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  There. Arach exhaled a slow controlled breath. Rolling the tension out of his shoulders, he resettled his tattered wings down the ridges of his back. The one other advantage of the In-Between was the fact that it would be unnecessary for him to fly. Sifting his form would carry him wherever he wished to go.

  He raised his snout into the air, closed his eyes and soaked in the mystical elements floating through the air. There. Torin’s marker twinkled like a heartbeat, steady as a beacon shining through the darkness to lead lost souls to shore.

  A shiver of anticipation tickled up from the tip of his tail to the end of his curved horns. Finally. A bit of excitement. He folded his form through the dimension toward Torin’s shining aura. Arach came up short and paused within a few yards of the wooden bench where Torin sat.

  Cu Sith. Arach curled his lips back from his fangs. He thought he’d recognized the stench of the fairy hound. Arach sifted closer, angling his scaled head to the side. Damn. He wished they’d speak louder. He must still have a bit of seawater in his ear slits. No matter. He’d caught the gist of most of their conversation and it told him everything he needed to know. Arach chuckled as he rubbed his front paws together in satisfied anticipation. Now he knew exactly what to do to start the game.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Emma covered her mouth, trying to hide the jaw-cracking yawn behind her hand. The cozy atmosphere of the lantern-lit pub didn’t help shake her weariness. Mouth-watering scents warmed the golden glow of the lights. The savory aroma of sizzling beef, brown soda bread toasting, and frying onions and potatoes filled the air. She was too exhausted. Her stomach didn’t even react with a quiet gurgle. She could fold her arms, lay down her head and be snoring on the table within minutes.

  “Am I that boring?” Alex returned to the table with two tall glasses brimming with an ominous coffee-colored liquid topped with thick rich foam.

  “I didn’t sleep well last night.” Emma frowned at the glass he slid in front of her. “If that’s ale, I’m not sure alcohol is such a good idea for lunch.”

  “It’s no’ ale. It’s Guinness. I’ll watch o’er ye.” Alex nodded toward the glass. “‘Tis a fine brew from Dublin, Ireland. It’ll cure what ails ye. My da used to say that’s why they call it stout.”

  “You definitely need to stick to medicine. You’ll starve to death if you switch to comedy.” Emma sniffed at the glass, wrinkling her nose at the pungent, fermented aroma wafting up from the cream-colored foam.

  She took a sip and studied Alex’s blinding smile. He didn’t seem quite so irritating when his face lit up with genuine friendliness and not a sarcastic smirk. She cringed as the strong brew settled across her taste buds. “Ew. Sorry. No insult to Ireland or its breweries but I can’t drink that.” She almost gagged on the fermented taste filling her mouth while the foam dissolved across her tongue. Fighting against the urge to wipe her tongue on her napkin, Emma rolled it against the roof of her mouth instead. “Could I just have a cup of tea?”

  Alex chuckled and motioned for the barkeep. He appeared in an instant with a large round tray bearing a squat brown teapot, a cup, and a server filled with round, caramel-colored biscuits. “I thought ye might feel that way so I had him have the tea at the ready.”

  Was he being thoughtful? Had aliens swooped down and taken over Alex Mackenzie’s body? Emma peered closer at the dark-haired man with the indescribable blue eyes. “Why are you being so nice?”

  “Isn’t that the purpose of our forced togetherness?” Alex sipped a long draught of the black liquid in the tall pilsner, seeming to relish the strong bitter taste.

  “Apparently.” Emma dipped a shortbread in her tea and nibbled at one corner of the buttery, tea-soaked cookie.

  Setting his glass aside, Alex leaned forward and helped himself to one of the shortbreads. “Do ye not agree that the children will be much more comfortable if the two doctors at the clinic are not at war with one another?”

  “I don’t know about the children, but I know Moira will appreciate the atmosphere a lot better.” Emma watched in disbelief as Alex washed down the cookie with his Guinness. “There is no possible way that can taste good.”

  “It depends on how hungry ye are.” Alex winked as he wolfed down another cookie. “I want to be your friend, Emma. I’m man enough to admit I started us off on the wrong foot. Do ye think we can call a truce?”

