Selkie's Revenge (8 page)

By Neptune’s trident, that selkie had stood in his way once before. If it hadn’t been for him, the finman would have spawned years ago with beautiful Anne. And because of the manner in which the selkie Machar prowled the beaches, the finman hadn’t been successful in finding worthy mates. Oh, he’d stolen a few other bitches over the centuries and had fucked them until they’d given up the ghost. But none had produced a child for him.

He had a good feeling about the Pedersen bitch. She had good hips for rearing fin babes. By the time he was done with her, she’d spawn dozens. And the gods curse any selkie who stood in his way.

His temper appeased for now, the finman burrowed deeper into the dark tent that was his home. And waited.

Beth awoke, her eyes popping open after what had to be the best sleep in her life. She stretched, not even needing to yawn, and realized immediately that she wasn’t on the couch. She was in her bed. Tucked in, still in her clothes, covered in the seal-pelt blanket. Her gaze darted toward her alarm clock. Ten o’clock.

Wait. Hadn’t she laid down around ten o’clock?

She sat up. “Please don’t tell me I slept right through to the next day.” And with a near stranger in her house? What was she thinking? Where was Mack anyway?

Mack
.

Her body was hit by a barrage of delectable sensation. She’d dreamed of him, of him singing to her. Or had she? He had been in her dream, that she knew, but the details were hazy. As she experienced a sweet heaviness between her legs, a pressure so sumptuous she could almost taste it, parts of the dream came back to her.

“A sex dream?” She hadn’t had one of those in ages. Intrigued, she touched herself with a finger and started at the sensitivity of her swollen lips. “Oh my God, what did we do in that dream anyway?”

Whatever it was, clearly it had been good, and she’d never felt so full and sated upon wakening.

Feeling embarrassed but curious, she threw off the pelt, and a cold shiver flew down her back. She was tempted to wrap the pelt around her shoulders. She liked the feel of it. Cursing the morning-breath feeling in her mouth, she padded downstairs toward the living room. She could hear some shuffling down there, accompanied by the sound of Mack’s deep voice.

Mack’s voice. Comforting and lulling her. Arousing her, as he had last night in her dream.

“Get your shit together, Beth,” she urged herself in a whisper. “It was just a dream. Means nothing.”

Steeling herself, she reached the main floor and poked her head into the living room. When she saw him, her eyes popped in amazement. He was on the phone with someone discussing one of the cherry sideboards in Frank’s collection.

“Not a chance, Derek,” Mack said in a smooth tone. “I’ve told you. The sideboard is Chippendale and in impeccable condition. My seller can get a better price hawking it at a car-boot sale. Don’t insult me with that price. You’d need to up it by at least five hundred pounds.” He paused. “Did you bother to look at the picture I e-mailed you at all?”

Right at that moment, he noticed Beth standing there. He reddened, as if embarrassed too. Then he smiled and gestured excitedly, silently beckoning to her as he listened to his contact on the phone. Beth moved over and stood by him. Her mind spun as she watched him.

He put a hand over the receiver so Derek wouldn’t hear him and whispered to her. “Beth, love. I can get you two grand for the cherry sideboard. Interested?”

She nodded, unable to make any words come out of her mouth.

He resumed his conversation with Derek. “That’s more like it, friend. Two grand it is. My seller and I will have the sideboard to you within the week.” Once again, he paused, laughing at something Derek was saying. “A pleasure doing business with you too, Derek. You won’t be disappointed.” He ended the call, hung up Beth’s phone, and turned to her. “
You
slept a very long time.”

“You put me in my bed,” she replied in a quiet voice.

His gaze warmed over. “I hope you don’t mind, but at about the ten-hour mark, you looked like a stiff mummy curled up on the couch. I was worried we’d never straighten you out again.” He grinned, his gaze falling to her lips, and then he allowed a soft sigh to escape.

“You stayed here all night?”

Mack got red in the face. He didn’t seem the type to blush in front of a woman, but he was doing it for her now. “I didn’t feel right leaving with you sound asleep. I didn’t want you to get scared if you woke up alone. I took up your spot on the couch.” He brightened, standing up straight, and brought his hands together in a loud clap, as if needing to clear his thoughts. “You must be starving.”

