TAKEN BY THE SWAMP CREATURE

TAKEN BY THE SWAMP CREATURE

A Swamp Creature Erotica novella  

Linked to The Monster Erotica Collection

TERRI STERN

Copyright © 2024 Terri Stern

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner

whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents

either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any

resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely

coincidental.

The October breeze brought the wet promise of rain and salt, the coastal spray picked up and carried inland along with the gulls that wheeled overhead. Naomi took a deep breath, holding it until her lungs burned and she had to let it out in a sigh, turning the body of a bird over with the top of her boot.

This was not the return home she’d expected.

The swamps of northern Scotland were wild and open as any in Florida or Louisiana, though not as warm, and she’d spent years in all of them earning her PhD in ecological conservation. It was all to allow her to come back here – the wild highlands, the flow country that stretched for miles from the north coast of Caithness and Sutherland, halfway down to Inverness where the sudden obstacle of the Cairngorm Mountain blocked the water greedily eating up hundreds of acres of land.

Mostly freshwater, it was brackish near the coast, mixing the tumbling salt of the North Sea with the gentle rot of the mulch and detritus which formed the bogs that breached up here and there, mingled the ecosystems into little pockets of unique wonders that floated atop of the swamp.

It was a treasure-trove of exceptional variation, brimming with life that might only appear in certain bogs or stretches of swamp, rarities that had been undisturbed for thousands of years since the last glaciers dragged their bones through what used to be here and left the mountains behind.

Some summers they get grant students in cataloguing each particular species – rare flowers, bees, and fish, population fluctuations and food levels. You could spend an entire lifetime just finding what the swamp had to offer, if you had time. And funding.

But something was encroaching into the swamp, and it brought death in its wake. This was the fifteenth dead bird in the month, and the third lapwing, though they were a common bird here, it could be sheer numbers that made these more unfortunate. The limp little neck lolled as it slowly tipped towards the ground from the awkward angle her investigation had twisted it into, eyes already milky and hollow. If she took it back to the reserve and asked the vet to do an autopsy, there would be plastic in its belly, but not just that.

The birds had been eating plastic for years: it wasn’t good for them, but it wasn’t killing them yet. Instead, something viscous and rainbow bright was filling their stomachs, not digesting as it should. It sat in their bodies until no more food could fit. It wasn’t diesel, Naomi knew the smell of that, and though the bright colours were similar, there was an almost luminescence to this stuff that wasn’t agricultural bleed off.

She sighed, bagging up the bird and slipping into her satchel. Battered and stained dark from continuous handling and exposure, her bag was her constant companion out on the water, bouncing on her hip as she hopped between the little islands the swamp offered as shelter.

Her bag had room for another, if she found one, though she dearly hoped that wouldn’t be the case.

Standing, she stretched the back of her legs, glancing about the scruff land she’d pulled up to. It was the autumnal brown of rot; the mulch degrading into a slick chestnut as the nutrients broke down and leached into the water below. Carried off into the vast undertow, they would feed whatever lurked beneath for years to come if what was killing her animals could be stopped.

She should go back to the centre, file this bird’s data and see what else there was on the boards, check if anyone else had reported more. She wasn’t the only person checking for things, and more information was always useful.

But the light was still good. She had a few hours left before it would die off, and she could go deeper into the swamp and see if there was anything else amiss. This wasn’t that far in. She could get back before the dark rolled across the sky, and it wasn’t like there were gators lurking here, like she might have found in some of her other habitats. She’s got away from them, anyway.

Sinking back into her kayak, she tucked her satchel close at her back, tugging the strap close around her waist to keep it tucked. She sort of missed her canoe from back in Florida on days like this, but the narrow channels the bogs created made a kayak the better option up here. And kept her legs warmer, arguably. That was another thing she missed about Floria – it was warm. Scotland could only be accused of that on certain days of the year and October did not have any of those in its collection.

Naomi had ruminated about returning to Caithness a long while before she did it. Once she had her PhD, once she knew she could stand on her hind legs and argue through with crofter and politician alike, she had come back home, and she’d never expected it to be a peaceful journey.

Conversation was not always popular in rural communities, seen as a barrier to development opportunities. There had been plenty of that in the US as well. Households who saw local wildlife as the only food source when the money ran out, or thought a new business venture would be the golden ticket out of a generational poverty that had them living three deep in the same tin roofed hut their grandaddy had put up decades since.

Scotland had similar but different issues. The clearances were still a scar across the land, empty stone cottages looming in the bogs to show the ghosts of generations forced out for sheep to graze - the land rent better than what they could pay. Roads more hole than tarmac, the constant bleed of repair costs and updating draining family wealth just as quickly as rising house prices ate up their children’s future. All the perks of the land, the peat and the grouse and, in the right season, the rich meat of the deer, they couldn’t compete with the encroachment of wealth from down south that could buy up land and houses like it was a monopoly board rather than their home county.

None of which told her why her birds were dying, but it was poor practice to ignore the entirety of an environment when looking for the solution to a problem. Whatever crofters remained here to work the land might tell her if they saw a chemical leak, or they might tell her to fuck off with her no longer local accent and nosy questions. Equally, the foragers and fishermen would be likely to tell her because of the impact on the food rather than any deep concern about the environment, but it still got her what she needed.

Pushing off, she paddled deeper into the heart of the swamp, the amber water almost the same colour as some of the more expensive whiskies in the local hotels. It probably tasted just as peaty too, but she’d always been a gin girl. She must get a bottle for Chris’s birthday, though; he was turning fifty and it would be good to get a bottle matching his age. A bit cliché, but he’d be too busy drinking it to give her too much flack. The head of the conversation society, Chris Hemming was as worn as the swamps and just as stubborn, and unafraid of giving Naomi shit if he thought she was teasing him about his age. Yeah, a good bottle and maybe some homemade baking. He was always fond of her scones.

Humming old songs as she planned what to get for shopping, she steered herself deeper into the swamp, off towards the deeper water, until the metallic chirp of her phone interrupted the misremembered chorus of something from her childhood.

Naomi scrabbled with her coat, fishing the phone out with slick fingers while she planted her paddle on a nearby island to keep herself still. “Hello?”

“Ni, it’s Stevie, where you at?” Stevie Nicholson, known as Stevie Nicks in the office, was the other new blood of the conservation group, joining at the same time as Naomi came back home. A marine biologist by training, Stevie was a firecracker who was determined to revitalise the area one community group at a time, quite apart from her studies of the wildlife. She’d dragged Naomi to almost every event she set up or replied to, and it should have been no surprise that even miles into the swamp Stevie had found her.

She’d nominated Naomi as Ni, said with a lazy borders brogue of so it sounded like the beginning of ‘night’, and at some point Naomi had started answering to it. “I’m on the water. Found another dead bird.”

“And you’re being incredibly sensible and coming back to report it, yeah?”

Naomi bit her lip before answering. “I will be. I wanted to see if I can spot anything else first.”

“Ni.” Stevie stretched the word like a radio show host quoting the impending apocalypse, barely the right side of admonishment.

“I’m just making use of the light; it’s already bagged up and secure. If there’s more, I need extra evidence to corroborate our concerns.”

“How many dead birds do you think you can fit on that glorified surfboard?”

“It’s a kayak!” Stevie had always hated the kayaks, preferring to go out on a small boat when possible, but Naomi wouldn’t take the slander of her elegant little craft. She could weave and slip through the swamp like an otter, and being quick and quiet was useful in many situations.

“It’s a deathtrap that you love more than most would, but you are so good with it. Just don’t get stuck out there in the dark, okay? I need your help docketing some reports and I don’t want to get Hamish out on his rickety little thing to come and save you.”

Naomi chuckled, picturing the long-suffering harbour master shaking the oilskins off to get his rower out. Hamish had been very indulgent about the conservation works, but even he’d have a limit on cold October afternoons. “I’ll be back before it’s dark, promise. And if I don’t find anything, I’ll be back sooner. No one wants dead lapwing smell on their notes.”

“Oh no, another one?” The pout was clear in Stevie’s voice – she liked the white bellied little birds.

“Yeah. Looks to be an adult as well, from the wingspan. You can evaluate it when I get back.”

“Alright. And remember, we have the sewing class tonight too.”

“Of course.” Naomi hung up before Stevie could add anything else onto the agenda, sighing to herself. Stevie had the boundless energy of a cocker spaniel and while Naomi loved her for it, sometimes it would be nice to just get home to the cottage and bank the fire up, then chill out with a large glass of something nice.

Not that it would really work because she’d just have more things to do – grant applications to review or new recruits to arrange background checks for. There was never a dull moment with a swamp to take care of.

The chug of an engine broke her wishful musing over a glass of wine and she peered around, trying to gauge how close it was. Sound could travel for miles over the swamp, of course, but this didn’t seem like an echo on the wind – it was the deep diesel growl of something splitting the water nearby.

People were allowed in the swamp, it wasn’t a restricted area, but usually they were accompanied by a member of the conservation team, or they at least checked in and let them know about planned trips. Not always, of course. The swamp was too big to monitor everything, but it was a matter of safety. Making sure someone could call for help if they didn’t come back. It wasn’t the right time of day for fishing, either.

Hunkering down, she folded over herself, chest to the cool plastic of her kayak as she strained to listen. There!

“We need to go deeper,” a male voice barked, brooking no argument. The accent wasn’t quite local, a little too blunt for the lilting tones of the Highlands, but it was Scottish for sure.

“Much deeper and we’ll be coming out in the dark, which is really fucking obvious.” The companion was English, and broad, maybe a Liverpudlian by the sharp way his vowels spiked. Not exactly the fishing type out here, either. An English guide might lead salmon parties, but they’d be up at the River Thurso or Halladale, not lurking in the boggy islands.

“We go out dark then, Ian. Do I have to think of everything around here?” Cheerful fucker, the dour Scotsman cliché out on full show at the petulant temper. Naomi peeked her head up a little, tracing the voices across the broad expanse of the swamp.

“Fuck off and be sensible, Stanley. You don’t go dark out here, that’s how you crash.” Well, at least the English Ian had some brains.

She spotted their boat, much closer than she thought – the other side of the flow, two islands over, they were cutting through the water in a deep cameo green two-man. They were wearing camp themselves, bundled up against the chill of the incoming evening, and she couldn’t see them for the low wall of boxes loaded into the back. What the fuck?

A green boat meant a poacher, that was as well known as the mushroom season, and poachers were bad news. But what were they after? There were no eagle eggs to get this deep inland, the sea eagles were miles off at the top of the coast. No birds of prey where catching the nest might get a reward, or destroying the nests might shift a protection zone away with false data. The lands were too protected to be a development scheme anyway, so that was unlikely.

There was an abundance of fish in the waters, and deer lurked in the more settled areas, but that boat would sink if they loaded a good adult deer in it. Maybe that’s what the boxes were for, doing some bootstrap butchering and load it up?

It made little sense, and Naomi wasn’t about to let a mystery develop without her eyes on it. Slipping the paddle from her little island anchor, she slid it into the holder, securing it, and she crept her kayak forward, shadowing the boat.

She was bright – there was no way to hide the reflective stripes on her jacket – but if she kept her body low and pulled herself along, paddling with her hands when she had to, she could keep up with most boats. The swamp was too complicated to traverse quickly, and she knew the back channels and slips: she could see what they were doing and if it was just someone being stupid, she’d give them a spook, remind them not to be daft.

And if it was something else….

“Those men have guns.”

Her body tensed as adrenaline shot through all her long muscles, startling her upright as an arm sank around her waist, pressed her against a wet body that must have been straddling her kayak. She took a deep breath in, halfway ready to scream, and a hand sank around her mouth as well.

“Stay still and be quiet.”

Oh, fuck whoever this was. Anger replaced adrenaline, made white flash at the edges of her vision as spite twisted in her chest. Tensing her shoulders to get more wriggle room, she bit down into the cold palm over her mouth, the earthy water of the swamp spilling over her mouth. He must have twisted his hand away in time because she got a mouthful of dirt and leaves, the rot of the changing season, and she spat it out as she reared back, struggled to free her legs so she could kick.

“Stop that.”

“Let me go!” It was a hiss rather than a scream, her mouth still caked with mud so she couldn’t risk a deep breath in, and she coughed around a fragment of leaf. She threw herself this way and that, yanking at his hold while she tried to fumble for her phone, the pocket zip not quite big enough to get hold off with her restricted reach.

