by Rosanna Leo
Calan cocked an eyebrow at her.
“Anyway, there’s a small crawlspace under her bed. She put him there, figuring he’d be safe, and he’d also always be close to her when she slept. I haven’t seen her open the space for years, and forgot about it.”
Calan didn’t move. His every muscle was tense in anticipation. She turned from him and sought out the floorboard that covered the crawlspace. Sure enough, there was still a little hole in the wooden floor, one that served as a handle. Notching her finger in it, she gave it a little pull and it lifted.
It was dark inside the recess, and Maggie didn’t really want to reach in, just in case she tipped Granddad over. Straining her eyes, she peered in until she got used to the darkness in the hole, and then extended a tentative hand.
Her fingers closed in on a soft pelt. It felt so luxurious she couldn’t resist pulling it from the nook. Her eyes grew wide as she saw its enormous size. It was beautiful, dark brown and soft. Holding it as if it were a delicate, breakable thing, she looked up at Calan, its rightful owner.
His face was tight, stunned. Regretful.
“Here,” she whispered. “Take it.”
He shook his head. “No. I don’t want it.”
“What do you mean, you don’t want it?”
He stared at her and a single tear escaped from his sad, brown eyes. The crease in his brow making him appear humbled and amazed and terrified at the same time. “I meant what I said. Keep the pelt. I’d rather have…”
She felt tears well up in her eyes too, she wanted him so badly. She had to concentrate to form her next words. “What would you rather have?”
“You,” he whispered. “You. I want you.”
Maggie let the pelt fall to the floor and moved to him as quickly as her body would allow. Their mouths came together, seeking, searching that which they could only find in the yielding warmth of each other’s bodies. He lowered her gently to the floor, kissing her madly the whole time, and onto the pelt itself. With his skin cushioning her from behind, and his wonderful weight pressing into her from the front, Maggie closed her eyes and relished each sensation.
*
Home, Calan thought as he trailed his tongue down to her cleavage. I’m home.
He’d been so worried, so nervous, that in giving himself to a woman, he’d somehow lose himself. With Maggie, he just seemed to understand new facets to his life, new possibilities. He forgot old grudges when she gazed at him with her sparkling eyes. And when she touched him, whispering his name, everything seemed good in the world.
She’d offered him his skin, had offered him his life. And for the first time ever, he’d realized with startling lucidity how much his life was caught up in hers. Without her, without his mate, there was no life. He couldn’t go on without her. He knew it as well as he knew each hair on his pelt.
Feeling such joy in his gut, he removed all her clothing and then ripped off his own clothes, needing to feel the soft slide of her skin on his.
“Calan, take me,” she begged, writhing under him on the skin, seemingly unable to breathe without him inside her.
He reached his hand down between their bodies to caress the sweet lips of her pussy. So silky and wet, so responsive. So delectable. He brought his hand up to his mouth, and then paused. Rather than licking off her moisture himself, Calan put his fingers to her lips and watched her lick her own juices from his fingers. And then she grinned at him, a coy, teasing grin that made him as hard as a tree trunk.
Fuck.
Without further ado, he buried himself inside her pussy, plunging in as far as he could. And gave himself over to the waves of pleasure building inside him.
Maggie might think she was the only one who glimpsed those strange images of the sea when they’d made love before. In truth, Calan had seen them too, and had felt the pull of the surf as he made love to her. Reinforcing the knowledge that, as long as he had her, he would always have the sea as well.
She grabbed at his ass, holding him tighter, and he shifted his weight, thrusting deeper. And as he did, he felt only peace, as if surrounded by a lovely cocoon of warm bathwater. Flowing over them, flowing between their bodies, flowing into them. Joining them as effectively as a ring might join a married human couple.
Her breath caught. She cried out with an ecstasy so raw and powerful it astounded him. And then she whispered into his ear, “Calan. My selkie man.”
Buoyed by her belief, swept up by her excitement, he came with his own cry and a rapture that thundered in his ears.
And as he held her afterward, still warmly snuggled on his pelt on the floor, Calan knew he loved Maggie more than life itself.