  A truce. What possibilities could there be in a truce? Emma allowed herself to relax in the mesmerizing depths of that sparkling midnight gaze. She wouldn’t mind spending the rest of her time on the Isle of Lewis in a much less conflicted atmosphere. Uneasiness nudged her like a rude child. A truce at the clinic would be especially nice since she had enough conflict right at home. She stretched her open hand across the table and nodded. “Agreed. Truce.”

  As soon as Alex closed his hand around hers, the back of her neck stung as though zapped with a heated laser. A throaty growl rumbled behind her. She didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

  “Ye have no rights to this woman. I advise ye to withdraw your hand.”

  “Alex meet Torin. Torin meet Alex.” With a resigned sigh as she released Alex’s hand, Emma grabbed another cookie and popped it into her mouth.

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but the woman and I are having a friendly lunch to learn more about one another. Who the hell are you?” Alex white-knuckled both hands atop the table on either side of his drink.

  “She told ye.” Torin edged closer to the table, flexing a muscular warning with his tattooed forearms folded across his puffed chest.

  “Would ye care to explain?” Alex cocked a dark brow in Torin’s direction while he fixed a narrow-eyed glare on Emma.

  “There is no possible way I can explain Torin,” Emma replied as she gathered up her purse. “If you figure him out, maybe you could let me know.” Sliding out of the bench behind the crowded table, she shoved past Torin’s tensed body. “I’m going back to the clinic. I don’t have time for these games.”

  “I will see ye at home, little Emma.” Torin scowled down at Alex as he spoke, territorial challenge flashing in his eyes.

  “Stop calling me little Emma!” Slapping some money down on the table, Emma shot Torin a drop-dead glare. “I’ll see you back at the clinic, Alex. I’m sorry our lunch was interrupted.”

  “You live with this man?” Alex jerked his chin toward Torin as he rose from his seat.

  “Not really. It’s complicated.” Emma was going to kill Torin. Once they returned to the solitude of the cabin, she was going to wrap her hands around his tattooed neck and throttle him until his eyes rolled back in his head. Yep. She was going to kill him.

  As if reading her mind, Torin grinned and offered her his hand. “Shall I take ye home now, little Emma? We’ll see if ye can carry out your plans.”

  Alex glared first at Torin than shifted his accusing stare to Emma. “Apparently, I misjudged your situation here on the island, Dr. Maxwell. I assumed ye were lonely and in need of friendship.”

  “I am not lonely.” Emma hissed through gritted teeth. Why did everyone always think she was lonely? And Alex made it sound as though he were a predator sizing up his prey and then doing her some kind of favor. “And I’m always happy to make new friends even though some of them have turned out to be a royal pain in the ass.” Yanking her purse higher on her shoulder, she poked Torin in the chest. “Don’t you dare show up at my cottage tonight or I swear I’ll snap your neck.”

  Rage roared through her veins as she stomped toward the door but it didn’t roar loud enough to drown out Torin’s reply behind her: “I look forward to the battle—my fiery Emma.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Are ye in a bad mood?”

  The tiny voice echoed through her stethoscope and vibrated into her head. Emma flinched, raising the disc pressed against the young boy’s chest. “How could I be unhappy when I get to be with you? Why do you think I’m in a bad mood?”

  The child peered
up at her with wide, solemn eyes, then pointed a chubby finger at her forehead. “Because ye have worry wrinkles on your face.”

  “Worry wrinkles?”

  The little boy bobbed his curly brown head. “Aye. Worry wrinkles. That’s what my da calls them whenever Ma’s in a bad mood. When Ma has the worry wrinkles, Da says if we value our hides, we’d best leave her alone.”

  “I see.” Emma swallowed hard, struggling to keep any sign of amusement from registering on her face. Children always opened up to her, much to their parent’s consternation.

  “Aaron! Be quiet and let the doctor do her work.” The boy’s mother squirmed in the chair beside the exam table while worry wrinkles deepened between her eyes.