“What was that?” Stanley’s voice shot out, sharp as barbed wire, and the man behind her sighed.

“This is going to be strange. Hold on to me.”

He grunted as he yanked her up with him, slipping her out of the kayak like it was buttered, and plunged them into the dark water. Naomi closed her mouth tight, fighting the instinct to open it with a practised, steely determination, and forced her eyes open to see which way up the light came from.

The swamp waters were more than murky and her eyes radiated pain as the peat and dirt burned against them, but it was no worse than being in the ocean. She could do this. Training told her she could hold her breath easily for two minutes, harder for two and a half, and she could get up to the surface in that time.

At least she could until the man who had tossed them into the cold water grabbed her, bringing them together so his body was over hers. Naomi frowned at him, the light from above making him a floating shape above her, the edges of him indistinct and branching as she beat at his chest, tried to pull away.

He shook his head, hugging her against him as she thrashed harder. They were wasting time, and oxygen - he’d drown just as easily as she did. A hand found her face, turning it so they were looking at each other, then he crashed their lips together.

Her mouth opened in shock, the fright overruling her better judgement, but instead of water or his tongue she felt air rush into her mouth, the cool flash of it like a breeze from above had tumbled down with them.

Shaking, she grabbed a hold of him, gasping when he brought an arm behind her to press into the middle of her back, keep them wedged together. Her breathing came quicker, but he kept feeding her air, kept pouring it in with her tempo, and after a few freezing minutes the fear slowed like a faltering horse, edging down into curiosity.

The distant growl of a motor sounded overhead, and, blinking, Noami saw the shadow of the boat passing a couple of islands to their left, leaving a white trail in the water like a comet retreating. They’d be wide of her kayak, wouldn’t have seen it snug against the bog, though she noticed a something else in the swirling retreat, a glinting like frost.

That didn’t make sense.

The man tapped her back three times, drawing her attention, before he lifted his mouth from hers. She clamped her lips closed, unable to fight when he twisted them around so they were upright and shot them up to the surface.

She gulped air as he lifted her like she was a bag of flour, setting her on the edge of the boggy land, and then plonked himself next to her like they were pals at the swimming pool. This didn’t make sense. The swamp was meters deep, well over human height, but he was throwing her around like he had his feet planted. And it was freezing cold - her body rattled with shakes - but he was there like a sodden dog, barely a shiver.

He was bloody massive, too, now she was looking at him rather than trying to bite him: well past six feet and broad as a shire horse, he must have been sealed into whatever he was wearing because he was defined as a statue, torso rippling with muscle and arms as thick as boat ropes, the muscles flexing as he moved.

Blinking at him again, she saw he was in a ghillie suit or something similar, his whole body shaggy with weeds, and he sat with his elbows on the inside of his knees like an athlete. Whatever he wore was a deep, mossy green and dripping with the swamp water, rolling down it like sweat, and his head had tufts of fuzz and weeds that looked like hair if she squinted.

“What the fuck was that, then?” Not the best start to a conversation, certainly, but Naomi was working very hard at not reaching over and throttling her mystery assailant and once she rinsed the dirt out of her eyes so she could take him in properly it might still be on the cards.

“They carry guns. If they spotted you, they would’ve hurt you.” His voice was deep as the peat, a rumble like thunder over the swamp, and she scowled at him as she fished her water bottle out and washed her eyes. If there was a warmth in her chest, it was that of fury, of indignation, nothing more.

“It’s Caithness. Half the farmers have guns. None of them have dragged me into the water and used what, a re-breather? Scuba gear built in under that? Who are you with, anyway?”

“I’m animal protection.”

“Bullshit, that’s Morag Henderson out at Strathy. I have Gaelic lessons with her.”

“MI5.”

“They don’t lurk in our bogs and their vehicles are always a giveaway. They have the reinforced tyres. We know this because of the massive fucking nuclear power plant that’s being taken down.” She pointed off west to where Dounreay was being gradually decommissioned, which everyone in the county knew about or had been involved in for the last decade. At least. Her blood was fizzing hot, at war with her freezing skin, and her patience frothed into nothing as he blinked cow brown eyes at her like he was panicking. “Who are you?”

Naomi reached over to tug at his neck, the most common spot for a seam if this was a dry suit with some extra stuff folded in, so she could yank it off. Instead, she found only smooth lines, a throat that bobbed under her fingers as she felt around it, and skin as smooth as a trout, though warmer.

Her hand fell back as she stared at him, swallowing twice before she could speak again. She could salvage this. “What’s your name?”

“Hal. Harold, properly, but no one called me that.”

She didn’t know many Harold’s in Caithness, but he clearly wasn’t local. “Hal what?”

“Hal Flint.”

“What are you wearing?”

“Not a lot. I’d usually blush in the company of a lady.”

Naomi sat with that for a few beats, trying to balance things off in her mind. When that didn’t work, she tugged herself up into sitting on her knees, getting closer to Hal to inspect him. Swamp water squelched out of her ankle cuffs - the waterproofs tested a measure too far. “You talk like a man.”

He tilted his head to look at her. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

She laughed, not missing how he watched her inspect him. “I don’t know many people who look like you do, Hal. Is this a condition? I heard about someone in Florida who had something that made him grow bark. His whole torso got almost a tree trunk over it. Is that what you’re dealing with?”

“What’s your name? I’ve seen you in the swamp a lot.”

She clicked her teeth together at his deflection, but maybe he just wanted to know who was asking such blunt questions. “I’m Naomi Hawkins, I’m with the conservation team. Working to keep the swamp healthy. There’s been a lot of dead birds, and—”

“There’s a chemical dump happening. The excess from the new space port. You won’t be able to prove it, I suspect, but I’m looking at it, too.”

“Is that why you look green?” She winced as the words left her mouth, too late to take them back, and he laughed like ice cracking.

“Did you never read fairytales as a kid? You’re being very rude.”

“Oh, fuck off. The fae wouldn’t give a shit about bullets and a fair folk would just cover me with their clothe of mossy green like in the songs. I also suspect they wouldn’t kiss me.”

Hal nodded, giving a little shrug. “Sorry about that. It was the best way to get you air.”

“It worked, certainly. Not sure about best. Why did you pull me underwater?”

“I didn’t know if they’d be safe with you. They’ve been aggressive with men before, scaring them off, but two on one with a lady is different. I didn’t want to find out.”

“Who are you really?”

“People usually phrase that differently.” He looked at her properly now, those brown eyes inching over her like he was looking for something. She raised an eyebrow at him, regretting it when something trickled down from her hairline. Too sodden to even feel the cold now, she needed to get home and shower, as well as log her dead bird, but she didn’t want to lose Hal in the rush. “You’re going to get ill if you don’t get back.”

“Answer me.”

He sighed and half of the weeds on his face seemed to wobble like a fish’s whiskers. It would’ve been cute under other circumstances. “You won’t believe me if I tell you. No one but old Eoin does and I’m not sure he’s not half mad.”

“Eoin Muir?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m saner than he is, so try me.” That wasn’t fair. Old Eoin had been half a sheet to the wind since he came back from the army in his early thirties, but he was a good man. Just… twitchy. He lived deep into the swamp on what could sympathetically be called an island, though it was more just a bit of land that hadn’t been eaten by the water yet, thriving despite it all. He was, however, paranoid enough that everyone who knew him made noise as they approached. Just in case.

“I used to be a reporter. I was investigative, digging into land ownership and shell companies. It was just the usual money laundering shit, someone trying to dodge tax or hide assets prior to a company going to shit, so I thought. “

Naomi nodded; it seemed pretty standard fare. There was always someone in one of the old Estates trying to be fucking clever, hide what was being done to minimise tax or get things passed on to family without inheritance tax. Not that they couldn’t afford the tax, but it was the rich man’s meanness – a closed fist around every penny taken. Not a new story in the Highlands. “And?”

“Poked around the wrong place, got a couple of visits from heavies. Any good story has a little blood on it, I didn’t care about that, but when I came looking for evidence they. Well.” He sighed, shifting his arms so his hands were planted on the spongy ground, and he leaned his weight back on them. Plants unfurled from his hands to dip into the seeping water, entwining with the rough grass. “They called it a hunting accident, when they didn’t know if something was recording. Shot me right here.” He pointed to a spot on his chest, a little below the sternum. “Once they were comfortable that I wasn’t wired up, the act dropped, they went straight to sinking me. Weighted me down with sandbags and chucked me into the deeper parts. They changed it later, hid me better, but by that time it was too late to do anything.”

“How would you know that if you were dead?” He would have been dead. A shot there, just below the heart, bursting the diaphragm. That was a sure thing. No rush down the A9 in blues and sirens, he’d bleed out in minutes. Or drown in his own blood. She shivered, swallowing a twist of bile hot in the back of her throat.

“I don’t know. In the while since it happened, I’ve asked a lot of questions. Why I didn’t just go bubbling down into the water. Why they shot me rather than just suing me into oblivion like the fuckers usually do. What I am now.”

“How do you mean?” He looked at her and she ducked her head, shaking it a little. “You talk like a human, you look human shaped if a bit…”

“Rugged?”

“I was going to say wild, something like that, yeah.” Naomi sighed, covering her eyes with her hands. “I’m trying to work out what this is without freaking out at you. That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Most people run screaming; you’re doing remarkably well.”

“Is that cause you grab them out of their kayak and snog them?”

Hal laughed, shaking his head. The plants wobbled with his movement. “Can’t say I’ve done that a lot. You would be the first. In this form, at least. Kissed plenty when I still had normal lips, but these are a little more direct.” He traced a finger along the deep green lines at his mouth, thicker than most she had seen and wider too, like a trout.

That’s one term for it, Naomi thought, though she kept the words in. “No one else has been at risk of getting shot, then?”

“You don’t exactly blend in. Most of the others I’ve seen are in fishing gear or camo. They’re not as… vibrant as you.” He sighed, looking down at her with those eyes that reminded her of wild things – stags about to fight, or a kestrel hovering before a dive. “And it’s two on one. Not to be grim, but getting shot might be the least bad option there. I knew what they did to me. No saying they couldn’t do worse, is there?”

Naomi again shivered and wasn’t sure if it was the cold or the threat. “I’ve a better idea of the swamp than most of them. I’ve been around here since I was wee ‘ain. On and off.” Mostly off, from the age of fifteen, but he’d have no way of knowing that. Small places never forgot your past, it was a boon and a bane, but he’d no idea of who she was, clearly. “Thank you, though. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“What, like bring me some potting powder?”

“Oh, fuck off.” She laughed, and it twisted into a coughing fit, her chest clenching with each rip through her.

“You’re shaking.” Hal set a wet arm over her shoulder, pulling her closer. Was it the cold, the fright, or the memory, that made her tremble? Naomi wasn’t sure it mattered anymore. Her feet were numb, her legs aching with the cold down to the bones, and if she kept up like this, she was sure to get pneumonia or something equally ridiculous. 

“I’m fine, just need to get warmed up. It’s honestly not even worth going back yet. I wanted to see if there were more dead birds deeper in and it’s still light.”

“You’ll catch your death, don’t be foolish.”

She frowned at him. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, oh man of the swamp. I’m the conservationist here.”

Hal sighed, leaning back again and drawing her with him, scooping her against his chest like she was made of smoke. “Come with me.”

“My kayak! Let me at least get my bag.”

He paused, leaning to one side to tug her kayak onto the island, plucking her bag up and sitting it on her crooked legs. “Hold on to that. I’ll take you somewhere you can get warmed up, then come back for more bodies for you, alright?”

“Sure.” Letting him take her deeper into the swamp didn’t seem the most sensible choice she’d ever made, but neither was freezing herself into days off because she got ill, so she rested against his large chest and tried to ignore how the plants in his skin seemed to stroke her.

~

When she awoke it was dark, and the flickering of a fire told her she was indoors. Sitting up, Naomi found herself on a bed, a coarse wool blanket around her like a shroud. She was in a croft house by the rough look of the walls and the open rafters above her, close by a fire that was banked with burning peat, the rich scent a giveaway.

