by Nara Malone
She believed him.
“And I can see you’re falling-down tired. Right?”
She lifted one shoulder.
“I’m a friend and I know it’ll take time for you to trust that. Take a shower and then take a nap. I have my things upstairs. That was your old room?”
She nodded.
“I’ll clear out just as soon as I’ve looked after the filly. I made enough formula to hold you until tomorrow. I fixed her a spot on the back porch until we can put together something more permanent.”
We? Permanent? Goddess, there was so much to think about and put straight. Her job and apartment in New Mexico for starters. And what to do with Trey.
Her arms tightened around the pelt. She felt safe hugging it. It had a scent so familiar, so perfect. She pressed her nose to it.
Trey inched closer. “You’ll want to put that somewhere safe, sweetheart, someplace no one will stumble across it. You know that, don’t you?”
She nodded and looked up at him, taking in those impossibly blue eyes. She knew those eyes.
He reached and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “There’s a brave girl.”
“Do you know how I got here?” Maille asked. “Can you answer that? I know I came to sell the cottage, but what happened yesterday is all a blur.”
He crossed his arms, cocked a hip against the counter. “It’s a long story. The short of it is that you stumbled upon Shadowling Manor. It’s a mystical place, impossible to find unless the caretakers want you to find it. It sits over some sort of energy source that can bend and alter time and reality.”
“So the bits and pieces of what I remember were generated by some kind of quantum mechanical dream machine.”
He laughed. “I guess that’s one way to put it. But the product of a night under Shadowling’s spell is always very real. I think if you’re patient it will all be clear by the end of the day.”
“Goddess, there’s more?” She swayed, grabbing for the counter with one hand. Rather than reach to steady her, Trey stepped back. Looked over her shoulder. Looked out the window. Looked at his feet. Everywhere but at her. He kept his eyes averted when he said, “Go have your shower, Maille. I’ll see to things here and be off.”
“Where will you go?”
“I’ll get a room in Wolf Harbor.”
“I didn’t mean to put you out of your home.”
“It’s your house. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
* * * * *
Maille peered out over the water. Wondered what had happened to the swimmer she’d seen earlier. There had been strange flashes of light over Selkie Island during the day. Like silver sheet lightning. Weird.
She scrubbed her face with her hands. Wolf Harbor was more than weird. More than the fantasies of an old woman. What did you make of horses that disappeared from under you or messages from mystery lovers in the sand? What to make of blue-eyed blond men who turn up right after a blue-eyed palomino stallion vanished? What to make of the burning need to swim home with a seal pelt and the drive to put it somewhere safe?
No one would find it. She’d made sure of that.
When she came back from her shower it was to find Trey had left her a hot breakfast and dry clothes. The t-shirt and sweatpants looked as if they would fit him. They hung on her, but she was grateful.
Trey had promised answers. When she came down from her nap, it was to discover he’d left Gram’s bestiary open on the coffee table.
Kelpies and selkies was the explanation on the open page. The kelpie, a magickal water horse. Like the one who had disappeared under her?
According to legend, if you steal a selkie’s pelt, you own the selkie. The selkie that belonged to her pelt didn’t seem to be around.
All reasons why she should look for practical, verifiable answers.
Did she have to choose between magick and science? Perhaps the two could learn to live together in harmony if she tried to build a new life here.
As she watched the sunset turn the water to fire, a wet dream of a man—a wet and naked man—came walking up the path to the porch. She didn’t recognize him. A joyful flutter in her tummy and another flutter, more primal and centered lower down, suggested she should.
Maybe she was dreaming.
If this wasn’t real, she didn’t want to wake up.
Her eyes locked with his as he came closer, not stopping until he was at the foot of the porch steps.
“I feel as if I might know you,” Maille said.
He tilted his head, angling as if she might make more sense from a different perspective. A quirk that felt familiar.
His hair was a matted mess. Long, jagged scratches ran parallel down his chest. Claw marks?
“You’re bleeding,” she said.
He looked down at his chest and back to her. “It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”
He hadn’t said anything funny, but with a will of their own, her lips curved into a smile.
He smiled back. His dark eyes glowed.
“What happened to you?”
He shrugged. “My boss wasn’t happy with the way I handled one of the clients.”
“I hope you quit.”
“I think the competition will own my loyalties from here on out.”
Joy. Pure, bubbly joy had her grinning idiotically. He grinned back.
“I found something today,” she said. “Out on the island. I think it might be yours.”
He settled beside her on the porch step, caught her face between his hands, forcing her to look at him.
When she met his gaze, his eyes were liquid and dark as a harbor seal’s, steeped in longing. He stared at her as if she were made of something infinitely precious. His voice was hushed, carried a note of reverence as he answered, “Finders keepers.”
When he leaned in to kiss her, joy spilled over. The air around them sparked with blue lights, as if a thousand blue fireflies danced around their heads.
Fact—fireflies were yellow.
Fact—she owned a selkie.
Fact—selkies were legendary lovers.
Fact—there was no scientific evidence supporting the existence of selkies.
Fact…
Fuck a bunch of facts.
About Nara Malone
Whether writing a shapeshifter romance exploring the primal power of the wild feminine, or BDSM romance where love digs into a character’s shadows, Nara believes romance should open the door and push lovers into a new dimension: sexually, emotionally, and sometimes physically.
Nara Malone is an award-winning novelist and poet. As a freelance journalist and writer, her feature profiles on women entrepreneurs and her romantic short stories have been published in newspapers, magazines and digital publications.
Nara welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Nara Malone
Blind Heat
Snatch Me
The Dungeon Gourmet
The Tiger’s Tale
Print books by Nara Malone
Just a Little Byte anthology
The Tiger’s Tale
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
www.ellorascave.com
Make Me Wet
ISBN 9781419949081
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Make Me Wet Copyright © 2013 Nara Malone
Edited by Grace Bradley
Cover design by Syneca
Cover photography by Felix Mizioznikovl, GIS/fotolia.com
Electronic book publication November 2013
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