  Smoothing her fingers across her forehead, Emma smiled and offered Aaron one of the coloring book and crayon packets given to cooperative patients. “Sometimes I get the worry wrinkles when I’m thinking really hard. And maybe when your mom gets the worry wrinkles, you could help her feel better by doing something special. Like extra chores without her having to ask.”

  Aaron glanced toward his mother then wrinkled his nose as he leaned closer to Emma. He pressed his pudgy hand to the side of his face and waved her in for a conspiratorial whisper. “If ye ask me, I think those worry wrinkles are caused by that baby in her belly. She doesna think I know he’s there but I heard her and Da talking about me having to share my room.”

  “Aaron!”

  Emma almost choked, clamping her lips together as she tousled Aaron’s hair. She loved the perks of this job. Conversations with the children never failed to brighten her day. With a sympathetic glance to his red-faced mother, Emma tapped on Aaron’s knee. “Maybe if you offer to help Mom with the baby, her worry wrinkles will go away.”

  Aaron pursed his lips into a thoughtful scowl then the lad finally nodded. “I could do that. I dinna want her to be unhappy.”

  “Thank you, Aaron—and Dr. Emma.” Aaron’s mother sighed as she helped him hop down from the table.

  Emma nodded and rested her hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “He’s a fine healthy boy and if I’m still here when your child is born, I look forward to meeting him—or her too.”

  “Them,” Aaron’s mother replied with a weary smile while nudging her child out the door. “Aaron’s going to have a brother and a sister sharing his room.”

  “What?” Aaron screeched as his mother urged him forward and closed the door behind them.

  Giggles bubbled up and over-flowed. Emma couldn’t hold them back any longer. The shocked look on Aaron’s face as he left the room was more than she could bear. Turning to yank the used white paper off the end of the examination table and roll out a fresh unwrinkled sheet, Emma glanced through the sheer curtains stretched across the window and noticed a lone figure sitting on the bench across the way.

  Irritation tensed every muscle in her body. She’d told Torin to go away and he’d actually done it, or so she’d thought. She’d been blissfully Torin-free for days. Ripping the soiled paper at the tearing strap, Emma wadded it into a ball and jammed it into the bin. If only Torin were that easily resolved. Her reflection glowered up at her from the polished metal lid covering the can.

  A worrisome ache stirred in her chest, a fretful fluttering like a moth batting against the glass of a glowing porch light. She had to admit the cottage had been empty without him. No matter how many bricks of peat she piled on the fire, a damp chill pervaded every room.

  Emma shook herself, scowling back out the window as a flash of lightning lit the gossamer white curtains and thunder chased its heels. Great. Another storm. A gust of wind pelted a torrent of water against the panes. That’s all it ever did here. Rained every day. The perfect ending to a week filled with frustration.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Have ye ever considered shifting into the form of a storm kelpie?” Seonaidh splashed down on the bench beside Torin, crossed his shimmering legs, and lifted his pale blue face to the incessant rain. “Ye seem to spend a great deal of time soaked to the skin. Ye’d be much more at home if ye became a kelpie.”

  Torin swiped a hand across his face and shoved dripping hair out of his eyes. “Are ye here for a specific reason, Seonaidh, or did ye just stop by to nettle me with your useless words of wisdom?”

  Stretching his long thin arms across the rain-slicked back of the slatted wooden bench, Seonaidh closed his eyes and smiled as beads of water rolled down his face. “I’m here to help ye since ye’ve allowed your emotions to addle your senses. While yer sitting on yer arse soaking up all this blissful water, yer fine lady borrowed the groundskeeper’s truck and left from the other side of the building.”

  Torin glared across the street at the white block building. The watered down sides of the rain-swept structure almost glowed through the gray sheets of the torrential downpour. “Ye lie. I see one of the torches shining in the main window. She must still be inside.”

  A sense of uneasiness gnawed his gut into a cold knot, much worse than the chill of the vicious spray of the water stinging against his skin.

  “They leave that torch lit every night, ye hard-headed fool. I heard one of them call it an aut-o-ma-tic sensor or something like that.” Seonaidh didn’t lift his dripping head from the back of the bench, just settled more comfortably against the slats and basked in the glory of the storm.