The house was crowded – seats and stools jostled together with fishing equipment and tools, and a stack of pre-cut peat and kindling sat propping up the opposite wall. Drying herbs hung in bundles strung from the rafters above, and a string of apples, like the old women used to keep over the winter, was strung above the small fireplace. It was like stepping back in time and her throat went dry as she groped around the bed for her satchel.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, Naomi Hawkins.” Eoin Muir’s voice sounded from the opposite corner. “Especially gallivanting around with a fae.”

Naomi jumped, wiping her eyes before looking again. Eoin was sat in a high-backed chair, as far away from her as he could be, and shrouded in shadows, which she’d appreciate as considerate if she wasn’t so befuddled. He was swaddled up as well, a padded red jacket on his upper half that was almost as bright as his hair, and a blanket around his legs that looked to be the same as she’d woken under. “What?”

“The Ghillie Dhu brought you here, left you with me to get warm again. The fire’s not good for him. He’s a man of the water and mud really, but he was worried the swamp would take you too. S’a poor way for you to go, lass.” He leaned forward, clicking a lamp so they had light to speak by. He must have been sitting in the dark so not to wake her up, a thoughtful action that didn’t quite make her feel better.

Naomi’s teeth ground as he looked at her, the mention of the swamp taking her too sharp for her just wakening. “He’s called Hal, or so he says. I don’t think he’s fae.”

“What else gets up again after being shot?”

He had a point. “Precious few things. How long has he been here?”

Eoin sucked air through his teeth, deepening the wrinkles around his mouth. He had the permanent farmer’s tan of working outside, his face etched deep by the wind and driving cold, but he was a kind man when the fear wasn’t up in him. “Four years, give or take. I overlapped with him when I was fishin’. We shared a spot. Thought he was the enemy at first, all that skin looking like a suit, but nah. Had to be sure, like, I stabbed him, but he just took the knife out and gave it back to me.”

“That was a bit rude, Eoin.”

“Aye.” He wrinkled his nose in acknowledgment. “He was nice enough not to say so, but he was wary of me for a bit. We’ve come to an agreement now.”

“Oh?”

“We overlap a little. He’s good with the animals, doesn’t scare them like we do. He leaves me be while I do my fishing or hunting and I share when I have something good, whisky or chocolate. Works so far. I don’t think he eats like we do. I reckon the swamp feeds him. But I don’t rightly know, given this is unusual territory for everyone.”

“You can say that again.” Naomi swung her legs off the bed, yanking her feet back up again when they touched the cold floor – her boots must be drying somewhere because it was bare soles that discovered Eoin’s floor was still bare slabs, not even any reeds to keep the October chill off.

“Thought you’d warm up quicker that way. He took them off, but nothing else. Very careful to stress you shouldn’t be scared.” Eoin bit his thin lip before he spoke, looking at the fire rather than her. “Did something happen on the water?”

“Not really. He grabbed me and dragged me under when there were two guys going past with something in their boat. I thought they were poachers, but he seemed to think they were other. Worse. Said they had guns and I think he was right, they were certainly up to something.” She sighed, spotting her satchel at the end of the bed. “I was looking for dead birds, to see if I could trace what’s getting in their stomachs. Have you been seeing them too?”

“Naomi.” He said it like a rebuke, her name suddenly a sin, and her stomach twisted tight.

“Don’t.”

“Is it not enough your granny saw both your folks go into the water without you, too?”

“That was a car crash. It’s totally different.” And her granny was in Florida, enjoying a sunshine community and working her way through the newly widowed when it suited her. She did not need to be worrying about things in her retirement.

“No different if you wind up at the bottom of the flow with weeds about your neck.”

“I’m good at what I do. And what happened to my parents was a terrible accident, but it wasn’t the swamp’s fault they crashed, or that the water took them. It’s what nature does, you know that.” Goosebumps rippled across her skin, prickling every point even under the blanket. The accident hadn’t been properly explained, but she couldn’t resent the wilderness for being wild. She understood that now. “She knows I meant to come back here, she stayed over there. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“There is when someone’s dumping stuff in the water. Chemicals, trails, it’s all bleeding back to the same place.”

Naomi tugged the blanket around her, patience dwindling along with the warmth. “What do you mean?”

“That new thing they’re buildings, the rocket place. That’s got a lot of money behind it, but in the wrong way. The contract went for too little money for them to do it well.” Eoin spat on the floor, shaking his head. “I know military set ups, even going by the numbers for old ones when I served. There isn’t enough money being spent for what needs to be done, but there’s money in the background.”

“You think they’re cutting corners.”

“I knew they were when the numbers for the tender went in the paper, but that big landowner is sniffing around like a dog near meat. If they’re not spending the money where they should, it has to be going somewhere.”

Naomi sat with that for a moment. It sounded deeply conspiracy theory, but there were always rumours of such things going on. Backhand contracts and handshakes under the table were no stranger up here than down in London, though there was less publicity around them. “You have any idea where?”

“I ain’t out here to be finding out. I just know a setup when I see it. No one’s going to believe it from me, anyway, I’m just an old stag out in the swamp.”

She opened her mouth to disagree, but he waved her off. “If you see anything odd, could you let me know?”

“Odd like what?”

“I’ve been collecting the dead birds as I find them, to make sure we get autopsies done so we can prove it’s to do with whatever’s happening. Correlation isn’t causation, but it’s harder to hide from raw data than just an accusation. If there’s anything else like that, could you let me know?”

“There’s been a lot of dead fish, too. Up near the salmon pool, if you go there in the light, there’s about fifty of them just now. Maybe more, maybe less, depending on what’s been eating them.”

Naomi winced at the thought, but most of the time it was smaller predators like foxes. They wouldn’t be passing into human consumption. “Right, I will do. Thanks. I should probably get going.”

“Your kayak’s at the door, and I’ll help you get out. It’s precious late. Better to have two sets of eyes than one.”

“I dealt with alligators in Florida, Eoin. I think I can handle the occasional wild cat or deer.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about, lass, and you know it.”

“No one is going to mistake me for deer, I—” The words died in her throat as she remembered Hal’s story. “Fine, I won’t reject hospitality. If it’s not a bother you to paddle with me, that would be lovely.”

Eoin raised a brow at her but let her changing tune slide, nodding once. “Your boots are by the fire, along with the socks. Get yourself together and I’ll wrap up.”

“What time is it, anyway?”

“Bit past midnight, but I think we’ll be safe enough from witches.”

Naomi’s stomach dropped, heavy as a stone in the swamp, and she fumbled for her phone. It was still in her pocket but flat as a brick, the screen flashing briefly into life before it blanked out again. “Shit. I was meeting someone hours back. She’ll be sick with worry.”

“I haven’t heard anyone out looking for you, but it’s a big area. Do you want to call them off mine?”

“I don’t know her number off by heart, but thanks.”

“S’alright,” He stood, ambling into the darker part of the small house to dig out his waterproofs and Naomi took the chance to slip from under the blanket, padding over the cold floor to scoop up her boots and socks. Plonking herself back down on the bed, she yanked them on - the material scratchy from peat water and drying without a proper wash, but her feet were mercifully warmer once she got them into the boots.

“Have you been speaking to Hal since he got here?” she called as she tied her laces.

“Took a bit of a break after I stabbed him, but once that was forgiven, aye.”

Naomi kept her immediate response to a raised eyebrow, sitting up on the bed again. “Do you think you could get him to come and speak to me? Whatever’s going on down here, he’s clearly got a good eye on it. We could use more data.”

“How do you categorise data from a fae creature, exactly, on your forms?” Eoin came back towards the fire, legs swaddled in thick wader’s trousers that went up most of his chest, held in place by elastic braces wider than Naomi’s thumb.

“We’re not just paper pushers, there’s real science in this. The more dead birds we have, the more we can make folk listen to us. It would be better to know where the chemical was coming from, but we can start basic and work forward from there.”

“And if you could find the leak, or spill?”

“We’d look to deal with it however was appropriate. Stop the leak if there was something doing that, though I doubt there’s anything being pumped through the swamp. If it’s a spill, emulsify the chemical as much as we can and then nullify what we can. If it was something like oil, we’d get hair to mop it up, but I don’t think it’s that.”

“Wrong texture,” Eoin agreed, his coat bundled around his shoulders. “Let’s go, here.”

He passed her a massive rectangular torch to her; the sort found in army supply stores. It dropped like a swallow swooping, her hand reflexively tightening around the body. “Bloody hell, that’s hefty.”

“Meant to survive hurricanes.”

“If we’ve got them in Caithness, you’ve got bigger problems,” she muttered, adjusting her grip on the torch so she wouldn’t drop the slippery metal.

“Aye, that’s fair. Come on.”

~

The trip back through the swamp was uneventful, the occasional startled deer or hooting owl the only real distraction as they slipped across the surface. Eoin’s kayak was a dark green as an alligator’s head and every time it broke the water too loudly, it made her jump.

“What makes you think he’s the Ghillie Dhu?” she asked after the third flinch, too tired to keep jumping at imagined snouts.

“Hm?”

“Hal, you said you thought he was the man of the wilds. Isn’t that one meant to be a bit mean? From the stories I remember him being kicked out of the hills because he couldn’t behave himself.”

“Depends which stories you read. My ma’ always told the story of the Ghillie Dhu guiding children out of the bogs and seeing witches off in the night. Stopping kelpies eating more than they should. This one seems like he would do that.”

Naomi thought back to the deep voice and the surprising warmth of his lips on hers under the water. Those eyes as brown as the peat. “Maybe so.”

They reached the casting off point with little other chatter, Eoin insisting on walking her to her vehicle on the passing place up at the top. Mercifully, it was a clear night, so they could see the track with just the fat moon above them, though the coolness bit at Naomi’s back as she hefted the kayak into the back of her beaten up old pickup, the bed otherwise full of her equipment.

“Thanks for your help. Do you want a lift back closer?” she asked, slipping her satchel into the passenger seat.

“No, I’ll be fine with the torch. Thank you though. Drive safe and head straight home, you hear?”

“Sure thing. Night Eoin.”

“Night.” He bustled back down the track and Naomi waited until she heard him paddling off before she drove away. Ideally, she should go past the office and drop the bird off into the fridge, keep it fresh, but going into the office this late on would seem pretty irregular.

Maybe it could just stay in the pickup overnight. It would be cool enough.

She drove home carefully given how tired she was, the roads thankfully quiet except for the common grazing sheep, who knew no fear and did not move away when she approached. An occasional deer loomed in the scrub, the round suns of their eyes flashing like ghostly orbs, but none of them bolted for the headlights and she made it safely back.

The cottage was cold, the evening heating long since gone off, and Naomi plugged her phone in to charge with shaking fingers. It would take a while to resurrect, and she used that time to hop in the shower, weaving a little under the water to coax the bits of vegetation and grit out of her hair. The same flaxen blonde as her mother, it was always catching the sun or spiderwebs, and she usually kept a hat handy to keep the worst of it out. Not that it would have helped this afternoon.

She shivered despite the hot water, her stomach tightening at the memory of Hal. Her mind itched at the memory of him: logically, he didn’t make sense.

There was no way someone got shot and come back as a swamp… thing. Naomi didn’t want to call him a creature, because he was clearly, or had clearly been, human. But he didn’t seem to be human now. Humans didn’t breathe underwater, or have skin that teemed with plant life, its curious little tendrils stroking gently over land and company alike.

But even if he was a human with something extra going on, he was kind. He’d kept her from being spotted and clearly had a good read on the men she’d seen. He’d been a journalist, he said, so she leaned towards trusting his take on that. And if he was hanging out in the swamp long term to hide his unusual features, then he would have time to build up an idea of who was coming and going. It might be worth getting more time with him just to see what he was tracking.

She should introduce him to Stevie as well. If he was something more unusual than human, surely she’d be able to figure out just what that was. Though, as Eoin said, how did you enter ‘gathered information from the fairies’ on a peer reviewed paper?

There was a deeper emotion swirling its way down the plughole, though she wasn’t sure how to parse that one out. The swamp had taken her parents. It had not taken Hal. He, instead, had been reformed, made into whatever he was now. If she believed his story.

Was there something different in the way they’d been killed? They both died in violence, though Hal’s was crueller. Was it intent? Her parents had been in a crash, taken by the water because their car had sunk into the cold, dark blackness and not been found for days. Sunk, like Hal, but without the meanness of murder. There were lots of fairytales about wrong souls coming back, plenty of stories about vengeful ghosts, but did ghosts often kiss you to give you air?

