hot.

I want the same, she could reply, minus the blood part .

“Can’t sleep?” H?ra asked.

Her knee bumped Madeleine’s.

She was warm and close, the living room was dark and cold, and embroidery could only get you so far.

Madeleine tossed the wheel and thread aside.

“I’m sure I can now.”

H?ra’s eyes gleamed.

“In my arms, you mean.”

“There’s no end to your ego.” It was as good as an admission.

Madeleine stood up. She held out the hand with the finger that had bled, but wasn’t anymore.

H?ra regarded it silently.

Then she took it as she rose to her feet, and kept holding it as she led Madeleine back to bed.

The next morning, H?ra left before Madeleine was awake, although Madeleine got up earlier now that she was helping out round the farm.

H?ra loved how enthusiastically she’d taken to it.

Yesterday, she’d learned how to drive a tractor.

She embraced every opportunity to help out.

Madeleine said it was only fair since Jonathan was letting her stay in the cottage for free, but H?ra knew she liked to be useful.

More than that, she enjoyed working with her hands and being outdoors.

Strange, she’d said, for a city girl.

It had been stranger still for an ocean creature.

H?ra and Madeleine surely had more in common than Madeleine seemed to think.

But— my H?ra , Madeleine had said.

And just a couple of hours later, she’d blessed H?ra again with the taste of her blood.

Its savor had warmed her from head to toe.

By the depths, there was nothing like it.

At the first taste, she’d feared she wouldn’t be able to stop.

How could she, when it was the taste of bliss?

Madeleine had moaned, as if she’d felt the same.

Well. That wasn’t going to happen again.

Next time Madeleine pricked her finger, H?ra would get her a plaster as requested.

And she wouldn’t even look at the blood.

What a night. Madeleine had claimed her and let H?ra taste her.

H?ra hoped the sea witch didn’t really expect her to return with her despair.

No despair could touch her when she had something like this, even if it was temporary.

As she approached the farmhouse from the cottage, she stopped in her tracks and frowned.

Jonathan stood outside the back door in his pajamas.

Standing in profile, he looked blankly toward the pastures and hills.

“Jonathan?” she asked in alarm as she hurried forward.

He didn’t move. Just kept staring into the distance.

“ Jonathan! ” H?ra snapped as she reached him.

That did it. He gasped and turned around.

“Lass! You near gave me a heart attack.”

That better be an exaggeration.

He was too pale, and doctors had warned him enough.

H?ra’s own heart galloped unpleasantly.

“Are you all right? What are you doing out here like this?”

“I…erm…” Jonathan looked down at himself, seeming to notice his own pajamas.

“I thought I heard something.”

There was nothing in the pastures but sheep, cattle, and dogs.

The only sound, as always, was the damned wind.

H?ra said through her teeth, “Like what?”

“My name, I think.” He shook his head.

“I must have been only half awake. I probably thought it was you calling me.”

“Well, I wasn’t.” H?ra looked around.

Nobody else was in sight.

Connor and Jim wouldn’t arrive for another hour or so to start the day’s work.

“Were you dreaming? Perhaps you sleepwalked.”

Jonathan scoffed.

“I haven’t done that since I sobered up. Never mind it. I’m not hurt, and all’s well.”

All wasn’t well if Jonathan was hallucinating voices and walking about in his pajamas.

H?ra’s stomach lurched as she remembered what she’d learned of aging humans.

How they could begin to misremember things or think they were elsewhere.

They might forget their own loved ones, or even who they were.

“You should see the doctor next time he’s on the island,” she blurted.

“I could go with you.”

The glare Jonathan turned on her didn’t seem forgetful at all.

He looked fiercer than he ever had, in fact.

“I’m fit as a fiddle. Haven’t we got work to do? Look to your part, now.”

He was never so brusque.

It startled her so much she couldn’t think up a suitable retort while he stalked back into the house.

The kitchen door slammed behind him.

She was shaking a little.

How curious. How strange.

Was this the trow? Trows were tricksters, but they weren’t known for luring folk outside to hurt or kill them.

They preferred simple mischief, even if it could be destructive.

And when H?ra went to the trow’s mound, yet again he did not appear.

“I don’t have your food today,” she growled at the earth.

“I’ll come back with it tonight. Perhaps your hunger will make you willing to answer my questions.”

No reply.

Madeleine, she thought, I’ll ask Madeleine about Jonathan.

Madeleine had worked with sick humans when she was a nun, helping all kinds of people.

She’d know.

But when Madeleine showed up for the day’s work, and H?ra recounted the incident, she had no ready answer.

Instead, she looked troubled.

“He didn’t seem to know where he was? That’s not a good sign.”

“I know that.” H?ra dragged a huge hay bale closer to the barn wall.

It was taller than she was, and it seemed to take more effort than usual.

Her arms ached with the strain.

“He said he wouldn’t see a doctor.”

“Has this happened before?”

“Not that I’ve seen. He’s sharp since he stopped drinking.”

“Then maybe it really was sleepwalking. He might have been embarrassed or confused, especially if he’s never done it before.” Madeleine sighed.

“We’ll keep an eye on him.”

It sounded reasonable.

There was no need to assume the worst.

That didn’t stop H?ra’s skin from prickling for the rest of the morning, nor her head from swiveling at every unexpected sound, nor her heart from racing at odd moments.

Something was wrong.

And after lunch, when Connor said, “Forecast says a storm’s building off the coast—might be coming this way,” H?ra knew she was right.