  Betrayed. The emotion choked him like a cruel demon refusing to unclench its soul-sucking fangs from around his windpipe. She must’ve sensed him waiting between the dimensions, known he was there and refused to acknowledge his existence.

  Damn the woman. He’d abided by her wishes. He’d backed away and given her a bit of time to herself even though every fiber of his being screamed that they were quickly running out of time. Every moment spent out of her presence in this chaotic world chipped away at his weary soul.

  The old woman of the moors had outdone herself this time. How had Cailleach na Mointeach cursed him with such an undeniable need for Emma? Why had the old goddess been so cruel? He suffered with longing, his heart ached with loneliness when he wasna sparring with Emma’s exasperating temperament.

  A heavy sigh deflated him even more as he rose from the bench. Weariness bore down like a yoke of iron across his shoulders as he shook like a dog to settle his sticking clothes better against his drenched body. An impossible-to-ignore chill settled over his being. Something bad was about to happen. He felt it in his bones.

  “Since ye seem to be so all knowing, Seonaidh, did ye happen to see if she took the road home or did she head in another direction?”

  The relaxed water spirit lounging on the bench stirred a petty sense of envy through him. Wouldn’t it be grand if he didn’t have a care in the world other than blessing the folk of Lewis with a bountiful harvest from the sea?

  Seonaidh opened one eye and extended a long dripping finger toward a narrow lane to the south. “Nay. She took the path running alongside the sea. Verra unwise, if ye ask me, during this strong a storm. ’Tis a treacherous route that’s known to wash away when the water comes down this fast.”

  “Why did ye not tell me sooner?” Alarm shot through Torin’s body, tensing his muscles as though battle drums had just sounded.

  Storm kelpies lurked in such dangerous passes and they’d delight in tormenting Emma. ’Twould be a fine coup for their lot if they succeeded in stealing her away.

  “Ye didna ask.” Seonaidh yawned as Torin shifted deeper into the in-between.

  He had to find her. A sense of dread coursed through his veins as Torin raced across the dimensions. Damn that lazy water spirit. The fool had no sense of urgency.

  Torin’s guardian amulet burned hot against his skin as he skimmed along the planes. Good. The hotter it burned, the closer he was to Emma. And if it burned, she also still lived.

  Folding the dimensions, Torin launched his essence around the last bend; the amulet nearly sizzled against the skin at the base of his throat. His gut lurched as he shimmered to a stop and scanned the s
torm swept landscape.

  The sight up ahead stole the very wind from his lungs. A darkened truck sat stalled out and wedged in between the banks of a washed out gully. Debris-filled water foamed and swirled almost to the top of the tightly closed windows.

  Chapter Thirty

  The growl of angry water roared all around her, paralyzing her with fear. Emma hugged the steering wheel, pressing her forehead against the cold rubber tubing clenched against her chest. She couldn’t bear to open her eyes. If she did, she’d see the taunting onslaught of the foaming torrent battering against the glass. Voices. She heard the unmistakable beasts chanting she’d soon be theirs. The water echoed with cruel, laughing taunts that soon they’d chase the air from her lungs and fill it with the burning brine of the sea. Death hissed through the darkness of the cab.

  The vehicle slid sideways and shifted against the muddy banks with a rough jolt. The grate of metal scraping against jagged rocks closed her throat with knotting terror. Coughing for air, Emma grappled the steering wheel harder against her body. Her hands cramped around the bit of rubber-covered metal as she curled her legs up into the seat to escape the level of water quickly rising inside the truck. Why had she come this way? With a hiccupped sob, she eased her eyes open the barest crack, just to squeeze them shut again to block the sight of the collapsing banks of mud washing away with the rushing water. A sense of irony snorted through her fogged, hysterical mind. This time her stubbornness would be her death. She’d finally lose her battle with the water demons just because she’d wanted to avoid Torin.

  Torin. When they’d made love, he’d promised her he’d never let the water take her. “Where are you now, Torin?” Emma whimpered against the cold steering wheel without opening her eyes.