The Kelpie's Redemption

by Alexa Gregory

  "Hey, no. It's fine," Fitz assuages me. "We work for a paranormal agency. An agent falling for a potential suspect isn't unheard of. In fact, a colleague of ours mated a victim. It happens."

  "Though, it isn't ideal," Larsen interjects. Fitz shoots him a death glare. "Fine, I'm gone. Call me as soon as Sorcha goes under control. I'll keep you posted."

  "Thanks, man." Fitz holds out his arm and the two of them share an odd handshake.

  I watch Fitz lock the cabin door and walk back toward me.

  "This feels like an impossible situation."

  "Why?" he asks, frowning, sitting beside me. He takes one of my hands in his and interlocks our fingers.

  "Relationship?" I volley back, chocking on the odd word. "We've shared the same space for two days. We've kissed once. That doesn't equate a relationship. Not even to my medieval upbringing."

  "I want more. We both do." He's not wrong. But I would have liked to be privy to the track we were on before. "Don't you?"

  I do. I'm scared. Kiss me. What am I doing?

  "Sorcha?" Fitz's voice is thick with emotion. His hazel eyes are hooded and burning. He dips down, brushing his lips against my neck. My heated skin shivers with anticipation.

  "Just kiss me already," I say, launching myself at him.

  If I thought the kiss on the dock was magnificent, I don't know how to qualify this one.

  It's not because I haven't kissed a man since the 1700s. It's because I'm kissing Fitz. His every movement carries the weight of how he feels about me. This is what kissing is supposed to feel like.

  Fitz lowers the strap of my tank top, dropping a soft kiss on my collarbone. He repeats the same gesture on the second strap. I arch my back, needing to be closer to him. A small, appreciative laugh and Fitz lowers the tank top. Down, down, down until my breasts are bare.

  "You're mesmerizing," Fitz whispers before diving in.

  His mouth closes around one of my nipples and he draws it into his mouth. I run my hands through his hair, keeping him anchored to me as he switches to my other breast. Fitz drops kisses down my sides, my ribcage, my stomach, my hip bones. The soft scruff covering his face feels like an erotically charged caress against my skin.

  More kisses rain down on my thighs, making Fitz's intended destination clear.

  I've read about oral sex. Though I've never actually been on the receiving end. The only man I've ever been with wasn't exactly concerned about my pleasure and enjoyment of our time together.

  Fitz is the polar opposite.

  His every movement, his every kiss, his every caress is purely for me. He wants me to feel pleasure. And I do. So much so, that my skin feels tight and warm. I could bring an entire loch to a boil; I'm certain of it.

  "Fitz..." I whisper to him.

  His eyes are heavy with lust and desire.

  "I'm not sure that I'm... you know. Comfortable with that."

  "Oh," he sounds gutted. "I'm sorry, I don't have to. I just really wanted to taste you. Swallow you whole, feel you come on my tongue."

  A shiver runs through me. He makes it sound so wonderful.

  "I'm just nervous."

  "Have you never experienced this?"

  "Um... no."

  "Sweet fuck, Sorcha. You're the kind of woman who should be devoured and worshiped. It's a crime. I'm an agent, you know, and I'm supposed to stop crimes. Let me do this. For you."

  The fact that Fitz is begging to pleasure me is thrilling.

  "All right." The word is more of a moan.

  "If you don't like it, say the word and I'll stop. Okay?"

  I nod my answer. Fitz smiles at me sweetly and drops a kiss on the inside of my knee, then the other. His pace is slower as he kisses his way to my core. His eyes stay on me, watching me. I know that he's attentively reassuring both of us. It makes my heart flip.

  Fitz runs his tongue all along my nether lips. I gasp as the pure and surprising pleasure overtakes me.

  "Again," I plead.

  And he does. This time, his lick turns into a kiss. It doesn't take long for him to find the bundle of nerves that is so very desperate for attention. He laps at it with a slow, easy pace.

  My hips raise off of the sofa, needing him to be ever so closer to his talented tongue. He sweeps, strokes, laps until I'm a writhing mess of need under his ministrations. My orgasm crests and explodes like a thousand sparklers going off.