Beth had no appetite, not for food anyway. She couldn’t think of eating, knowing Machar Kirk, her sinful savior, had stayed the night and tucked her into bed and filled her dreams with raunchy images. She looked around the living room once again and noticed he’d affixed large white labels to many of the antique furniture pieces in the room. On the labels, he’d recorded information about each piece: dates, manufacturer names, cities of origin, and asking prices. And as Beth quickly reviewed a couple of them, she realized Mack was dead-on with his information, at least according to the limited details she knew. While she’d slept the day and night away, he’d quietly assessed each antique and had correctly cataloged them. To say nothing of reaching out to his contacts to make potential sales for her.

She turned to him, wanting to cry but determined not to do so. She bit on her bottom lip, making it sting in an attempt to hold off the waterworks of gratitude. “Why are you helping me?”

Mack shrugged in an attempt to appear casual and unstudied, but she saw the heat in his eyes. “You need help. I know people. Selling Frank’s antiques will be a big job. You shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

“But,” she began, “don’t you have to be somewhere? At your own work? What do you do anyway?”

He hesitated but then answered. “I’m … a consultant, among other things. I’ve been around antiques for a long time. I’m happy to help you. I’m between projects right now anyway.”

She knew her confusion must be written all over her face. “Funny. Frank knew everyone in the antique business. I never heard your name before.”

Mack’s blush disappeared, making him appear paler than before. “I keep a low profile.”

“You’re not here to swindle a widow out of her savings, are you?”

He laughed out loud. “I’ve no need for your savings, love. I’m doin’ just fine.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?” The question flew out of her mouth before she could stop herself.
Girlfriend? What are doing? That’s none of your business!
Besides he wasn’t the sort of man to have a girlfriend. Machar Kirk might have a paramour or a mistress or a quick, hot fuck, but not a girlfriend.

Mack stared at her and then turned his gaze to the floor. He seemed to be considering her question carefully. “Not really.”

“I’m sorry. I had no right to ask.”

“No, it’s fine,” he replied, his deep voice tickling her insides with its unique Orcadian timbre. “I have a lady friend, but we’re not really headed in the same direction right now. Literally.”

His rolled
r
’s were killing her, they were so sweet on the ear. Like spoken honey.

“Oh, I see.” For some reason, Beth felt a wave of relief wash over her at his admission he wasn’t really seeing anyone, but she squashed the sensation. She had no business being relieved about Mack’s lack of a serious girlfriend. No business at all. She stood in front of him, feeling heat in every extremity, unsure what to say next.

Luckily, Mack broke the tension. “You need to eat, woman. Luckily for you, I’m already keeping breakfast warm. I hope you don’t mind that I raided your larder.” His lips curled on one side of his mouth, giving his face a decidedly playful cast.

I would love you to raid my larder. Omigod, where did that come from?

She followed him to the kitchen and watched him as he bent over to retrieve a couple of dishes in the oven. As he moved, Beth’s gaze landed on his ass. As much as she told herself to look away, she couldn’t. She didn’t think she’d ever seen such a fine specimen of ass. It was rounded and strong, and she could discern his perfect glute muscles, even under his worn jeans. It was an ass her hands would love. Only as Mack stood up again to carry sweet-smelling plates of pancakes to the table did Beth finally tear her gaze off him.

She sat down at the table with him and let him pile her plate high with more pancakes than she could ever eat in one sitting, than she could ever dream of eating. Amazed, she looked at him, only to find him frowning at her neckline. “What’s wrong?”

He was staring at her silver necklace, the one Frank had given her. “That’s an interesting necklace, Beth. I didn’t notice it yesterday. May I see it for a moment?” She removed it and handed it to him. He handled it carefully, his discriminating gaze pinned to the charm. “Where did you get this?”

She shrugged and poured some maple syrup on her pancakes. “Frank found it among his things right before he died. He gave it to me.”

Mack eyed her. “Frank
found
it?”

“Yeah,” she recalled. “He couldn’t remember where he’d gotten it, which was weird because he knew every antique in his collection. But I guess he lost track of this one.” She grinned. “It just sort of showed up one day. He used to joke about it being Atlantean because he didn’t recognize the workmanship. It’s pretty, even though it’s rustic. I love the figure of the man embracing the woman.”