*
Maggie had never felt so warm, so alive. She turned in his arms and buried her face against his chest, loving the smell of him, the feel of him, the taste of him.
Loving him, period.
She needed to tell him. He’d probably think she was the lunatic this time, with such absurd, premature exclamations, but she couldn’t keep it in any longer. Somehow, over the course of a few short days, she’d fallen for him. He’d restored her faith in men and she’d fallen in love. Of course, he’d been making her fall for him slowly over the course of several months in her dreams anyway.
She ran her finger over his left nipple and watched it harden for her. Then she leaned over and kissed it. “Calan, I…”
He tipped her face up, his eyes so serious. “Maggie, I love you.”
It felt as if a huge rose were blossoming inside her core, opening its petals for her. Her heart was pumping madly, almost beating out of her chest. Surely he could feel it against his own chest! She felt as excited as a child racing out of school on the first day of summer.
He kissed her, all softness and luscious heat, and her head swam. She smiled. “I love you, too, my selkie man.”
With a happy cry, he vaulted off the floor and picked her up, spinning her around in his arms, and then depositing her on the bed. “I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to hear you say you believe.”
“I believe,” she said, laughing between his fevered kisses. “I believe you’re selkie.”
There was a noise at the door, the sound of squeaky hinges, followed by the sound of big, shuffling feet. “Oh, he’s selkie, all right.”
Both of them looked up to see who’d intruded, and were shocked at the sight of old Phyllis Brodie, flanked by two formidable thugs. Thugs with guns pointed at Maggie and Calan. At first, Maggie just wanted to laugh at the sight of cardigan-wearing, tea-toting Phyllis with such goons. “Phyllis, what’s going on?”
“Put your clothes on, you little slut. Then I’ll fill you in.”
And as Maggie’s jaw hit the floor, Phyllis calmly turned and locked the door.
“Slut? What the…?”
“Maggie,” Calan ventured calmly, passing her clothing to her, “oblige the dear soul. There’s a good lass.” As calm as his voice was, Maggie noticed how his keen eyes were trained on the two men.
She threw her shirt and pants on, trying hard to ignore the filthy leers of the two men. “There. Happy? Now what the hell’s going on? And could you tell your friends to lower their guns?”
Phyllis proffered her the same false-toothy smile that she had on meeting her. “Oh, I’m afraid not. You see, I’m here for the skin. And my two nephews have been instructed to keep you in line until I get it.” The old woman let out a bitter laugh. “Why didn’t you just go home, Maggie? Even after I told my Donald and Malcolm to give you a little scare at the house, you stayed. You didn’t even leave after they shot at you in the bookshop. Stubborn thing.”
Maggie uttered a strangled half laugh of disbelief. “Seriously? You want the skin now? He may be good, but somehow I can’t see the two of you together.”
Phyllis frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous, girl. I doona want it for myself.” She sat on a chair and brushed a hand over her tweed skirt, smoothing the fabric. Then she took a deep breath. “Your grandmother was a foolish woman in
many ways, but the most foolhardy thing she ever did was blather to Liz and me about the selkie skin. I don’t think Liz believed her, but I kept my thoughts to myself. It occurred to me soon afterward that the skin could provide me with a tidy income. I am a pensioner, after all. And my nephews, dears that they are, tend to get into scrapes. I’m growing weary of bailing them out.”
Maggie stared wide-eyed, not sure what to make of this info. “So, what does that have to do with the skin? Are you hoping to sell it? Is there a black market for the pelts of mythological creatures?”
“I don’t like your tone, miss,” Phyllis replied with Puritan severity. “I would never sell such a thing unless I had to. But I could make use of it. Think of all the lonely, pathetic women in the world. Like you. Think of the money I could make utilizing
Calan’s special skills to cater to them.”
“Omigod, you wanna be his pimp,” Maggie whispered.
