Isla
The loch was shrouded in mist when I reached it that afternoon, the kind of mist that muffled sound and made the world feel smaller. Heeding Finn’s warning, I’d begun quitting work early each afternoon. Not a problem, now that I had something to look forward to, other than a lonely dinner and early into my sleeping bag. But I hadn’t seen Finn again in several days.
Maybe he’d only been spending a few days on Taransay, and he was gone now, back to the mainland. Another missed opportunity in a disappointing love life.
The water stretched out before me, deep and still, reflecting the colors of the lowering sun. There was something different about the air that day—heavier, charged. It pressed down on my skin, making every breath feel deliberate. I couldn’t shake the sense that the island was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
My clothes were shed in seconds and I slipped into the water, a familiar ritual now. The loch welcomed me with its refreshing chill, and for a moment, the tension in my chest eased. Floating on my back, I let the water carry me, my eyes fixed on the sky. But that sense of peace didn’t last. A prickling sensation crawled over my skin, and I knew I wasn’t alone.
I turned quickly, my heart leaping at the familiar figure cutting through the water. The mist curled around him, softening the edges of his form, but there was no mistaking Finn. Broad-shouldered, his dark hair slicked back from the water, he moved with that same fluid grace I remembered, as though the loch itself carried him forward.
For days, I’d thought he wouldn’t return. I swam alone each afternoon, scanning the horizon, and waiting. The possibility that I’d only imagined our connection had begun to gnaw at me. But now, here he was, and my pulse quickened with excitement.
“Finn,” I called, my voice carrying over the quiet water. A grin spread across my face before I could stop it. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”
He slowed as he drew near, treading water a few feet away. His dark eyes held mine, and a small smile played at his lips. “I couldn’t miss this,” he said, his voice low and rich, a sound that sent a pleasant shiver down my spine. “A chance to get to know you better.”
I swam closer, emboldened by his return. “So, you’ve finally decided to stop playing hard to get?”
Finn chuckled, a deep, warm sound that seemed to ripple through the water. “I had some things to take care of,” he said, though his tone was teasing. “But it seems I’ve kept you waiting.”
“You have,” I said, only half-joking. “I was beginning to think I’d imagined you. That maybe you were a selkie-man from a fairytale.”
He hesitated at that. “You didn’t,” he said finally. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against my arm. The touch was brief, almost hesitant, but it sent a jolt of warmth through me, grounding me in the moment.
I floated closer, the cool water lapping at my skin. “Good. Because I’ve been thinking about you.”
His gaze softened, something unspoken passing between us. “And I you,” he said quietly, his voice a caress against the ending of the day.
For a moment, we simply floated there, the loch holding us in its cool embrace, the world beyond fading into irrelevance. Then Finn’s expression shifted, a flicker of concern in his eyes.
“You haven’t been swimming alone at night, have you?” Finn’s voice was low, but the firmness in it left no room for misinterpretation.
I tilted my head, searching his face. “Is that why you came back? To warn me?”
“It’s part of the reason,” he admitted, his gaze steady. “The loch is beautiful, but it holds its secrets. Not everything here is as it seems.”
His words hung between us, heavy with unspoken meaning. I waved my arms through the water, sending tiny ripples in his direction. “What secrets? You make it sound like something out of a ghost story.”
Finn’s expression darkened slightly. “It’s more than stories. There are currents beneath the surface, pulling harder than you might expect. And predators.”
“Sharks?” I asked, my brow arching.
“Aye,” he said, his voice quiet. “Though rare, they’re not unheard of. But there are worse things, Isla. Creatures that don’t belong to this world entirely. And sometimes, the loch itself seems alive—like it’s watching, waiting.”
A shiver danced down my spine, though I forced a playful smile. “Well, I’m glad you’re here to keep me safe.”
Finn’s hand found my shoulder, his touch grounding me, even as my pulse quickened. “Promise me you won’t come alone again. Wait for me on the shore, and we’ll swim together.”
I nodded, though my teasing tone lingered. “If it means you’ll keep showing up, I’ll think about it.”
He smiled, but before he could respond, I leaned in, closing the distance between us. His eyes flicked to my lips, and then he met me halfway.
The kiss was slow at first, tentative, as though neither of us wanted to break the spell of the moment. But soon, it deepened, his lips moving with a hunger that matched my own. The cool water lapped around us, but all I felt was the heat between us, the way his hands slid gently along my arms, then finding my shoulder blades as he pulled me closer.