Naomi traced her lips under the warm water, remembering the pressure of Hal’s against them. How large his hands were, so sure in his grip on her as he plucked her out of the kayak. A deep sigh pulled steam into her lungs, as good as a breath under the water, and she tried to ignore the tingling between her hips. She could have died tonight; she shouldn’t be thinking about Hal doing more than stripping off her boots.

She wanted to, though – those thick arms had already been wrapped around her once, had handled her firmly but gently, like he knew how to be careful. It wouldn’t be much of a long step for him to be gentle in other areas, too. Naomi bit her lip, turning the water off before she got caught up in her imaginings. This was foolish.

~

In her dream Naomi knew it was a dream, because the water was warm against her thighs and that never happens in Caithness, even at the height of the summer.

The sun was bright overhead, the sort of clear day that promises freewheeling birds and a salt breeze carried in from the ocean, and she found herself reclined on a patch of bogland, her legs in the water and her head propped on a folded-up jacket.

“You should be more careful in the swamp.” A voice like gravel spoke from the edge of the island and she sat up, finding Hal propped up at the side of her knees, his arms crossed to lean his weight on. His body was still below the water, so she could only see from his shoulders up.

“I like the swamp. I think it likes me too, as much as something so ancient can.”

“How would you know?”

“How would you?” She pressed her knee to his shoulder, letting her leg find the length of his torso. “I thought about you in the shower.”

“Did you now?” The tease is his voice felt real, those brown eyes bright in the sunshine. He lifted his shoulder, setting an elbow on her knee. She let him push a little, so her legs parted just enough for him to set his elbow between her knees instead and rest his chin on her thigh.

“I thought about your hands. And your lips.”

“The stolen kiss.”

“Yes.” She was almost breathless, watching him as she watched her. The air felt like it was about to snow, the heavy crackle of something between them going unspoken. “If we were to have another one, I’d want it to be given, not taken.”

He nodded, slipping his face down to push her knee further out, and water lapped higher up her thigh. The thin plants of his skin caressed her, made heat flush up her neck with how soft but certain they were. Pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee, he pulled her a little closer, his hands firm at the back of her thighs. “I’d take whatever you’re willing to give.”

“Go on then.” She opened her legs more, tilting her hips in invitation. He pulled her almost to the edge of the island, gripping her ass and kissing along her thigh on one side as the plants stroked the other, the mildness of their cool touch at war with the heat of his mouth and her core. There was no underwear to pull free, in this dream, and when his lips found her she was wet and needy for him, gasping as he licked along the length of her.

Her head fell back as the plants soothed her, stroked her, opening her just a little more so his tongue could dip into her waiting heat and linger, testing her skin. She sighed as he pressed in, deeper than she expected a tongue could go, and one of his hands settled on top of her hips, a thumb dipping in to find her clit.

Rolling her hips in encouragement, she gripped the spongy material of the island, moaning openly as his tongue continued into her - pressing her open with eager hunger while his thumb worked her clit.

“You taste like sunshine,” he said, leaning up to suck her clit while his fingers moved into her heat instead. “So good for me.”

“You feel good.” Naomi was pinned in his grip, the weight of his body against her leg, but she wouldn’t have moved, anyway. His fingers were thick and deep inside her, rushing over her g-spot with a delicious friction that was only heightened by all the little touches of the plants around her opening, the pressure of his lips on her clit as he sucked and rolled it between them. It was overwhelming in the sweetest way, winding her up tighter until she arched into him as his fingers sped up. “I’m close.”

“Hold on to me,” Hal said, tongue splaying hard against her clit to rub back and forth. “Come nice and hard for me, yeah?”

He sealed his lips around her, sucking tight on the bundle of nerves as his fingers plunged deeper into her, bullying over her sweet spot while his other arm held her tighter against him, leaving her shaking. Naomi moaned loudly as he pushed her over the edge, upper body trembling as she fell apart underneath him.

Greedily, he pulled her closer, keeping an arm wrapped around the base of her back as he licked up her release, kissing and mouthing over her thighs and hips until she was pulled from the island and sank into the cold water.

~

The morning came with Naomi sticky under her sheets, stumbling into the bathroom to shower again. Standing under the warm water, she let it pour over her face, willing the memories to wash away with her sweat. Sex dreams were fine – normal, even – but sex dreams about Hal were…. Something too complicated to parse out right now.

Washing her hair, she chose the most scented perfume she could, the same with her body wash, scrubbing herself with it like the cloak of scent would brush off the thoughts of the swamp. And Hal.

Dressing, she got ready for work early, determined to log the bird and get a report submitted about what she’d seen last night. Someone about in the swamp was not solid evidence, but it could be the start of a pattern if she logged the data.

And she might do as Eoin suggested and investigate the salmon pool. If it was nothing, then it was just a wasted couple of hours, and if there were dead fish, then getting them out of the system and limiting potential contamination would be better done now. It would be reasonable to log that as locally gathered information, rather than anything else. No one would be surprised about her bumping into old Eoin out in the water.

She’d leave Hal out of it, somehow. At least until she could talk to Stevie. How did you categorise a swamp man?

Sighing, she bundled her spare waterproofs into a bag, wrapping herself in her autumn jacket. Caithness went through about three different seasons every autumn, there was no way to know if it would be balmy or Baltic, so having a jacket with a removable fleece inside covered a lot of options.

Locking up, she was clearing notifications on her phone as she went when she noticed the cover at the back of her truck was uneven – one link misapplied, so a little triangle of material poked up like a raised eyebrow.

She hadn’t done that last night. Eoin had helped her make sure things were strapped down, so her kayak was safe. A chill ran through her like she was back in the cold water of her dream, sinking below, and she walked slowly around the truck to check for anything else out of place. The dirt was wet near the back, still cold and partly mud like the morning dew had gathered there, and there was a smattering of dead leaves, but they could have come off her tyres to be fair. Going around out in the wilds tended to get the vehicle mucky.

Naomi took a deep breath to settle her fluttering stomach, reaching over to grip the side of the tarp. It wasn’t likely to be an animal; they lacked the thumbs to redo the fastenings. Which made it either a threat or someone fucking around, and she wasn’t in the mood for either.

Yanking the cover back, the smell hit her before the sight, wafting up in a curl of putrefaction that clung to the back of her throat like cigarette smoke. She turned to retch up her breakfast before she dared to look over the lip of the pickup again.

Once she was done throwing up, hands planted on her knees, she rooted in her spare bag for water, swirling it around her mouth to get rid of the taste before she faced whatever was in there. Taking a couple of steps back so she didn’t get a face full of rot again, she stood up, the back of her hand to her mouth, tugging the flap open again.

It curled over itself with a wet slap and she found her truck was stuffed with dead birds. There must have been thirty of them, easily, layered like Christmas turkeys in a shop window, all of them with a small tag showing an address, or coordinates, the neat handwriting certainly not Eoin’s – he scribbled like a doctor who had too much coffee.

“What the fuck?” she murmured, peering at the scrum of death. Most of them were pretty fresh; their eyes were sunk in, but that was all, the legs not peeling, their chest still rigid. Gulls and crows and lapwings all sat abreast with one another, and it took an eye-watering moment before she spotted a note stood up on her kayak, knocked over with her rush to open the flap.

Thought these would help with the data, have noted date and location when able. Your items are inside kayak so not to get wet. Would like to speak more. Hal.

She blinked at it for longer than was reasonable, her mind struggling to match up what he’d written with what was there. He’d found her a bushel of dead birds, with tracking data, for them to examine. It was fantastic! And deeply gross because she would need to scrub that back with enough lemon juice and washing up liquid to make it shine before the smell went away. But this was a goldmine, data wise.

How did he know where she lived, though? Maye he’d asked Eion if they’d overlapped n the swamp as Eoin made his way home. That would make something like sense. And was more reassuring than any of the other options running through her mind currently.

Pushing the thought away, she dug her satchel out of the guts of the kayak, adding her lapwing to the pile of the dead, and bounded into the cab, aiming for the office.

The road along to the conservation office could sympathetically be described as in need of love, the surface closer to a farm track than tarmac with potholes you could bathe a dog in looming every few yards. It was a mercy her beaten up old truck had the suspension of a native creature, rocking along the bumps rather than jostling her head into the roof, but she still had to slow down more than her excitement wanted her to. She’d get no benefit from Hal’s… gift? If she broke everything up by rushing,

Still, it felt like years for her to make it along the track towards the converted building, surrounded by ‘temporary’ static caravans that had more lichen than some bridges around here. Some of them still bore the sun-bleached scars of old posters and boards, studded with holes in the walls from screws being removed.

The conservation centre had once been a local school, close to the flow country but not on top of it, and changes in the local demographic had meant it was now more useful for local kids to go to the main primary school in Thurso. It was a bit of a commute, but nothing in Thurso was going to flood like here could, and the risks on the road were less than those of the building eventually being eaten by the swamp. After that they’d been empty for years before it was rearranged into the conservation team’s base and renovated with new kit for their efforts. The investment had come from several sources, not all of them entirely loved by the local community, but it let them have a working base and the grants they got after that were what paid most of their salaries.

No one else was in yet, the car park deserted, and she used this to her advantage, backing up so she was near the door and could transport her dead little bounty into the office quicker. Hopping out of the cab, she left it idling so she could move it once she was done, shifting the birds into the cooled lab section three at a time so she didn’t dribble fluids everywhere as she went.

It took her a while, her hip aching as she opened the chill door with it each time her hands were full, but she had them in place and vaguely arranged by date of death in double quick time. She’d compile as much of a repot as she could leave it there for discussion, then see how they were doing for a pattern forming. Closing the bodies in the cooler environment, she went back to move her truck.

Sliding into the seat, she pulled it lazily around to her favourite parking spot, three away from the door so Chris could get the best spot and not risk his car being dinged by anyone else’s doors, then killed the engine. Sinking her head onto the steering wheel, she let out a long sigh as she tried to come up with a good reason for all the birds. Now they were inside, they were undeniable, and though it was useful, she was going to get grilled.

Maybe that could be her excuse for why she’d accidentally stood Stevie up last night - she’d found a stash of these and got talking to Eoin about it. That would be a good excuse to look at the salmon pool, too. It gave her an excuse to get them out and on the water again, so she could see if he was telling the truth. And maybe bump into Hal. That would be the easiest way to introduce Stevie to him without sounding totally insane as well.

A knock at her window made her scream, jumping out of her skin as a strange man peered at her through the glass. “Are you open?” His accent was all Edinburgh, thick as a crumpet soggy with butter, and his eyes were sharp as a buzzard in the wild. He was tall, and bundled up in a thick hunting jacket that was buttoned up against the morning chill, and looming at her fucking door like she was a ticket office.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Clive Redgrave, I’m here with the MoonScape group?”

MoonScape was the company building the spaceport. They were due to be coming to the conservation team to discuss getting sustainability reports updated for their continued development, the building of the different platforms now at the checking stage where the Council would come and inspect them. The previous reports were nearly four years old, from when the original planning applications had bounced between local authority and local government, then up to national government, before they got approval. The folk Eoin had mentioned.

They were also not due until next week. “You’re early.”

“I know we’re not due until nine, but it’s not too soon, is it?” He checked his watch – probably a struggle to raise his hand with one that big – frowning slightly.

“It’s just before eight, which would be prompt, but you’re actually a week early.” She opened her door, nudging him out of the way so she could lock the truck up. “We’re meeting on 3rd November, it’s still October. Been jet-setting so much you’ve lost a week?” It wasn’t a particularly sharp barb, meant as gentle ribbing, though Naomi didn’t miss the way his ears tinged red.

“I must have been. Well, this is a pain. I was counting on a lift back from one of the other parties.”

“You didn’t check in with them?” Naomi closed the truck door, going around the back to grab her equipment.

“No, evidently I should have.”

She took mercy on him, his discomfort rising like a tide with the blush on his face. He could have been handsome if he didn’t look like he’d wandered out of a grousing party painting from the old estates. “How did you get here? I didn’t pass anyone on the track up.”

“I walked the path over the bracken. It wasn’t so bad in wellies.” He pointed to his green wellington boots – Hunter’s, she’d bet, the perennial rich guy’s choice. They were good boots, to be fair.