“Pimp is such a harsh word, dear. I think I prefer ‘madam.’” She nodded primly, as if about to accept a second biscuit at a church social. “I’m merely being practical, Maggie. I grew up in poverty, after all. I know what it is to live without. My father left our family when I was nothing more than a babe. My dear mother had to prostitute herself in order to put bread on our table. Don’t think for a moment that, because I’m old, I don’t know the power that sex has over people. A desperate idiot will pay for anything, and I’ve known many a woman who would pay dearly for the chance to rut with a selkie man.” She nodded to her nephews. “Get the skin.”
Maggie turned to face Calan, the would-be selkie prostitute, but his expression revealed little. He was merely watching the scene unfold, the picture of serenity. Although he didn’t appear concerned, there was something about the brightness of his eyes that made him look hyper aware. If there really was any animal in him, it looked ready to pounce. He calmly put his jeans on, sticking close to her, his gaze always on the two men and their weapons.
At the sight of Phyllis’s nephews manhandling the skin, Maggie felt her stomach lurch. Even to her, it felt invasive, wrong.
“That’s it, boys. Bring it here,” Phyllis cooed. The skin was tossed to her, and the old lady petted it like she would a small dog. “Now kill the lass.”
Calan, still bare-chested, jumped as fast as lightning to shield Maggie. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, boys.”
Phyllis’s nephews looked at each other nervously, but kept their guns trained on them.
“Now, now, Calan,” Phyllis said. “You’re mine now. You do what I say. You’ve had your fun with the trollop, but it’s done.”
“It doesn’t work that way, old woman,” he growled in warning. “You’ll not touch her.”
The old lady advanced a step. “I don’t wish to kill you, selkie. I wish to use you, after all. However, if I have no choice, I’ll kill you too. I could still fetch a nice price for your skin from some gullible collector. Now move away from her.”
“Never,” Calan replied, one arm reaching around to grab Maggie’s hand. “Never.”
“Fine,” Phyllis said with a little shrug. “Donald, Malcolm, kill them both.” With that, she turned and shuffled out of the room with the skin.
“No,” Maggie heard herself scream. She tried to shove Calan away, but he was unmovable, a stubborn boulder of muscle in front of her.
As the barrage of bullets hailed down on them, Maggie felt nothing but the most unimaginable sadness of her life. Sadness and horror that Calan was sacrificing himself for her, using his own body as a shield. Grief because she would surely lose him. And guilt because she’d led him to this.
But what she didn’t feel was the pain of gunfire. She was jolted, as his body was jolted by the gunshots. And she felt blood, his blood, all over her as it sprayed from his body. But no bullet touched her, as much as she wished they were tearing through her own flesh instead of his.
Why, her mind railed, did they have to use so many bullets? He was one man! Couldn’t they see he was already dead?
Once the men ran out of ammo, she felt him fall and she fell with him. She tore her gaze away from the killers as they surveyed the scene. Her heart rent in two, she still clung to Calan’s collapsed body. His mutilated body. Bullet holes covered him like a gruesome, bloody patchwork. “No,” she wailed, wiping blood off his face as best as she could with her shaking hands. “Not you. It should have been me.”
Donald leaned over to Malcolm. “Get more bullets. Auntie wants her dead too.”
Malcolm grunted. “Just strangle her and finish it.”
Maggie could barely watch, uncaring, as Donald lumbered toward her. But when he stopped a foot or two away, she looked up at him. His bushy eyebrows shot up, and a look of something approaching terror filled his eyes. He motioned to Malcolm and they both stared at Calan.
Calan moved, stood. Maggie shrieked.
He shot her a glance, his face breaking into the flirty grin he’d used so much with her. “Don’t faint now.” He turned to the two men, and his smile hardened with a new vicious gleam. He moved toward the petrified thugs, breathing heavily, but seemingly unfazed by the bullets in his body. “You tried to kill my woman,” he said, his Orcadian accent sounding harsher, more guttural. “Not a wise decision.”
As Calan advanced on Donald and Malcolm, Maggie wondered at the clear lines of dread on their faces. Both men had broken into a nervous sweat. Of course, the Orcadians could be a superstitious people. They would have heard tales of unforgiving selkie and Finmen. Creatures who, when provoked, could sink ships with their control over the weather. Before Calan could reach them, the men ran screaming from the room. Maggie watched them through the window as they raced out of the house, practically falling over themselves to escape.
