Selkie's Revenge (3 page)

The women approached, and Mack reached for the baby, cuddling her in his arms. As Mack reveled in her chubbiness, gently tweaking a fat toe and making her smile, Angus enfolded Elsie in a bear hug. Angus buried his head in the crook of her neck and whispered something that made her giggle and turn red about the ears.

At the same time, Calan wrapped his arms around Maggie. As the wind whipped her ginger curls into her mate’s mouth, Calan pretended to look disgusted and removed the stray hairs from between his teeth. As she smiled back at him, he nuzzled her, and Mack heard Calan whisper something about “finding someplace private.” Maggie nodded at him, her face beaming with true joy.

His brothers were happy, and he was happy for them. Despite the painful void inside him.

Somewhere out there existed a woman who would make him feel the same bliss. A woman who would tick all his boxes in bright red ink and who would be the answer to the question marks polluting his brain. A woman who’d want to bear his children and make him complete.

Mack looked at Morgan and kissed the baby on the forehead. “Tell me, wee one. Do you know where to find such a phantom?”

As if in response, Morgan’s little face turned pink, and she farted in her diaper.

Mack chuckled. “Aye,” he whispered, stroking her velvety cheek. “I suspected as much.”

Beth Pedersen looked up from the sheet music she was formatting for a young pupil. It was the fifth time she’d been distracted from her work in as many minutes. One of her piano students was having trouble with a Schubert piece, and Beth was supposed to be occupied in altering the chords so smaller hands could tackle it.

She couldn’t concentrate on butchering Schubert. For some reason, she wanted to drag her toes through the sand and feel the sea spray on her face.

She wasn’t sure what was enticing her to go to the beach today. God only knew, she hated it now. Hated the sea. Despised the very smell of the salt water and the taste of it on her lips as it misted through the Scottish breeze. And because of what had happened a year ago, she avoided it like the plague.

The beach view used to be her favorite aspect about the cottage she’d bought with Frank. God only knew she’d spent countless hours digging through the sand with Luke, sharing picnics with him and Frank. Now she couldn’t stand it.

Still, something was telling her to go there today. Something in her gut was prickling at her, telling her in no uncertain terms that if she didn’t walk to the water, horrible things would happen and life wouldn’t progress as it should.

As she slid her gray fleece hoodie over her long-sleeved tee and zipped it up, she considered what must be a sudden case of paranoia. Beth wasn’t a believer in premonitions. Hell, she didn’t even credit her instincts with superpowers. They’d proven too much of a failure.

Still, this rumbling in her stomach, this bizarre sense of foreboding, wouldn’t be ignored. Beth couldn’t help thinking it was the hand of fate prodding and poking her. That it would slap her silly if she didn’t listen.

Maybe it was finally time to confront the scene of the crime. It certainly felt like a crime. And the more she allowed herself to dwell on the horrible implications, the more she just knew there
had
been a perpetrator. It couldn’t have been a freak accident. Even Mother Nature wouldn’t be so cruel and unfeeling.

Someone
had done this to her.

And now maybe it was time to face up to the hideous reality. For months she’d speculated, had pondered the possibility that evil beings had toyed with her life and made a mess of her existence.

There was something out there in the water. It watched her, and it wanted a piece of her, had already ripped away the best parts of her.

Her soul lay moldering in the sea.

And yet it wasn’t just a sense of dread that propelled her back to the beach. Beth felt anticipation too, for something unknown, someone who would change her life. For months, she’d woken up with distorted images teasing her brain. Visions of a dark-haired man whose face was unclear. She was sure the mental pictures were merely fleeting fragments from unimportant dreams. Even still, her heart began to palpitate, as it did every time she tried to cobble together the pieces of the man’s face.

She walked to the back door of her house, the one that looked onto the beach, and shoved her hands in her hoodie pocket.

Go, Beth, go. You need to be there today
.

She stared through the window at the drifts of sand just outside her door. She listened to the creak of the old wooden dock where Frank used to anchor his boat. To anyone else, the waves of the North Sea might look welcoming, bracing. To her, they were conduits to hell.

Go. Now
.