Secure in the circle of his arms, I let my fingers trail up his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palms. His skin was cool, but his touch burned as his hands moved to the back of my neck, tilting my face up to his and holding me like I might vanish if he let go.
His lips were hot against mine as I met his mouth halfway, latching onto his lips eagerly. My legs came up to wrap around his waist as we floated with the rhythm of the waves. Time slipped away, the loch and the night folding around us as though we were the only two people in the world. When we finally broke apart, our breaths mingled in the cool night air, his forehead rested briefly against mine.
“Isla,” he murmured, his voice roughened by the moment, “you need to go back to shore.”
No! I wanted more–
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. The loch stretched out around us, an endless expanse of deep blue water that now felt far more sinister. “Why did you come back, Finn?” My voice was barely above a whisper.
His gaze softened, but the warning remained. “To make sure you were safe.”
Before I could respond, he slid his hands down his waist to unwrap my legs, putting distance between us. “You should head back to shore,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind.
Disappointment swelled in my chest, but I nodded. “Are you staying on the island? Will I see you again?”
His hesitation was brief, but it was there. “Yes,” he said softly. “I have a camp on the far side, closer to the mainland. I’ll come back again. But for now, stay away from the loch at night. And don’t swim alone, even in the day. You’ve been lucky so far. Don’t push it.”
I hesitated, searching his face for something more, but his expression revealed nothing beyond the gravity of his words. The ripples around us stilled, the loch holding its breath as if waiting for my decision. Finally, I nodded again, understanding that this moment—whatever it was—could slip away too easily.
And yet, I didn’t move.
Finn
She didn’t leave.
I’d expected her to turn and swim back to shore, to heed my warning and let the lowering twilight swallow her departure. But Isla remained, her gaze steady, defiant, as if she could anchor me there with just her presence. The loch stirred faintly around us, a low whisper, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“Finn,” she said, her voice softer now, almost pleading. “Let me stay with you. Just a little longer.”
I exhaled slowly, my resolve weakening. “Isla, it’s not safe—”
“I’m not afraid.” She drifted closer, her fingertips grazing my arm. “Whatever secrets this loch holds, I want to understand them. I want to understand you.”
Her words struck deeper than I cared to admit. The loch had its dangers, yes, but Isla herself was a risk I wasn’t prepared for. And yet, her nearness made it impossible to pull away.
I had to admit it, to myself if not to her.
I wanted her so bad it made my chest ache.
The water lapped gently against us as silence settled between our breaths. I should’ve told her to leave again, should’ve swum away myself, but instead, I reached for her, cupping her face in my hands. “You don’t know what you’re asking,” I murmured.
“Then show me,” she whispered.
I hesitated for only a moment before closing the space between us. Her lips met mine again, warm despite the chill of the water. It was a slow, deliberate kiss, one that carried the weight of all the warnings I’d given and all the ones I’d held back. Her hands slid up to my shoulders, steadying herself as the kiss deepened, and I let myself sink into her, just for a moment, just for now.
When we finally broke apart, her forehead rested against mine, her breathing uneven. “Tell me the truth, Finn,” she said quietly. “Why are you really here?”
I pulled back slightly, studying her in the moonlight. “Because I couldn’t stay away,” I admitted, my voice low. “But that doesn’t change the fact that this loch isn’t safe. There are things in these waters, Isla, things even I can’t control.”
She searched my eyes, and I knew she wasn’t ready to let it drop. “You’ve seen them, haven’t you?” she asked.
I nodded. “The loch remembers its past—its joys, its tragedies. And sometimes, it manifests them. Shadows of what once was, or what could have been. Some are harmless. Others…” I trailed off, my jaw tightening. “Others won’t let go once they find you.”
A flicker of uncertainty crossed her face, but she didn’t look away. “Then why do you stay?”
“Because it’s my home,” I said simply. “And because there’s more to this place than its darkness. There’s beauty here, too.”
Isla reached for my hand beneath the water, lacing her fingers with mine. “Then show me the beauty,” she said, her voice steady despite the chill. “Let me see what keeps you coming back.”
The weight of her words pressed against my chest, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a spark of hope. The loch was unpredictable, yes, but maybe, just maybe, it had brought Isla here for a reason.