Only then did Calan allow himself to fall back with a huge exhalation of breath. Maggie ran to his side. “Help me up, love. I may be selkie, but I’ll die without that skin. We need to find that old harpy.”
Trying not to touch any of his still-bleeding wounds, Maggie propped herself under his shoulder and helped him up. Together, they hobbled off in search of Phyllis.
* * * *
It was almost twilight as the pair tore out of the house toward the sea. On a normal day, Maggie would have stopped to admire the coral-tinged sunset, but she only had eyes for Calan. She was still waiting for him to fall down dead at any moment.
“This way,” he whispered, his breath growing more ragged, as if he were asthmatic. “I can smell her.”
“You should sit,” Maggie said in a small voice, more scared now than ever. She couldn’t lose him again.
“I need the skin!” He picked up his pace and his body quaked in response.
“Okay.” Maggie held on to him, soaked through in his blood, praying God might intercede.
They traveled over a small, grassy rise that led toward Phyllis’s house near one of Orkney’s breathtaking cliffs. At the cliff’s edge stood an old woman holding the pelt, staring into the white-capped sea. She turned to face them as they approached.
It wasn’t Phyllis. It was Liz.
Maggie and Calan moved slowly toward the grim-faced woman, assuming they had
another elderly adversary. But as they moved closer, she smiled sweetly, as if about to serve them tea. “Maggie, dear, I was so worried about you.” She shot Calan a look. “Och, I don’t know as I have enough first-aid skills to help you, lad.”
“Never mind that. But I would have the skin back if you don’t mind,” Calan replied, grinning weakly as Liz handed it to him. He wrapped it around his shoulders, closed his eyes, and a clear shudder of contentment passed through him.
Maggie’s head spun. “Where’s Phyllis? How did you get the skin?”
Liz moved to the cliff’s edge and looked into the surf. Maggie and Calan joined her, only to see Phyllis’s cardigan-wrapped body floating two hundred feet below them. “I was suspicious of Phyllis as soon as Nora told us her selkie story. Phyllis has always been a grasping busybody, b
ut I saw her change for the worse. She was a woman obsessed, coveting that skin. So, I’ve been keeping my eye on her.”
Maggie and Calan just stared in amazement.
“She believed she was part selkie, you know,” the old lady continued. “Her mother lived a very rough life. For a time, after her father deserted them, Phyllis’s mother told her that her real father was a selkie man who’d gone back to the sea. I think it was part of the reason she was so crazed over the skin. She wanted revenge on the selkie race.”
“That’s insane,” Maggie whispered.
“It is what it is. I only wish,” Liz continued, gesturing to Calan’s wounds, “that I could have prevented this. But, I did manage to follow her here. We had a bit of a row as I tried to persuade her to give me the skin. Sadly, she fell into the sea.”
“Fell?” Calan repeated, his voice skeptical.
Liz stared at them knowingly, one dainty white eyebrow raised. “I never liked Phyllis. She was bossy, and she cheated at euchre.”
Maggie covered her mouth with her hand, although she knew it would do little to conceal what must be the gob-smacked expression on her face.
Liz rushed to console her. “Now, dear. All will be well. Perhaps you will allow me to help you do a little clean up? Besides, my grandson is the chief of police here. He’s quite familiar with Donald’s and Malcolm’s unsavory reputations, and I’ve told him how Phyllis can be. I daresay we’ll sort everything out quite tidily. It’s the least I could do for poor Nora.” She beamed at them. With that, the old woman toddled off to rest on a large rock a few feet away.
Maggie turned to Calan who encircled her in his arms and the skin. It was warm in there, so warm. “You see,” he breathed into her ear, “I promised I’d take care of you. I just didn’t know we’d get help from Old Mother Hubbard over there.”
Maggie wanted to laugh but couldn’t. Not while he was still wheezing and bleeding all over. “We need to get you to a hospital.”