“That’s quite the early morning trek. Where are you staying?”

“The Big House Hotel, a couple of miles out west.”

She whistled, shaking her head at him – easily a five-mile walk across rough ground, longer by road. He was either a fitness enthusiast or a masochist. “That’s a good morning walk, aye.” She pressed her lips together, eyeing the office. “If you give me a minute, and don’t mind the smell, I could give you a lift back out? No point in you doubling the walk when you didn’t plan to.”

“That would be very generous of you, given my imposition. I don’t know how I’ve got that wrong in my diary.” He shook his head ruefully, flashing her a smile that would be charming in a bar or restaurant but seemed more sheepish here.

“Is it you usually in charge of your diary? If someone else is filling in for you, it could just be a slip, though if it’s been your whole reason for travel that’s a bit more of a pain.”

“No, I was due to be up here for a few weeks to work on the project anyway, so there’s no time wasted, at least.”

Naomi nodded, looking him over again. The mud on his boots seemed fresh. “Well, that’s good then. Come inside for a minute and then we can head off.”

He dutifully followed her into the building while she ran off a note to Stevie and left Chris a similar one saying who she was with and where she was going. A little looser than usual staff protocol when going off with an outsider, but no one else was here to check in with.

“You must be busy.” Clive’s voice sounded from further away than he should be, perking her ears up, and she found he was looking into the lab. “That’s a lot of dead animals.”

“Yeah, I found a bunch yesterday. There’s a lot of dead fish as well, but I need a hand collecting them.”

“Is that what they have you doing, going in with nets to fish out the dead? I always thought conservationism was more about living things.”

“Ideally, yes.” She tried not to clench her jaw, deliberately opening her mouth so her teeth wouldn’t grind. “But when something is poisoning them, we need to find out why, so that means a lot of corpses sometimes.”

He mulled her words over like he was tasting wine, eyebrows up. “I suppose that’s right. Do you know what’s causing it?”

“Not yet. Some locals suspect a chemical spill, but we can’t go on hunches. We need to do checks on the bodies and see what it is. It’s usually more than one thing as well, plastics mixing with food scarcity was the big thing a few years ago.”

“How grim.” He shook his head, coming back to her. “You must get a bit sick of wading out to pull them in?”

“There are worse things than being out on the water.”

He hummed, glancing out of the large windows out across the flow. “Of course, you wouldn’t live up here and not have a love of the country. It’s so beautiful.”

She could almost mistake it for flirting, how his smile slipped out easily again, but she wasn’t going to play that game. “We’re very fortunate. It’s why the Council takes things like sustainability reports so seriously. Come on, let’s get you back into the warm.”

He followed her out to her truck, sliding into the passenger seat with the easy practice of someone used to farm vehicles. “Did you grow up rural?” It was a daft question given his accent, that was city through and through, but maybe he’d been out in the wilds before.

“I was up in Skye most of the summers. My grandparents lived up there before they passed. It’s not as wild as here, but I got an appreciation for the wide open spaces. We used to come along the top of the county a lot, especially to the caravan park out at Bettyhill. I saw lots of Sutherland on long walks or adventures out in the car.”

“Sounds ideal. Lots of kids loved going to stay out west. I can see why you did the walk in that case.” She started the engine, glad the dead bird smell at least seemed limited to the back.

“And how about you? That accent sounds like it should be local, but I thought I heard a twang of American inside.”

Naomi tried not to wince. “It’s local enough. I grew up here most of my life, then I studied all over. I was in Florida for about five years, give or take, so I picked up a bit of a twang, yeah.”

“It’s nice. I didn’t expect those two to roll together so well.” Well, that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but a smooth line.

“Thanks, I think. So, how about you? That accent’s pure plum jam, but you’re not as soft handed as most of the shooting parties we get up here.” She nodded to his hands, neatly in place on his knees, and he was good-natured enough to laugh.

“I’m Scottish, but I was in the states for a while as well.”

“Holidays?”

“Harvard. I did my degree over there. Always came back home for the holidays, though.”

Naomi gave an exaggerated whistle, suitably impressed. “Very nice. You haven’t got a stitch of the accent.” 

He gave an apologetic shrug. “I never learned to stamp mine down, and being the posh Brit had its uses. Diffused a lot of bar fights by someone thinking daddy’s money would sue them. Not that my old man would have spent a penny on anything other than private dental to fix it, but they don’t know that.”

“You don’t look like you got into a lot of bar fights.”

“No?”

“Nose is too straight; someone would absolutely smash that. Pretty chap like you, the face is always gonna be a target.”

“Get into many fights yourself? Sounds like you have the process down pretty well.”

“I wrestled more boys than gators, yeah. But that’s not too unusual growing up a stranger, is it? Your accent makes you a target, you learn to swing a punch. It’s the same for lads.”

“I wish I’d known you back in the US. You could have saved me some bar fights.”

Naomi snorted a laugh, rolling her eyes at him. “Save the smooth moves for Chris. He’s the one you’ll need to convince about the reports.”

He scoffed. “This isn’t work chat. I’m a week too early for that. Honestly, I’m just glad of the company. I knew it was remote up here, but I think I’ve only seen estate staff for the last three days and they’re too busy with work to really speak.”

“Well, if you’re cutting through the swamp for everything, it’s not exactly metropolitan. There’s a few people live in there still, but it’s mostly wild. And dead, in certain parts, just now.”

“That sounds like something we should zone in on as well. The ecological impact is something the Council has us by the balls on, so if we could show we were being proactive, it’d get us points.”

“That’s one way to look at it. Could try to get some good PR as well, show you’re thinking about us long term rather than just the shareholders?” She glanced over at him, noting how he held a hand to his chest in mock offence.

“You wound me. Are we really thought so bad? We set up the public fund for local groups to use.”

Naomi sighed, pushing the air out of her cheeks. “That’s a complicated thing to ask, Clive. Do you want the official answer or the real one?”

“Give me an answer that’s a week early.” That smile was just a touch sharper, some bite in the flash of teeth, and oh no, that made him cute. At least it was a short drive.

“The money’s great and those who get to use it will appreciate it. It’s a very short leash, though, and while the local parish is getting something out of it, no one else is. Which leaves them to focus on the negatives. More tourism clogging up already neglected roads, more commercial vehicles adding to the potholes, more noise, more risk if things don’t go as they should…”

“But they usually do. We haven’t had any crashes so far.”

She raised a brown at him. “You haven’t had any launches so far, either.”

He laughed, his grin ticking up at one side. It made his face open a little, and Naomi was sure this was a bad idea. She should get him back to the hotel and dump his ass so she could focus on being distracted by Hal the swamp man and not complicate work matters. Why was she being like this? She’s barely even had time to think about making a dating profile with how busy she was at work, now she was going moon-eyed over a cute posh boy and what might be a fairy. Certainly not a normal dating match. Fuck. “Okay, yes, that’s a fair point. But do we really seem so awful to the locals? The contact on the ground said we were pretty alright.”

His words brought her out of her internal panic and she gave a non-committal shrug. “You’re considered better than the landlords, that’s not quite the same as good.”

“Shit.” Clive sat back in his seat, shaking his head. “We’ll need to do something about that, I don’t want people feeling this is like the clearances again. We’re limited in what we can share, sure, that’s the nature of defence contracts, but I don’t want us to seem… alien to the land.”

“That’s more touchy-feely than I expected for a spaceport. Aren’t you meant to be the bright new future, leaving the rest of us behind?” It was a little mean, she knew, to use the words of the local newspaper on him, but that had been the local view.

“I don’t want that. We don’t want that, I should say, certainly any of the main development group really don’t. I know there was controversy about the location being so close to the flow country, but we don’t want to be Dounreay or something else tainted with local disdain.” He noticed her raised eyebrow and ploughed on. “Yes, of course there’ll be jobs, and the monetary scheme, but I want us to be more than that.”

“Why?” She could only glance at him, the road too uneven to really lean in and see if the anxiety in his voice was also in his eyes.

“This is a long-term project, maybe the sort of thing that will change the world. Sure, we’re only at the beginning, but imagine the things we learn here getting used by NASA, or working in with one of the manned missions. Imagine kids from around here getting to be part of the planning for how we explore the universe. That’s got to be worth more than some backhanders and people skipping retirement to get their own shell company and ‘consult’ for the next five years.”

“That’s dangerously close to idealistic.”

“Says the conservationist,” he shot back, smile loud in his voice.

“It’s in my job description. I have to run on hope and soggy boots. Your views seem more suited to my work than corporate development.”

“We weren’t always business executives, you know. I’m a scientist at heart, and most of the primary team were. Sure, we have some development guys on the board, we have to for the finance side. But it’s not the heart of the company. Most of us are still the geeks in school dreaming about going to Mars.”

Naomi hummed at that, keeping her immediate reply – that fucking off to Mars just left the mess of Earth for the rest of them to clean up – behind her teeth. “That’s sweet, but the Ministry of Defence isn’t as fluffy. Gonna need something more humanising to get away from the idea of rockets falling from the sky to concuss our wildlife.”

Clive laughed. “We should speak about it at the meeting. I like the idea of us getting involved in investigating the chemicals, or seeing if we can fund some of the investigation at least. We can show it’s local care and looking to protect the site, signal that we value both.”

They were approaching the long drive to the Big House Hotel – a former Estate house that had been converted into an exclusive boutique hotel, the sort that did haggis sides for everything and had taxidermized animals as decoration. They even made their own whisky, the casks often laid out in a long line like soldier back from war as they got rotated.

This one was owned by the same landowners that were working with MoonScape, so no doubt he was getting a good rate, if not a free stay. The access track was rugged but more cared for than the surrounding roads, and the cool rush of gravel under the tyres was like the tide crashing against the shore.

“I think that could be good,” Naomi said after a few minutes, nodding to herself. “You’ll have an uphill battle, but if you can show you’re trying, there’s goodwill to be found.”

They pulled up into the parking stretch, a brighter gravel than the track to let guests know where they could leave their cars, and she took him as close to the main entrance as she could without getting in the way.

“Could you help with that?” Clive asked as the engine died down. The cab of the truck was suddenly very quiet, despite the life slowly awakening in the surrounding grounds.

“How do you mean?” She glanced at him, shifting in her seat so she could watch him properly.

He raised a careful brow. “You’re clearly passionate about the swamp, or you wouldn’t be out there collecting dead things, or at work earlier than everyone else. If we need someone on the ground with more of an idea than our chaps apparently have, could it be you?”

“Might be a conflict of interest, given the reports.”

“Only if you’re still doing them. You could jump ship, come the other side of the fence.”

“Gamekeeper turning poacher? I don’t think so. Working with the charity lets me focus on the animals and ecology rather than the finance guys.”

“Are you sure? Don’t want to talk about it over a drink?”

Naomi laughed, light as ice breaking, and shook her head at him. “I told you to save that for Chris.”

“I don’t think he’d be as pretty looking at me over a glass of wine. Let me guess, rosé?”

“Gin, by preference, but I don’t hate a rosé.” She didn’t hate that he was right, which was also a terrible idea.

“Think about it.” He reached into his pocket, drawing out a business card with a practiced flourish. “You can get me on these numbers if you want to talk about it.”

She took the offered card, slipping it into the back pocket of her trousers. “Thanks. I think you—” A knock at the window interrupted her words, both of them flinching from sudden loudness shattering their bubble.

“Clive, where the hell have you been?”

Twisting around in her seat, Naomi found an older man stood staring through the driver’s side window, his thick brows drawn together like a particularly angry caterpillar. His hair was thick but greying, teased into an orderly wave over his head, though threads of capillary red snaked across his nose and high on his cheeks. “Can I help you? Sir?”

“Calm down, Arthur, I got my dates wrong. You look like you’re about to give yourself another heart attack.”

“You’re late for the check in call.” Arthur, who Naomi took caterpillar-guy to be, pointed back to the hotel. “And haranguing some poor local to drag you back as well.”

“I offered, since he was in the wrong place. Who are you?” Naomi opened the door just to get him to step back, her nerves fizzing at the second person to treat her poor truck like a ticket office, rather than part of her valued equipment.