She let out a breath. “Oh, this is ridiculous.” She took her hands out of her pockets and unzipped her hoodie. She turned around, but something made her turn back to the door, as if invisible hands had clasped her shoulders and spun her about.

With an unsteady hand, she reached for the doorknob and turned it.

* * * *

Mack didn’t say good-bye to the rest of the Kirks until he’d had a good chunk of time playing with Morgan. After tickling her roly-poly belly and playing enough games of peekaboo to make his head spin, he prepared for his journey to the Caribbean.

He couldn’t leave until he stowed his hunter’s weapons away, for they weren’t needed where he was headed. Before leaving, he took a moment to entrust his father with the implements. Understanding the need to keep them safe, his dad had stored them in a locked safe in the house, one to which only he and his wife and Mack had access. Satisfied the bow and arrows were well-guarded, Mack had set out on his journey.

There was no boat waiting to usher him to Leda and the Caribbean. As a selkie man, he needed only to don his seal pelt. The simple act transformed him from man to seal, allowing him to swim underwater until the time he decided to shed his skin again. Of course, like any selkie, Mack had to be careful where he hid his selkie skin when walking as a human. Many a selkie had had their discarded seal pelts stolen by mortals who wanted a taste of selkie love, and any selkie was obliged by old magic to pleasure the human that found the skin.

Mack headed toward a quiet spot on the beach and began to take off his clothing. He stowed it under a large rock, one he often used to hide his things when swimming. Because this part of the beach was remote, away from fishing boats and prying eyes, his clothes would rest there undisturbed until he needed them next. Leda had already assured him, using the telepathy common to all selkies, that she had clothes for him on the salvage ship.

Before venturing into the water, Mack looked out to sea, as he had done thousands of times before. He’d come so many times to spots like this on the Orkney coast during his hunting missions, looking for his enemy, the finman with the orange eyes. He sometimes forgot the simple allure of the sea.

“Evil fuckers,” he whispered.

Although he’d discouraged many a foul sorcerer, the hurt never seemed to wane. Oh well, today was not a day for killing. It was a day for forgetting. And without the bow and arrows, there wasn’t much he could do anyway. Best to be on his way to Leda.

He walked into the cold water, not reacting to its nip because selkies were impervious to the cold. Mack then proceeded to wrap his body in the warm seal pelt.

Within seconds, he took on the form of a majestic black seal. Mack slid into the frigid waves and made a noise of contentment. He would never stop feeling welcomed, embraced, by the surf. It was his true home, the one place where his soul was at peace. He might be human much of the time, but no human locale soothed his spirit the way the open sea did.

Penetrating each wave as easily as a knife slicing through liquid, Mack dove deeper. His strong body propelled him with an effortless ease, each muscle driving him home. He couldn’t resist playing for a moment, it felt so good, so refreshing.

Coming up for air, he broke through the waves and took in the beauty of his surroundings. There was no place in the world like the beaches of Orkney, despite the wind and cold.

His keen seal eyes focused in on a strange shape floating some distance away on the water. No, not floating. Walking. Was it a woman?

No. Not now
.

As much as he wanted to dive and resume his swim, Mack continued watching. Once again, the odd stirring in his gut took hold. It insisted he watch, demanded he witness.

He swam closer. It was a woman. A human. And she was walking
on
the water.

By all that’s holy
. Not today of all days when he was unarmed.

He lowered himself in the water, enough so that he could watch the strange occurrence but not be seen by her.

She was a pretty wee thing, with bobbed blonde hair, and looked about thirty. She was wearing a gray hoodie and jeans, and her clothing was quickly getting soaked as the water seeped up her pant legs. Mack could make out bare feet that looked pink and painful from the cold water. Even still, the woman didn’t seem to notice the cold.

She maneuvered atop the water, stepping through each wave, walking deeper out to sea as if held aloft. Mack fancied Jesus might have looked the same on his famous water walk. Her arms were stretched out toward something, reaching. And as much as her lovely face was bruised by agony, distorted by sorrow, her eyes appeared glassy. She seemed dazed, as if in the throes of a seizure or a night terror.