  "Fitz," I pant, coming down from the best high.

  I need him closer. I need more of him, all of him inside me. I pull at his shoulders, bringing him to me. I drag his tee over his head and unbuckle his pants as he throws my tank top somewhere over the sofa.

  "Bed," Fitz growls to me, taking me in his arms. I barely have time to register his movements. I wrap my legs around his waist and nibble on his neck as he walks us to the bedroom.

  When he lays me on the bed, Fitz starts worshiping my body all over again.

  "Sorcha, sweet angel, do you want me inside you?"

  "Yes," I moan, arching my hips to punctuate my need.

  Fitz chuckles his excitement. He produces a condom from his jeans before tossing them. He rolls on a condom quickly and comes to kneel between my legs.

  "You're a vision, Sorcha. Of wild, wicked, dirty things."

  Up on my elbows, I devour his mouth, feeling insane with desire.

  "Impatient woman," he breathes, lining his long girth with my entrance.

  With a single, smooth thrust, Fitz fills me. Our gasps of pleasure mix together. His eyes are on mine. Sweat beads pop up at his temple and I run my fingers, catching the moisture. A man shouldn't be beautiful, but Fitz is.

  He sets a pace that is both too fast and too slow. It's maddening how delicious it is. How much more of him I want.

  "Sorcha," he groans into my ear before nibbling on my shoulder. "You feel amazing."

  "Give me everything," I plead.

  And he does. I've never felt so perfectly full. He moves inside me until I'm screaming his name in a second powerful orgasm. It drags on until my legs are boneless. Fitz's mouth latches onto mine and he swallows my whimpers. His thrust become erratic and with a sexy grunt, he stills.

  "Sorcha." My name on his lips is too much to bear. I drop a kiss over his heart, leaving a wish there. "Before the night's through, we should do that again."

  "Someone is ambitious," I tease.

  "No. You're just that tempting."

  Once he's cleaned himself off, Fitz joins me on the bed and bundles me up in his arms. We lay in silence, running fingers over each other's heated skin. It's a moment heavy with feeling. I wouldn't change a second of it.

  "I need food before round two." Fitz kisses my shoulder.

  "Seriously?"

  "Absolutely. I wasn't joking about being tangled up in you all night." His wink is dirty, but as sweet as he is. "Ice cream?" he asks.

  "But it's not breakfast time," I scoff in mock indignation.

  "Don't move," Fitz says as he disappears to the kitchen.

  He comes back moments later with a carton of ice cream and one spoon.

  "We'll share," he shrugs. "Unless you're scared of my cooties."

  "I think that ship has sailed."

  "And docked." Fitz laughs, waggling his eyebrows at me.

  He settles back against the headboard and I snuggle up next to him. Mostly because I want to be near him, but also because he has the ice cream. He's made no move to hand it over.

  "Tell me something about home," he asks between bites.

  I try to find the least depressing bit of information I can share about my life. Tough call.

  "Nessie is believed to be nothing but a hoax. She finds it hilarious, really, that everyone has forgotten that she does exist."

  "Are you telling me the Loch Ness monster is real?" The spoonful of ice cream is halfway to his mouth. I giggle at the sight of his shock.

  "Oh, please don't call her a monster." I lean over and steal the ice cream off of the spoon. Fitz groans his protest, but he's t
hankfully too preoccupied by our conversation.

  "You're serious."

  "Of course! She's actually a gentle creature. Wouldn't hurt a fly. Vegetarian to boot."

  "I don't know what to do with this information."

  "You can't be surprised. You're an FPU agent. You know paranormal creatures exist."

  "This is different."

  "Is it? The Scottish branch knows all about her."

  "Huh. The more you know."

  "Now, it's your turn." I poke his chest before dropping a sticky kiss there.

  "I'm ready for round two."

  And I don't even care the ice cream has melted.

  15

  -Fitz-

  The next three days pass in a daze of amazing sex and copious amounts of ice cream. The cabin turns into our own little paradise. The only time we put on clothes is when Larsen comes over to give us a briefing of his progress on the investigation.