“Sorry, where are my manners? Arthur Clasper, one of the members of MoonScape.” He held his hand out and Naomi met it with a firm shake, too used to businessmen and farmers shaking her wrist like it was a dead rat. “And judging by that hair, I’d bet you’re the Hawkin’s lass, no? How is Flora?”

His comment rang in her head like a bell, her smile winding tight as a spring while she pulled her hand back. “Well, that’s the first time in a while I’ve been recognised by that, but she’s fine. Eating her way through a retirement village in Florida.”

“I bet she is, she’s always been a minx.” He boomed a laugh and Naomi did her best to keep her smile friendly.

“Do you two know each other?” Clive came around the front of the truck, glancing between them.

“In a sense. You won’t remember me, I expect, but I knew you when you were knee high to everything.” Arthur mimed how short she had been with a flat palm against the side of his thigh. “We moved away before the accident, of course. Last I’d heard, you did as well.”

“We moved not long after the crash. Granny was concerned I be somewhere where I was defined by more than the grief.” Clive tilted his head, quite like a gun dog, but Arthur spoke before she could redirect it.

“It was a terrible crash, shocking the roads were in that state. And to lose both parents in the same accident, it’s unconscionable.” He shook his head, then clapped her on the shoulder. “Still, you’re back. And I take it you’re not just picking up waifs and strays, there’s a reason you had this bounder in your car?”

“Truck,” she muttered.

“I got my days mixed up, showed up at the conservation building instead of our videocall.” Clive slipped himself between them, breaking Arthur’s hand off her, and Naomi flashed him a grateful grin.

“Well, you can explain that to the board, I’m not making excuses for your amnesia. Thank you for returning him to sense, so to speak, Ms Hawkins, is it?” Arthur peered for her hands and she stuffed them into her pockets out of spite.

“Yes, still miss currently. Not found one willing to put up with midge bites and soggy wellies yet. I’d best get going. I need to use the daylight.” She gave them both a polite nod, stepping back towards the truck and slipping the door open.

“Think on about my suggestion, would you?” Clive called as Arthur started back towards the massive bulk of the hotel. “I’d love to get your input. Over dinner, maybe?”

“I’ll consider it.” She hopped into the truck before he could wheedle more out of her, not missing how he watched her turn the truck around before she started back down the track.

What a strange man.

It was no surprise the space project had scientists on it, of course, and it shouldn’t have been a shock some of them would be younger, because tech wasn’t an age-specific interest. But Naomi was sure she’d have noticed him at some meetings, with that smile.

She’d ask Stevie if she recognised him. If not, maybe he was new, or part of a charm offensive sent up to try to make the reports go smoothly. Business did things like that in the critical parts. It was no different to sending in a female negotiator in a little black dress.

Shaking her head, she tried to focus on the road; the sun having burned off enough of the early mist that the lingering wetness on the tarmac was a bright streak of white reflecting the light into her eyes. Grabbing for her sunglasses, she slotted them on one handed, drumming her thumb knuckles against the steering wheel as she tried to settle her thoughts.

When that hadn’t worked after a few miles, she turned off, diverting from the office to the swamp. She’d left notes saying what she was doing, it wasn’t like she was playing waggy with her time, and this road would take her not too far off from the salmon pool. It would be more use to paddle out to that and get pictures, maybe even samples, before she and Stevie came out later. Meant she’d know there was actually something to find as well. Saved them wasting time if Eoin had it wrong.

Pulling up and leaving her truck under one of the few trees not leaning perilously into the swamp, she took her kayak out with the ease of familiarity. The woods in Caithness were strange things – there were miles of dark wood, maintained by the Forestry Commission or private lumber firms, but anything near the swamp got eaten by it. It wasn’t an especially greedy swamp, despite taking bodies so readily, but the slow progress of water was always a marvel.

It wasn’t the thing to be thinking on as she got ready to go onto the water – still misty, the sun not high enough to fight the canopy - gloomy memories of the time after her parent’s death crowding in along with the dead birds of this morning. Caithness hadn’t been bad after her parents died, if anything everyone had been wonderful, attending the funeral and bringing meals or home baking around so her granny didn’t have to do cooking on top of weeping. And arranging two funerals.

“We will not be miserable today.” At least not about old things. Depending on how many dead fish there were, she might be pissed off. Slipping into the kayak, she shimmed off the edge of the island, righting herself into upright as she paddled out.

It wasn’t like they’d left because they were ashamed after the accident, either. But raising a teenager was hard work for a grieving woman, and there was a fishbowl nature about loss in a place like here. Everyone peering in to see how the stages of grief were progressing, pushing at old wounds in fumbling earnestness, and there was no way to get away from what had happened. What they were marked as, the family who had been snipped in half by poor road quality and a speeding driver who didn’t stop to make sure who he’d hit was okay. 

They weren’t. Maybe he had stopped – she always imagined it was a he – maybe he’d stopped and saw the car was already half submerged and ran because he didn’t have the balls to jump into the water to save them. Maybe he’d agonised and fretted, watched the exhaust pipe churn fumes into the frosty night, and debated if his chest could do the same; pushing air into someone else’s lungs. Maybe he’d known who it was and decided he didn’t care enough about them to try to save a pair of hippies who were causing trouble.

Or maybe he was just drunk, or scared, or stupid, and didn’t stop at all. Driving off, leaving disaster in his wake and never even realising that he’d ruined her life with one slight lapse in judgement.

Shaking her head, she slapped the kayak once, hard, to refocus. It made her hand sting like she’d picked up something hot from the oven and she focused on that while she brought herself to a stop, glancing around. She’d been paddling mindlessly, not paying attention to where she should be going, and that had bitten her in the ass because now she was uncertain where she’d got too, none of the usual markers leaping out at her from the water or the soggy islands.

“Shit.” She paddled in place, turning herself in a slow circle to look for something grounding. The mountains far off, or the edge of a forest, maybe even an outcrop depending on where she’d got to. The air was still peaty rather than tangy, so she hadn’t accidentally steered too far east and drifted towards the sea, and there was something over the longer side of the next island that looked like it might jut out enough to be recognisable, if she got closer.

“Lost?” The words sounded from behind her like a roll of thunder and instinctually she struck out with her paddle, bopping Hal in his chest like she was slapping a gator down.

“Fuck, sorry, that’s a habit I haven’t lost from Florida.”

He laughed, the plants on his chest gently pressing her paddle back, and she pulled it close again. “That’s impressive. If I were a crocodile, I’m sure I’d be suitably chastised.”

“I think I should thank you for the bodies, but that seems a weird thing to say.”

“I’m pretty good at weird things, if that’s any comfort?” Hal pulled himself up onto the little island she was investigating before he gave her a fright. “I didn’t expect to see you out here so soon.”

She took a deep breath, grateful for the cool way it curled through her lungs like mist in the morning. “I didn’t either, but Eoin mentioned dead fish in the salmon pool, so I planned to get a sample of them too.”

“You’re a bit off course.”

“Yeah, I got distracted by… stuff. It’s complicated. How did you know where I lived, by the way? To deliver the birds, I mean.”

He smiled like a wolf, a twinkle in his bark brown eyes. “How do you know it was me and not Eoin?”

“Eoin would have done the tarp up properly; he helped me with my kayak last night.”

Hal nodded, a lopsided smile lighting his face up. “It’s a fair cop. It was me. I asked Eoin if he knew where you lived, and he gave good enough directions that I found it.”

Naomi nodded, trailing the fingers of her righthand through the water to cool the throbbing that had replaced the initial sting. “It’s weird that I don’t find it weird, isn’t it?”

“No weirder than talking to me. Or the dreams.”

Heat flooded up her neck like a rushing tide, sweat prickling between her shoulder blades. “Dreams?”

“I dreamed about you last night. Well, as much as I dream, that’s also weird. I sleep, but it’s not like I used to sleep as a man. I think the swamp likes you.”

Naomi swallowed, her stomach flipping in her abdomen. “I dread to ask what sort of dreams.”

“Do you?” He leaned a little closer, trying to catch her gaze, and she dropped her head to look at the water instead. Was it worse that he had the dream, too? Better? They’d only met once, and that had hardly been auspicious. This wasn’t what she usually did. “The swamp has a habit of feeding the minds of people it likes. It keeps Eoin calmer than he would be elsewhere. It likes some hunters, gives them dreams of good chases and magnificent trophies. And for some reason, it made me dream of you.”

She brought her hand up from the water, almost folding over so she could hide against the front of her kayak and cover her face. “Please tell me we didn’t have the same dream. I might just death-roll myself in the water.”

“What did you dream?” His voice was tender this time, the whisper of smoke before a log catches alight, and the heat in her stomach was an entirely different type to that burning her cheeks.

“You, and me, and an island deep in the swamp. I laid on it while you were in the water, and we talked. Then we did more than talk. You were… enthusiastic.”

“Huh.” Hal cupped the side of her face, his hand so cool against her heated skin she couldn’t help but lean into the touch. “It was the same dream, then.”

“Why are we having shared sex dreams?” She squeaked the words out, closing her eyes so she didn’t have to see what expression he pulled to a question like that, and gasped when he slipped into the water again, drawing her closer.

She opened her eyes just as he brought their lips together in a kiss that was purely carnal, no exchanging air or rushing bubbles, just the simple need of connection. The slip of his lips against hers wasn’t quite cool but it wasn’t as warm as she was used to, and the gentle caresses of the plants was so like her dream that a pang of pleasure rippled through her like body.

“Hal,” she breathed his name as they parted, catching the back of his head so she could keep them together.

“I’m here. I’m not sure what this is, what’s causing it I mean, but I know I want you. The swamp treasures you in a way I’ve never felt, it’s so different to how it felt when it chose me to live on. Do you feel it too?”

Naomi nodded. Whatever it was kept bubbling within her, a yearning that ached in her chest and all the way down, leaving her hungry for him. “Kiss me again.”

“We should—”

She didn’t let him finish, leaning over so she weight tipped into him, leaving her upper half pressed into his chest as the kayak wobbled precariously on its side. Riding the side was a stupid move, she knew it would tip one way or the other as her weight shifted, but all she could feel was the need to wrap herself in Hal. He agreed, putting an arm around her waist so he could lift her out of the kayak, twisting to set her on the island with a grace that would leave most people below the water. She beckoned him to join her, ignoring the way her feet trailed in the water. “Come here.”

“You don’t want to revisit your dream?” He gripped her knee lightly, fingers cool through her leggings, and she shook her head, coaxing him to join her on the scrub.

“I want to feel your weight on me.” It was like a fire had erupted within her, a need that sang in her blood, that she must feel him, be with him, right away. Not that she hadn’t had hook ups before – college had been fun – but there was something so consuming about the need to be with him she was already unzipping her jacket, shedding her top to drop it onto the mossy growth behind her.

Hal blinked at her like a revelation, lifting himself onto the island and crawling over her like he was ravenous. He helped her with her bra, reaching behind her to unhook it one handed, and when it fell away, he cupped her like she was something precious.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, dipping closer to kiss along the length of her collarbone, the cool attention of the plants like gossamer over her skin.

“Kiss me again.” She caught his face in her hands, drawing him close. His lips had heated more with their contact, the thicker skin rubbing against hers with the messy tangle of their kisses, and she leaned back to lower against the land, drawing him with her.

The cool morning air made her nipples perk up under his touch and Hal squeezed them gently, fingers tracing the underside of her breasts as he kissed her. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she said between their kisses, her fingertip tracing the cool sweep of his chest, the curve of muscles in his arms. “I want to feel you.”

Planting one arm at their heads so he could hold his weight up, Hal littered her face with kisses, his tendrils always ghosting after his lips, the constant teasing touches like a promise of his care. With his free hand, he skimmed over her breasts, her waist, her hips, hesitating when he got to her waistband.

With a shimmy she lifted her hips, catching the button at the front and popping it open with ease, pushing the material down along with her leggings and underwear. It took a little more finesse to slip her wet shoes free and shake the tangled combination away, but then she was bare below him, blinking up like he was something holy. His deer-wild gaze was fathomlessly deep, taking her in as if she would melt like the morning haar being burned away by the raising sun.

“You’re so stunning. I’m worried I might hurt you.”

She stroked his cheek, bringing their foreheads together. “Be gentle then.” 