The loch went quiet, mist rolling in suddenly, so thick it felt like the world ended at its edges. Something stirred beneath the surface. The air was too heavy, the loch too still. The island was waking, its old wounds raw and restless, and I couldn’t let her ignore the warning signs.
I hesitated. How could I explain it in a way she’d believe? That the island was alive, but it remembered everything—every loss, every betrayal, every drop of blood spilled on its soil. “The island remembers,” I said finally, the weight of those words pressing down on both of us. “The people who lived and loved here. But also those who invaded and attacked. Its past, and its pain. And sometimes, those memories wake. The deeper you dig, the more you’ll disturb them.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of doubt crossing her face. “What exactly are you saying?”
I glanced toward the shore, half-expecting the shadows to shift, for something long-buried to rise. “Some truths are better left undiscovered,” I said, my voice quieter now.
She didn’t answer right away, but I could see the wheels turning in her mind, trying to process what I’d said. She was brave, I could see that, but there was a stubbornness in her that would make her question everything. And that, in the end, might be what drew her to the mysteries of Taransay, more than anything else.
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked, her voice steady despite the uncertainty flickering in her eyes.
I met her gaze, feeling the weight of the moment between us. I didn’t want to say what I was thinking, didn’t want to burden her with more than she could handle. But the truth came out anyway, raw and real.
“Because you’re different,” I said softly, meaning every word. “You listen to the land, Isla. But if you push too far, even I can’t keep you safe.”
Her brow furrowed, confusion in her expression, but I knew she was beginning to understand—slowly, piece by piece. I pulled my hand away from hers, stroking backward from the nearing shore. I wasn’t ready to leave, but I had to.
“Be careful,” I added, my voice just above a whisper.
Then, without waiting for her to respond, I turned and swam away, my movements quick and strong, disappearing into the mist.
From the water, I watched her emerge onto the shore, lingering. Her gaze fixed on the dark waters, troubled but unwilling to leave. She was still too far from understanding the dangers that swirled beneath the surface—things that had been waiting, perhaps even for centuries.
And yet, I couldn’t leave her entirely. I didn’t want to.
I watched as she took a few steps up the beach, the last light of the day casting a golden glow over her skin. Water clung to her body, droplets tracing the curves of her breasts and hips, and for a moment, I couldn’t tear my eyes away. She moved with such quiet grace, her strength undeniable, her form unapologetically hers.
She didn’t look for me at first, in the water offshore. It was as if she were still considering everything I’d said, still weighing the danger of it all. But I could feel her, even from here. The tension in the air between us was thick and heavy. She was still too close to the water’s edge, too close to the unknown, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep my distance.
But then, she looked out to deeper water, and our gazes locked.
I swallowed, a knot tightening in my chest. I didn’t want to look at her like this, standing there in the fading light, her body proud and unashamed. But I couldn’t look away. I shouldn’t look away. This island had a way of pulling you in, showing you parts of yourself you didn’t know existed, and in that moment, it wasn’t just her I was drawn to—it was everything about this place, this world.
She didn’t flinch under my gaze, didn’t shy away. She stood tall, confident in her skin, letting me see her for who she was. There was power in that. Strength. I didn’t know if she understood the depth of it, but I did.
The silence stretched between us, filled only with the quiet sounds of the water lapping against the shore. But then, just as I thought she might call out, she turned her back to me and began walking up the shore.
I wanted to call out to her, to stop her, but something kept me rooted in place. She was right to leave. She wasn’t ready for what was coming, for the danger she had no idea she was courting.
And I was a part of that danger.
I inhaled sharply, the urge to reach for her, to pull her back into the safety of the water, nearly overwhelming. But I couldn’t. She needed to understand. She needed to learn what it meant to be a part of this, to feel the weight of Taransay’s history, its secrets.
And as much as I hated it, I knew she couldn’t do that while I was holding her close, keeping her safe from the truth.
Exhaling loudly with the snort of the bull seal even in my human form, I turned away and dove back into the loch. The cold water rushed around me, a welcome, if temporary, relief from the heat pulsing through me. I swam hard, fast, cutting through the water, putting distance between us. I needed to. I couldn’t stay.
But as I swam deeper into the shadows, the thought lingered: I’d be back.
I wasn’t done with her. Not by a long shot.
Not yet.