  "Do you guys have clothes on?" he calls out from the porch.

  "Just come in," Sorcha laughs.

  She's wearing a summer dress. The hem of it is sinfully short. If Larsen wasn't completely in love with our boss, I would have some jealousy issues. I don't want any other man gawking at my woman's legs.

  Because Sorcha is my woman. Completely. I won't say I'm falling in love with her. It would be crazy to say that after only knowing her for five days.

  But being around her is intoxicating. She's wicked smart, insanely sexy and mischievously hilarious. I don't know what will happen with the investigation, or between us. But I've already decided that no matter what happens, I am not walking away.

  I can't. She means too much to me.

  Oh shit. Maybe I am falling in love with her.

  "Don't you two look like the picture of domesticated sin."

  I can't help but laugh at Larsen's comment. He's not wrong.

  "What do you have for us?"

  "Two of the siblings are in the clear for certain. The librarian too. The ex-boyfriend is a piece of work so it's hard to get a good read on him. The archivist Charles Murray? He was also Stanley Campbell's assistant. You should hear the way those two talked to each other. I listened to some voicemails between Murray and the victim. Nasty. His alibi also checks out, but I don't like him. Something is off about that guy."

  "He creeped me out," Sorcha offers. "Remember, I said he was overly interested in the fact that I was from Scotland?"

  "Yeah, I looked into it. Nothing came up in all of our sweeps. He's basically invisible on social media. He's never had a parking ticket."

  "You just don't like him," I reiterate.

  "Are your instincts usually pretty good?" Sorcha asks him. Larsen and I both laugh.

  "I'd say," he says between more bursts of laughter.

  "Larsen is a wendigo. His instincts are insanely accurate."

  "So, Charles Murray is the guy? Let's go! We can get the bridle back and this nightmare can all be over." Sorcha grabs her purse and heads for the door.

  "Whoa! Sweet angel, we can't just barge in. We need probable cause." I tuck her into my side and kiss her forehead.

  "We'll figure it out."

  "I'm tired of being a ticking time bomb. I want to be me again."

  With a sigh, I wrap her in my arms. I can't tell her that though the last few days have been wonderful, a part of me has also been really afraid of the next kill order. If it comes, I don't know how to stop Sorcha without hurting her.

  "We need to make a contingency plan." Larsen echoes my thoughts.

  "We have one," Sorcha says. "Fitz will stop me."

  "How? We need specifics."

  "He'll kill me," Sorcha is so matter-of-fact that my heart stops and decides to jump ship. Bile rises in my throat and I have to let go of her.

  "What the fuck, Sorcha."

  Larsen takes a few steps back, sensing that we need time to discuss her bombshell.

  "Larsen can do it then."

  "We are not killing you. Is that really what you thought I would do?"

  Sorcha shuffles from one foot to the other.

  "Yes. No. I don't know. Were you thinking of just tying me up? That won't work. I've escaped jail before."

  The more she talks, the sicker I feel.

  "You have to stop talking for a second." My fists are clenched so tightly, my bones ache. "Do you really think you're so disposable?"

  The woman - my woman - shrugs at me. Like she believes she is.

  "I love you, Sorcha. I can't kill you. I can't even fathom hurting you."

  "Oh," she whispers. "I didn't know."

  Neither did I until just now. I guess the thought of impending death will bring it out in a man.

  "Well," she goes on, "I guess I should tell you then. I love you too."

  "This is sweet, you guys, truly,” Larsen interjects. “But we need to figure this out. And before you go medieval on me, Fitz, I know killing your girlfriend isn't an option." He turns to Sorcha. "It never was part of the plan. For either of us. I knew this idiot was in love with you the second he called me in."

  "Larsen," I warn. My temper, which is usually temperate, feels like a raging forest fire inside me. It’s not a pleasant feeling. I understand now why people do insane things for the people they love. It’s all consuming.

  "How about a chemical cocktail that will you keep you asleep until we get the bridle back?” Larsen has clearly lost his mind.

  "Like a coma?" Sorcha asks while I shout, "No."