“I don’t mean that way.” He glanced down, almost bashful, “I came back like this, not quite human. The rest of me isn’t quite human, either, though it doesn’t look too different. It’s just… proportionate.”

She arched a brow at him; her gaze travelling lower to where he was indicating. Oh. “No wonder you’re so confident.”

He snorted a laugh, leaning in to kiss over her cheeks, tilting her head back with a gentle nudge of his chin so he could get access to her neck. “I think I’m flattered.”

“You should be. Clearly, the swamp liked you.” The firm pressure of his hardness poked against her thigh as he almost collapsed into a laugh, the plants in his skin caressing her as he tried to keep his weight up.

“You’ll make me blush. I’ll need to prepare you a little, I suspect?” Certainly he would – Hal’s cock was long and firm, ridged from the entwining vines that wrapped around it like a pretty pattern, but she’d struggle to get her middle finger and thumb to touch if she wrapped her hand around him.

A thrill of anticipation and mild worry ran through her at how sizable he was. “Yes, I think so.”

“Then let me. Just relax.” He kissed her again, slower now, tasting her as his tongue slipped into her mouth, a wash of salt and earth catching her off guard. He tasted wild in a different way than how his eyes gleamed, or how his body reacted to her – a freedom on his lips and tongue that she could luxuriate in, dive after as her tongue chased his.

Hal lowered his weight gradually on to her as he kissed her deeply, one hand coming higher to tease her nipples gently. Rolling the nubs in his thick fingers, first one then the other, he kept slowly tweaking them until she was near squirming under him. Once satisfied, his hand skirted lower, lingering at the soft skin of her stomach and exploring her hips, gently parting her thighs with a light nudge with the back of his hand.

Naomi gasped as the cool air reached her exposed core, the heat of her need mingling with the morning softness. Hal almost moaned as he found how wet she was, tracing the full shape of her before he focused on her clit. “You’re so sensitive for me.”

“I want you.” She almost pouted with it, desperate for more but delighting in the touches she got, the lingering trace of the plants an echo to his firm fingers. She rocked her hips to encourage him. “I’ve never felt like this before. I’m so hungry for you.”

“I am too, dear one. I don’t know if it’s the swamp, or just how beautiful your smile is, but I never felt a craving like this when I was human. Or since I changed.” He slid a finger into her heat as his thumb found her aching clit, flicking it in a slow rhythm. “I’ve never even looked at someone lustfully while I’ve been shaped like a monster. Who could want me like this?”

“I do.” It slipped easily from her lips, his finger chasing her breathless as he slipped another in. The stretch was pleasant, if thick, teasing her walls as he sped up a little. “You’re not a monster. Or, if you are, you could be my monster.”

“Fuck.” The curse slipped out in a low hiss, his hips grinding against her thigh as he watched her, peat brown eyes searching her face. “You shouldn’t say things like that here. They might become real.”

“That’s okay.” She rocked her hips into his eager hand, moaning when he slipped a third finger into her. It was almost a burning stretch now, a press against her entire core, but she was as needy for him as he was hungry for her. “They can be real. We’re both here, and real, and I want to feel you so much, Hal.”

He dipped to kiss her as his thumb circled her clit, winding her higher as his fingers brushed over the sweet point inside her that made her vision stutter, flooding white with each keen swipe. He drank in her gasps as she span higher, tangling her hands into his shoulders to cling against him as her orgasm exploded with, leaving her shaking underneath him.

Shifting on the ground, Hal cradled her against his chest with one hand, his finger still pushing her through the aftershocks of her peak as she shivered through the heat, squirming lightly in his grip as the plants soothed her. Tugging him closer for another kiss, she moaned as his fingers left her and he laid her down.

Hal manoeuvred himself above her, smirking as sharp as a shark while he licked his hand clean. “You taste better than in the dream.”

“You feel better,” she countered, her heart thumping heavily in her chest. “Let me make you feel good, too.”

He nodded, shifting his hips so they slotted over each other, his heavy cock aligning with her opening. She swallowed, the blunt tip slipping easily through the aftermath of her coming, and the careful press of him testing her was enough to make her breath catch.

“We’ll take this slow,” Hal murmured, teasing just into her before he pulled out again. “We don’t have to rush.”

Naomi circled her hips as he pushed in again, encouraging more of him, and he moaned like a rumble of thunder when more of him slipped in. “I won’t break.”

“I don’t want to risk it.”

“I’ll let you know if I need you to stop.” She reached up, tugging his shoulders so more of his weight came over her, bringing more of him within her too.

Hal groaned loud against her, his face buried into her neck as his hips stuttered, clearly chasing more. “You’re going to drive me wild.”

“You are wild.” She pecked a kiss to his temple, shoulder, anywhere she could reach, and the plants of his shape chased her touch, stroking her cheeks and tracing the swell of her lower lip. “I don’t need you to be anything but that.”

Her words seemed to break something in him and he gripped her hip with his free hand, changing the angle just a touch so he could sink into her with one slow movement. The push of him was all-consuming, like it was rushing the air out of her as he filled her up, and she whimpered with how deep he pressed, becoming all he could think of.

“Are you okay?” Hal sat up a little, nuzzling her cheek with his nose, and she nodded.

“Yes. Very full, but in a good way.”

He nodded, kissing her neck as he finally bottomed out against her. She was pinned beneath him, opened like a butterfly from his hips, pressing hers wider, and she flexed within to grip him tighter. Hal almost collapsed, his weight shifting on her as he pressed his head into the ground below them, trembling. “Fuck.”

Naomi did it again just to feel him tremble, the way his hips jolted and pushed him deeper into her. “You can move. I won’t break.”

He didn’t need telling twice, rolling his hips to test the movement before he pulled nearly all the way out, surging back in like a tide to the shore. Heat roiled within her, every point inside Naomi alive with the push of Hal’s thickness.

It was impossible to do more than rock back into him, the weight of his shape above her trapping her in place, but she did what she could, curling a hand into the mossy land below to anchor herself. He chased into her, his grip at her hip shifting to sink his fingers at her shoulder, pulling her down onto him as he thrust against her over and over. It was like being driven into the ground, but his plants never stopped caressing her, teasing her heated skin with their delicate, cool touches, keeping her present enough that the overwhelming pounding of his thrusts didn’t make her pass out.

“You’re so beautiful, feel so perfect for me,” he murmured, eyes glassy with lust, “I want to make you feel good.”

She tightened up as he was fully sheathed in her, not missing the way he shivered like all the air had been squeezed from his lungs, and rolled her hips experimentally. “You do. Now fuck me harder, I want to feel all of you.”

He growled in response, speeding up as plant tendrils reached between them, bundled together to feel almost like a tentacle against her lower stomach. It inched down, the touch cool and alien as it snaked between her thighs and found her clit. It circled around it, twisting and flexing as Naomi threw her head back, pleasure surging through her as it zeroed in on a pattern that made her shake. “That’s new.”

“All of this is new, but you feel divine.” His words were raspy as breaking bark, barely there above the panting of her breath, but Naomi glowed at the comment, her free hand seeking his cheek and cupping it. He smiled down at her for a moment before he shifted his weight, leaning fully over her so he could bury himself deeper, thrusting frantically. “I’m close, I can feel it.”

“Come for me then, be all mine.” It was mindless babble, a promise that he could come insider her, but something fizzled in the air between them and the thin tentacle circling her clit quickened, flicking back and forth greedily as Hal chased his end inside her, grinding himself so deep she felt him pressing against her cervix with a semi-painful kiss of his tip bumping higher. She moaned and rolled below him, clawing at his back as her vision flooded white and she came apart, barely aware of the flood of heat between them.

It kept coming, Hal’s hips flexing with each deep spurt until it was overflowing, spilling between them as it seeped out and dribbled along her thighs. Hal lowered himself down, twisting them so he was underneath, and she lay atop his chest. That caused more of their joining to slip out, but he seemed unbothered, stroking her hair with his large hands while his plants tended to her.

“That felt amazing.” He sighed, cock twitching in her as he appeared to still be coming. “I’m not sure how long this goes on, if I’m honest.”

“That’s okay, it feels good.” Naomi wriggled lower on him, grinding a little on his girth, but mostly so she could make sure she didn’t tip forward. His broad chest was comfortable and firm, but the gentle encouragement of the plants threatened to skim her forward and accidentally head-butting your beau didn’t seem the most romantic way to spend the afterglow.

“Rest a while with me, won’t you?” Hal stroked her hair, a hand at the base of her back to keep her secure. “You can lay your weight on me.”

“You might have to pull out first. I’m not sure you bend that way.” Most gentlemen didn’t, though Hal was full of surprises.

“I hadn’t considered that, good point.” He chuckled, hands sinking around her waist to lift her effortlessly up, his cock sliding free and leaving her bare pussy cool for the few seconds before he set her down again, cradling her close to his chest again.

She set her head against his shoulder, breathing in the swamp's scent and the fresh greenness of his skin.

~

The purr of an engine broke into her dozing, the metallic rattle loud through the stillness of the swamp. Hal was still below her, an arm around her waist, and though she should have been cold and stiff from sleeping under the lazy morning sun she was warm from his plants constantly touching her, keeping her cosy.

“They can’t see us here, but I would get dressed.” Hal rumbled below her, slipping her underneath him so his body acted as a shield.

“Do you know who it is?”

“Same boat as the other night.”

She tutted, grabbing her clothes – somehow dry – and rushing them on. “Which way are they going?”

“In, towards the salmon run.”

“That’s where I was going.” Her heart thudded hard, once, like someone hitting a table to make a point, fear of her salmon being stolen overriding the dregs of their afterglow. “I need to get there, if they take the dead fish we’ll lose that data.”

Hal peered around at her, tucking her hair back gently. “I didn’t bring you enough birds?”

“You did, thank you, but it’s different. The fish are potentially human food, it gets more eyes on the matter than endangered birds.”

“Ah, of course.” He nodded, glancing after the boat, already lost in the shifting mist. “We’re a bit off it, they must be going the long way around. Stay here.”

He slipped into the water before she could argue, vanishing like a stone into a loch. She fizzed, almost angry that he shot off after them without her, even as her chest glowed with warmth for him.

Naomi gave it to the count of at least twenty before she scrabbled to the edge of the island, grabbing her kayak. The paddle was still there, and before she could talk herself out of it, she was in the little boat, creeping herself after the low thrum of the motor. She wasn’t going to miss seeing what was happening and she was not going to wait around for Hal to do all the investigating.

The swamp was her place as well, a home for her even after her parents disappeared, and there was little she wouldn’t do to keep it safe. Right now that might mean armfuls of dead fish, but if she had to whack someone with her paddle again, so be it.

The engine slowed, breaking into her thoughts as she crept between islands and overhanging branches, peering through the lingering fog. It had mostly burned off, just wisps curling up from the surface, and it took a few minutes for her to find her bearings again, the shape of the boat merging so well with trunks and overhangs that she almost bumped into them. Slapping a hand to her mouth, she grabbed a branch, leaning her weight onto it to drag herself silently backwards, the low edge of an island covering the kayak if not her.

“Where are they supposed to be?” English Ian asked, voice like a foghorn.

“The salmon pool.”

“It’s all a fucking pool, Stan. Where is it on the map?”

A shiver ran through Naomi at the voices, her grip on the branch tightening. They were looking for the fish. They knew about the fish, which meant they knew something was wrong, and maybe meant they were working on covering things up, if they weren’t actively dumping the stuff themselves.

It wasn’t evidence, she would need something to tie them together other than just her word, but it was confirmation enough that she let go of the branch and used her hands to scoot around the far side of the island, at the rear of the larger boat, so she could watch what they were doing. If she could get her phone out and record some of it too, that was corroboration, a start to getting things in front of the police if they needed to.

“I don’t know the layout of the shitting place, let me call them and see.” This close, Naomi could see Stanley was as thin as a reed, maybe just under six feet tall, and wrapped up like a swaddled babe against the morning chill.

Ian, by comparison, was a thickset, short man, with shoulders like a boxer that were barely contained by the sleeves of the hideous shirt he was wearing - a mint green number emblazoned with contrasting yellow paisley pattern. They wouldn’t lose him in the fog, at least. “They won’t want a call, minimum contact between them and the boss.”

“They’ll want that bint with the bird watchers to get the fish even less.”

Her blood flushed as cold as the swamp water, heart creeping up her chest to lodge in her neck like a bite of poisoned apple.