Mack felt a rush of protectiveness swell inside him. What could make her so despondent? He didn’t have time to contemplate what could be saddening her. He was more concerned about what was suspending her above the water.

It could only be one thing. Finman magic.

An ominous prickle of dread infested his body. Mack looked toward the spot where the woman was headed and had to stop himself from grunting in fury. There was another figure there floating above the deeps, one he hadn’t seen at first. Mack glared, treading water, his fins slicing into the surf with fury.

It was a finman. One with distinctive orange eyes.

Demons of hell
.

He had no time to lose. Finmen tended to work their witchery in swift fashion, without second thought, and this one was especially slippery.

On Orkney, storytellers often told tales of the mythical selkie and finmen, lumping them into one mythical package. But in reality, the two races were as similar as chalk and cheese. Selkie were known as lovers, living peacefully among humans. The finmen of Orkney were a race of sorcerers, feared by many. Grandmothers in Scotland would warn youngsters away from the water’s edge, saying, “The finmen will get you!” They were the Orcadian equivalent of the bogeyman, dreaded shape-shifters who could live under the sea as well as on land. They also had an unsavory penchant for abducting human women, ferrying them away to the magical island of Hildaland, and doing horrible things to them. With their powers to change shape and call up storms, it was easy to accomplish.

This evil formed the basis of Mack’s revenge and his self-imposed hunt. For years, he’d wandered the shores, determined to not allow another woman to fall prey to the finmen. He would not let the frightful bastard get this woman.

The blonde lass continued walking toward the finman. She might not be aware of the legends and wouldn’t be able to fight off a finman anyway. In her trance, she appeared determined to close the distance between herself and the shape-shifter, mumbling in amazement as she would to an apparition.

Mack swam a little closer and was able to make out some of her words.

“Luke,” she cried in a frantic outburst. “My Luke! It’s really you.”

Mack stared and somehow felt the pain of true grief as it poured off her. Tears filled her eyes and spilled over as she blinked a few times. She looked so fragile, so broken in spirit. And this finman shit had taken advantage of her in her distress. Clearly she wasn’t seeing the dark shadow that Mack was seeing. The shape-shifting finman was making her see something altogether different.

Someone she loved.

“I’m coming, Luke. I’m coming,” the woman affirmed through her tears.

The finman silently raised his fins toward her. All finmen wore cloaks to disguise their unnatural appearance. Disguised by the cloak, his fins looked like arms wrapped in flowing, black vestments. If she could see the sight before her, she’d likely cower in fear, but the finman was making her see this “Luke.”

Mack knew he should be swimming out to meet Leda. He knew he should be taking time to figure out this whole mate problem. But he didn’t hesitate. This forlorn woman needed a savior, and he was the only one available. And he wanted a piece of this finman more than he wanted peace for his soul.

Traditionally, selkie folk needed a human to cry seven tears into the sea to call them. Mack did not stop to count the blonde lass’ tears; she had already lost many in the waves. He cut through the surf and headed straight toward her, surfacing between her and the finman. As he sliced up through the waves, Mack slid out of his skin and pinned his furious gaze on the finman, letting him see him for the man he was.

It was enough to get the attention of both her and the finman. The dark shape-shifter glared at the selkie, his eyes burning a virulent copper from inside his black cloak. Without a word, he lowered his fins and returned to his waiting kayak.

Mack didn’t have time to watch the finman’s escape. As soon as the shape-shifter had lowered his fins, his spell on the woman had been broken. Mack turned, saw her pitch forward into the deep water with a scream, and saw her flounder. As she struggled to stay afloat, her arms flailed and she snatched at air. But panicked as she was, she sank like one who had rocks sewn into her hem.

He shifted into his seal form again, knowing the seal would be quicker than the man. Machar swam as he’d never swum before, using his powerful back flippers to propel himself toward her. Within seconds, he spotted her under the dark water. Luckily, she wasn’t a large woman, and selkies were much bigger than the average seal. As a result, Mack was able to cradle her while he drove her upward for air. On and on he swam, pushing the woman ahead of him until they reached the beach. Only then did Mack permit himself a glance back to reassure himself that the finman had indeed disappeared.