  "It could be the only thing that works," she says. "Let's try it."

  Larsen eyes me wearily.

  "If she says it's okay," I add begrudgingly. It’s not. And I plan on dissuading Sorcha away from this insane plan the second we are alone.

  "I'll do some research and see what the lab can come up with that will be safe and potent enough for a kelpie. We can test it out to make sure it works." Larsen turns to Sorcha. "You're sure you're all right with this plan?"

  "I’m not too pleased that I’ll have to go all comatose and have you two save the day. I’d rather save myself. Unfortunately, that isn’t an option for me. Not when the risk is so high. I don’t want to hurt anyone else. Turn me into Sleeping Beauty. Please.”

  "I don't like that fairy tale," I say, closing the distance between my woman and me. I close my arms around her. "You're strong. A fighter.”

  "And sometimes that means knowing when you need to bow out."

  Damn it all to hell. She's right, but it doesn't mean I have to like it.

  16

  -Sorcha-

  There's this thing people say. The best-laid plans turn to shit. Or something along those lines. I never put too much stock in that saying. Probably because I never really had to. Not like this.

  Since Larsen's last visit, he has gone back and forth with Fitz about how best to keep me under. Nothing is up to Fitz's standards. He's been grumpy and stomping around the cabin. We made love, but it wasn't the same. Fitz treated me like I was breakable, made of glass.

  No matter how many times I tell him that we have a plan and it'll be all right, he rebuffs me. He shuts me up with kisses and holds me tightly. I don't want to believe that he thinks I’m weak for choosing to go under until the bridle is found.

  That is what it feels like though. I’m not confident enough to bring it up to him. But I do want to prove Fitz wrong. I want to show him I can handle whatever happens while I’m out.

  I think that's why I ignore the first few signs.

  First, I rub at my temples, feeling an uncomfortable pressure building in my brain. It's gnawing itch. It's an irritating sting. It's a pointed prickle.

  Something is desperately trying to claw its way into my thoughts. Long claws drag on my brain. I rub my forehead, squinting my eyes against the troublesome pain.

  Then the pinprick of discomfort slowly expands, taking my breath with it. I drop the cup of water I'm holding. The contents spill all over the floor. Oddly, I don't feel the water pooling at my feet.

  "Are yo
u all right, Sorcha?"

  Fitz's voice is distorted as if coming from a great distance. I nod a couple times.

  "You don't look all right," he says.

  I hear him shuffling around me, but I can't get my eyes to focus on him. I feel his warm hand against my forehead. His strong fingers against my dampening skin feels comforting. I lean into the touch.

  "My head feels weird." I shiver at the disembodied sound of my voice.

  Something is wrong.

  I have to move. I have to leave. There's something I need to do.

  Fitz blocks my path and cups my face.

  "Sorcha, what's wrong?"

  Without feeling my limbs, I watch my hands push away his own.

  "Where are you going?" His tone is laced with emotions I can't quite identify.

  I know on some level of consciousness that I should answer his question. I don't. I can't. I seem to have forgotten how to speak.

  "Sorcha." Fitz's voice echoes, but I can't quite latch onto it. He repeats his question. "What's going on?"

  17

  -Fitz-

  Fuck.

  I grab my phone and dial Larsen. Thankfully, he answers on the first ring.

  "Get whatever fucking drugs you can and get here. Now."

  "She's on the move." Larsen understands immediately. "Try to get the name out of her."

  "I tried. She's barely coherent. It's the freakiest thing. I don't know how she did a transatlantic flight like this without getting stopped."

  "Where is she now?"

  I watch as Sorcha shuffles to the rental car. My heart plummets while my adrenaline spikes.

  "I'm putting you on speaker. Track my phone. She's trying to drive."

  I get to her before she can make it into the car. I block her path and place my hands on her shoulders.

  "Sweet angel, give me the keys. You can't drive. It's too dangerous." She moves away from my embrace.

  It takes some effort to pry the keys out of her hands. It's a balance between trying to be forceful and being gentle with her. I open the passenger door and gesture for her to get in.

  Strangely, she complies.