“It’s not Atlantean,” Mack said in a new, stern voice, fingering the charm. “But it is very old. And it’s not a human man holding the woman. It’s a finman.”

For some reason, Beth felt a chill flutter down her spine, leaving her cold. She didn’t know why. “What’s a finman?”

Mack didn’t answer. “After breakfast, I’d like to show this to my friend, Eddie Hastings. He has a shop and specializes in this sort of … thing.”

“What sort of thing?”

Once again he remained silent. He merely set the necklace down on the table next to his plate and proceeded to consume an enormous stack of pancakes without a word, shoveling each bite into his mouth with silent fury.

* * * *

Eddie Hastings owned a tiny shop of curiosities in Kirkwall. Beth had seen the shop before but had never gone in. It was the sort of store that intimidated her, but not because the merchandise was expensive. On the contrary, Eddie’s shop was packed with knickknacks no one would want: stuffed animals with glassy beads for eyes, counters filled with gaudy jewelry, and stale-smelling vintage clothing. There were also lots of silver pieces: tea trays, racks of tarnished silver spoons, and decorative plates. Eddie clearly had a preference for the sterling items. The walls seemed close, each bookcase and display unit crammed with objects that looked as if they’d been pilfered from estate sales or off dead bodies. And yet, as the midday light filtered in through the dirty windows, there was something distinctly magical in the way the sunbeams hit the dust. The entire shop seemed bathed in antiquity and mysticism.

Eddie himself was a grizzled, old character, not at all what Beth expected of Machar Kirk’s
friend
. He was short and squat and had shiny, keen eyes that had a tinge of yellow to them. He smelled faintly of fish and had a bald head that sprouted about three gray hairs. She couldn’t help but be reminded of a troll.

Mack held out the silver charm to Eddie. “What do you make of it? Is it what I think it is?”

Eddie took one look. “Oh, aye, although I havenae seen one of these charms in years, laddie. You’ll notice isnae like regular silver. More like dull pewter. Definitely of the finfolk.”

“Mack mentioned finmen,” Beth said. “You mean it’s from Finland?”

Eddie let out a boisterous crack of a laugh and then narrowed his glittering eyes at her. “Isnae Finnish, lassie. It’s of the Orkney fin folk. Have you never heard tales of the finmen?”

She shook her head, but even as she did, images of a strange darkness flooded her brain. And the same foreboding, prickling sensation she’d experienced before heading out to the beach the other day.

Why did she have the feeling her temporal lobe was thrusting forgotten memories upon her? She couldn’t help feeling those recollections should remain hidden.

Eddie glanced at Mack, who nodded as if to grant permission. Eddie then lowered his voice and began a strange tale. “Orkney is a magical place. Unusual beings prowl our shores. Finmen, selkie folk, pixies, and witches. All there before your eyes, hidden in plain sight.”

“I’ve heard of the selkie folk,” she said quietly. “My husband mentioned them once. He told me they were a fairy tale. Make believe, like Sasquatch or the Loch Ness Monster.”

A look passed between Machar and Eddie. Mack’s jaw ticked, and she could see he was gritting his teeth. Eddie let out another series of huge guffaws, while Mack ran a hand through his hair, clearly ill at ease.

“Well,” Eddie began, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, “I cannae say if Nessie is real, but I can confirm the existence of selkie and fin folk.”

“How?” she asked, as her stomach gurgled in a show of nerves she wasn’t yet prepared to analyze.

Eddie leaned on the counter between them, bringing his face closer to hers. His fishy fragrance wafted over her and she held her breath. “Because I am the son of a finman and he,” he said, thumbing at Mack, “is a selkie.”

Beth stared at each in turn but had trouble drawing her gaze from Mack. Somewhere in her brain, a hammer was pounding. “You’re asking me to believe you’re both inhuman? Monsters?”

Eddie spat out a loud
tsk
and glared at her. “Monster isnae a word I’d apply to myself. I’m not asking you to believe anything, lassie. I’m stating fact.” Eddie held her gaze for a long, tense moment. Then he threw up his hands and shouted, “Boo!”

Beth fairly jumped out of her shoes. As her heartbeat slowed down again, she looked at Mack.

Mack glared at Eddie. “Damn, old man. Could you dispense with the bloody theatrics? It’s enough for Beth to take in without her losing her breakfast at the same time.”