“That’ll be no roostan hoger,” Jim grunted as he hefted a sack of feed.

A light rain he meant.

“Here’s hoping we’re lucky as usual. Funny how we never get damage like the other farms do. Jon must be touched by the angels,” he added, his voice lighter.

“What d’you think, H?ra?”

H?ra and Madeleine made eye contact.

Madeleine pursed her lips and looked away.

Before H?ra could answer, Madeleine said, “Connor, can you show me how to whistle for the dogs again?”

“Oh, aye, there’s a trick to it…”

By midafternoon, the temperature was dropping, and the air smelled of rain: earthy, the atmosphere’s moisture calling scent from soil.

The omnipresent clouds grew darker and heavier overhead.

The hairs on the back of H?ra’s neck remained up.

Jonathan stayed inside, saying he had work to do on the computer in case the storm took out the electricity.

“We never lose the electricity,” H?ra said, trying to sound calm.

“Remember?”

“Aye, your little friend.” Jonathan didn’t look away from the screen.

“I’d rather not completely trust to him, if it’s all the same to you.” His index finger clicked the mouse.

“I’ve never seen him, after all.” He clicked again.

“Sometimes I wonder if he’s real.”

“You’re joking.” H?ra’s mouth was dry.

“Why would I invent such a thing? Do you believe it’s coincidence we’ve suffered no damage from storms in the past five years?”

“How should I know what to believe?” He began to type, furiously.

“Sorry. I’m in a pisser of a mood. Best to leave me to myself. Go on, now.”

She had no choice but to go on.

It would make things worse to push; when he was truly upset, Jonathan dug in his heels.

Setting her jaw, H?ra left.

The sky had darkened since she’d gone into the house.

The air had sharpened.

For the first time in her life, H?ra wished she’d put on a jacket.

From a distance, thunder rolled.

The storm was nearly here.

But that’d be all right.

They’d be all right.

It was always all right.

Wasn’t it?

After supper, the rain began.

The wind lashed it into their faces as they secured the barn and urged the dogs into the safety of the sheep pens.

As usual, the sheep and cattle themselves would wait it out in the fields.

It would be a colossal effort to round up hundreds of animals for one night’s storm, especially since you’d have to roam over the hills and fields to collect them all.

There wasn’t time.

Jim shielded his face from the rain with his jacketed hand.

“I’d best be getting home,” he said, his voice loud over the wind.

“Isla’s texted four times.”

“Married life!” Connor laughed.

They hurried together toward their cars.

H?ra turned to Madeleine, who had her hood pulled up and was visibly shivering in the cold and wet.

“You should go back to the cottage,” she said.

The rain left beads of water on Madeleine’s nose and cheeks.

“Aren’t you coming too? Don’t you need to stay indoors in case Calder sees you?”

“I’ll be there soon.” H?ra looked at where the Gator waited by the fence post, the only piece of equipment she hadn’t put into the barn.

“There’s just one thing I need to check. Quickly.”

What had happened to the trow?

With the wind and rain growing all around her, H?ra stared at the ground in confusion.

It was now dark enough that she’d turned on the Gator’s headlights, but her vision was still good enough to see beyond the beams.

The trow’s mound was gone.

In its place was mud and torn grass, as if something had churned up the ground where his home had been.

H?ra looked around wildly, but she was alone.

She called out, “Hello? Are you there?”

Like this morning, like yesterday morning, there was no reply.

“Answer me, you wretched thing! Are you all right?” Silence, except for the howl of the wind.

“Are you hurt? If you are, I’ll—” Her wet ponytail slapped her in the face.

She shoved the hair out of her mouth.

“I’ll help you, I promise. I’ll bring you any food you want. Just stop this storm!”

The wind changed direction.

A new smell touched her nostrils, then.

New, but dreadfully familiar.

The smell of blood, somewhere on the ground.

Not a human’s blood, nor that of sheep or cow or dog.

She’d never smelled this particular sort of blood before.

She went icy with dread as she stumbled forward, toward the mud, in search of what must be there.

Let me be wrong. Let it be something else.

A vole, a bird, a…

A little gray hand poked out from beneath a clump of mud.

H?ra gasped. She fell to her knees and wiped the water from her eyes before she pushed the mud away, seeking the rest of the arm.

It wasn’t there. The hand lay alone on the ground, dark blood pooled beneath the torn flesh of its wrist.

H?ra groaned.

She kept digging, her hands slipping through the slimy earth in search of more—perhaps the trow was still alive here, somehow, with only his hand cut off?

Her fingertips pushed into something soft that wasn’t mud.

She leaned forward and saw a thin, reddened, fatty string of something.

Intestines.

Shite.

Oh shite. H?ra sat back on her heels with a cry as the wind roared around her.

How? What could have done this?

The trow had powerful magic.

No dog or bird of prey could have caught him.

It certainly wasn’t the work of a sheep or a cow.

Save Jonathan and Madeleine, no human knew of his existence.

So what…

Lightning flashed, illuminating a patch of earth just a couple of feet away.

H?ra squinted at it, and when the light faded, lurched forward.

She slid on her knees, looking for what she must not have seen, what could not be here, what must not be here.

But it was here. An indentation in the earth, followed by another, and then another.

The first few were shaped like human footprints.

Then they began to change shape, into prints that were larger, but heavier and rounded, with a pointed tip.

In the darkness, with her enhanced vision blurred, H?ra stared down at a hoofprint with a sharp edge.

She looked at the trow’s severed hand and ripped-out guts.

She smelled the blood. And then she knew.