Only a few people knew she was looking for the fish, and there weren’t many other ‘bird watching’ people. They could only mean the conservationists. No gamekeepers in a swamp.

Eoin would have gone into the water before he told someone what she was doing, he’d look out for her. Hal was with her on the island, and he’d pulled her into the water rather than risk her meeting those men before.

That left the notes she’d done for Stevie and Chris, or the very charming man who had tried to poach her with false enthusiasm and a winning smile.

“You motherfucker.” The words were out before she could stop them, anger twisting across her tongue like a coiling snake, and it took a long second before the men turned, in tandem, to look at her. She watched them back, unwilling to be the one who broke the staring competition, until she saw Stanley reaching for something below the edge of the boat. “Hey there, fellas, what brings you out here?”

“He has a gun!” Hal loomed out of the water at one side of the poaching boat, his large frame tipping the edge enough that Stanley knocked into Ian, who in turned tipped into the water, and Naomi took that as her sign to get gone.

Throwing herself sideways, she paddled in earnest, twisting herself round and slicing through the islands whichever way offered the straightest lines so she didn’t need to slow down. Diverting down which chenier got her most distance, she pivoted out of the way of overhanging branches, almost sobbing when she heard their engine start up again. They’d be so much quicker than she was, even with her experience in rowing, and all she could hope to do was outsmart them – she couldn’t out-gun them, all she had was her phone and calling for help would give her away.

“Are you alright out there? Are you hurt?” Stanley’s voice rippled through the remaining mist like a warning. “Whatever hit our boat might hit yours too. That little thing’s too flimsy to risk that. You could get stranded out here.”

“She isn’t going to fall for that, save your breath.” Ian sighed like a rush of wind through the sand dunes. “Look, lady, we know who you are. I ain’t got instructions to do anything to you, just to get rid of the fish, so if you come out and behave, it doesn’t have to get ugly.”

Naomi bit the inside of her lip to keep her snort in, folding herself down over her kayak as she tried to get her bearings. The mist was still too thick to get much of a landmark in here, and when it burned off, she would be as obvious as a weather balloon, so there was little she could do except keep dodging them. Maybe if she went deeper into the swamp she could double up, land her kayak somewhere and hike it to her vehicle. Stevie would know something was up if she didn’t get back by lunchtime, so she just needed to last until then.

The bump of something behind her made her heart kick up tempo, adrenaline making the edge of her vision white for a horrible, stretching second. “They’re looking for you, two islands off. I can push you somewhere safer, or I could take you under the water again. Or I can distract them, and you go as fast as you can.”

She sagged against her boat as Hal came around to see her, just his eyes above the water. “We should go together. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“They’re not going to hurt me here.” He glanced around the swamp, the water lapping gently at his face.

“They shot you before.”

“Different me. This body’s much better at being in the water.”

Her throat tightened at his easy deflection, and she grabbed for him, bringing their foreheads together. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I’ll always come back for you. But you need to go.”

“I need to get some of those fish. If I go to the pool and just grab a few, that’s us got ties to the chemicals and—” A shot rang through the air, a bright explosion of water spurting a few feet from the end of Naomi’s kayak and a scream squeezed out of her before she could bite it down.

“Found her.” Stanley crowed, and a smattering of round bodied snipes flew up from an island behind her, their straight, long beaks like exclamation points against the pale fog, as the engine kicked into life again.

Hal dipped under the water, shoving her forward as he vanished and she fought the wish to reach for him, paddling furiously as more shots peppered the water surface. How many fucking bullets had he brought out onto the water?

The hollow thump of another sounded as a tree stump nearby shattered into damp shrapnel, nicking her face as they span out, and she wiped the tears away so she could see her path. They were still coming behind her, the engine a low drone of fear as it got closer, but she knew Hal would be nearby as well.

A cry went up, then a loud splash, and Naomi used it to her advantage, grabbing an overhanging root to turn herself down a short gap that had its own directional current. Speeding her along into the larger, open water of the swamp, this would take her to near one of the disused war buildings.

Built to help with radar and monitor submarines far off, she could stash her kayak there if she needed to. There was no road out there anymore, taken over by the swamp decades past, but it had an upper floor, which would mean she could get a signal and call for help. She’d be an open target until she got to it, but the lingering mist would hopefully be enough cover to get her there. And if not, she could row quickly.

No more bullets interrupted her frantic paddling, but the mist was thicker this deep in land, still not burned off, and in a few minutes she was hemmed in, the water a blank slate of grey with the tumbling white fog. She stopped paddling, holding it close to her chest so she could listen to the swamp. No birds flying up, no engine, no sign of Hal in the surrounding water. Turning herself with one hand in the water to minimise noise she peered around, hoping something might emerge from the wall of white. She couldn’t shout for Hal, it would give her away, and she didn’t need more bullets to dodge.

Naomi closed her eyes, straining to hear something, even just a vehicle going past on the road nearby so she knew where that was, but all she got was dripping water and the occasional call of a curlew, mournful in the mist.

“Help me out here.” She said it to the sky as much as anyone actually listening, a base prayer for safety.

“Here.” The word echoed back, sounding distorted through the fog, and Naomi twisted around to see where it had come from. For it to echo, the words must have hit something, be it a large tree or the wall of the old buildings. Something was better than this floating nothing, so she started towards it.

Paddling on, she peered around, bumping into a small bog island as she slowed a little. Except it wasn’t a bog island at all - the noise was almost metallic, and her kayak bounced back from the impact like she’d struck a cliff.

Something cold moved through her as she leaned forward, grabbing hold of the item. It was metallic, and about four feet long, bobbing on the water like a crocodile waiting for an unsuspecting bird. Spinning it slowly around, she found a rainbow trail leaking from the busted top. “Holy fuck.”

This was the chemical – a barrel full, or what had been full, now leaking out – and if the other shapes looming in the fog were the same material, there were gallons of the stuff here.

Scooting herself through them, she counted over a dozen before she bumped into another one, wooden this time from the sound of her prow hitting it. This was an old whiskey cask, she knew the shape as easily as her own hand, and her stomach tightened at the sagging, weed eaten ropes that cross-crossed around the wood. No one needed to tie a cask up like that for good reasons.

Drawing up to it, aligning her boat with it, Naomi set a hand against the side. The wood was sodden and cool, turgid under her searching fingertips, and some dark little voice in her mind nagged that this was different. Opening this would not be something she could come back from.

But she couldn’t come back from a bullet either.

Her fingers found the uneven plank that was needed to release the lid, needing a little extra encouragement given the swelling of the wood. She tugged it, slipping her hand in through the gap and beating the lid out with the edge of her fist until it popped free with a loud slap.

Oh no.

Inside, pale and perfect, a man’s body was folded up like a sacrificial mummy – naked with his arms to his chest protectively, knees up next to his hips. He’d been young, maybe in his thirties, with curling, dark hair that was floating as high as the water level allowed. Muscular, if slim, like he was used to running on fumes, and a ragged hole in his chest that had to be a shotgun wound. It was circular, like a hole punch the size of an orange had gone through him, and tendrils of pale muscle and tissue bobbed low in the enclosed water, wiggling like worms as the new current stirred them.

“Well, that’s unfortunate.” Stanley’s voice sounded close by, and Naomi slowly turned. He was at the back of her kayak, in a wet suit, and had a small gun trained on her. “This changes things quite a lot.”

“I already knew you’d shot him.” She dropped a hand into the barrel, keeping it close. “His story was too good for others not to pick up the same threads. Your bosses must know that.”

“No one else has been stupid enough to follow it, though.”

“Shouldn’t have been dumping your shit in our swamp, then. It preserves things.” She ground her teeth, taking a deep breath. “Where’s your pal?”

“Working on the engine, whoever’s with you damn near tore it off. Big fucker, took three bullets to put him down.” Stanley tapped the gun against her kayak, raising his brows.

“Guns don’t scare me. I grew up around farmers.” Her other hand was near her paddle. It would only take a few centimetres to get her fingers around it.

“I’m not that.”

“I can tell.” She smiled at him, no mercy in her for such a nasty little man. “I doubt you’ve ever done anything that would grow things in the world.”

“I don’t know. My bank balance keeps getting bigger.”

Naomi scoffed, rolling her eyes and sinking her fingers around the handle. “Much good that’ll do you in prison.”

“I’m not the sort of guy that goes to prison.”

“No.” She looked him over again – the slight scar across his cheek, the coldness in his eyes so like things she’d seen in Florida – and nodded. “I bet not.”

Before he could speak again, she shoved her paddle into his neck, whacking it with as much force as her one handed grip would let her, before she rolled the kayak and topped herself underneath. Scrabbling to get her legs out, she dived down into the swirling depths below.

Though it was still misty above, the leaking chemicals brought a luminescence into the peaty water, like colourful smoke billowing out through the current, and that was enough to see Stanley up above her. And to watch how he twisted around and shot her kayak, twice, shoving it away from him so it bounced into the barrel with Hal’s body. Harold’s body.

Her throat ached with emotion, worry for his body tangling with fear for his new form. Stanley had said it was three shots this time. Two in her boat. That meant one left, if she was right about how much a magazine held, but she’d no training with small guns.

She also didn’t have the lung capacity to wait him out if she didn’t have cover. Blinking away the tears so hot compared to the surrounding swamp water, she twisted on her spot and kicked hard to get as much distance from Stanley before she had to head for the surface, her lungs beginning to burn.

Emerging, she did her best to keep her breathing quiet, opening her mouth so she could pant air rather than suck it in with a gasp.

“I can hear you, Naomi. Yeah, I know your name, and I know what you do. I think we’ll spin it around that once we’ve sunk you, too. You went out on your own, too desperate to prove your theory about the animals, and just vanished. Happens all the time up here.” He was swimming around, eyeballing the surface and shoving barrels aside like she might hide behind one. “The longer I have to search for you, the angrier I’ll get, and you don’t want me to be angry when I kill you, girl. A quick death would be a mercy.”

Heat flushed through her, stomach twisting sharply like she might throw up. This was insane.

“Come out, now, and I’ll make it quick. You can just sink down to the bottom and be part of this stinking place you love so much. That’s got to be better than your other options. Once Ian gets here, he’ll want to make sure you’re useful before you’re dead.”

A dark little part of Naomi twisted at that threat, at Hal being proved right, that they’d resort to such a threat just to scare her. Running would be best. Her phone would be soaked through now, but she only had to survive until Stevie noticed she was gone.

But could she play cat and mouse with this monster for that long? She was wet through, would freeze as soon as she left the water – should have been already, but adrenaline was keeping her going – and hypothermia would make her clumsy and desperate. Predictable.

Also, if he’d killed Hal, she didn’t entirely hate the idea of some self-defence. “You’re a mouthy prick, you know that?”

She sank under the water before he could get towards her, letting herself go down and down until there was just the chemical spill eddying around her, his shape above her like a seal to a shark. Screwing up all her strength, she kicked upwards, surging up to meet him as he coasted towards where she’d been – open and exposed.

Breaching the surface behind him, he swung a fist towards her, wide of the mark, and she took a deep breath as she sank her arms around his waist, locking her fingers into his belt. Rearing backwards, she sank them under the water, twisting and kicking to force them down into the glowing scar of pollution below them.

Stanley kicked, but that only sent them deeper, and he thrashed, but her grip was low and tight, hard to break, and she could hold her breath longer than he could. Hopefully.

His fighting slowed their descent, but he couldn’t get them turned around, each thrash just letting Naomi curl tighter around him, sink her legs between his so she could yank his stance wide and send them into the cool darkness.

He whipped around desperately, bubbles streaming from his mouth, until all at once he stopped kicking. She didn’t let go, eyes watering with the effort of holding her breath, until he finally dropped the gun.

That was enough for her to drop him and break for the surface. Her arms and legs burned, her lungs screamed, and the glow of the chemicals was making her vision blur as she kicked and struggled towards the light.

A spike of a stitch gnawed at her, making her strokes falter, and despite her trainings she gasped, cool water rushing into her mouth. She slammed her lips shut, but it was too late, the coughing ricochetting up her throat and forcing air out, making her snort and take more in with each reflexive breath.

Panic inched up her spine, overriding her training with a buzz of fear. She was too far from the surface. She would not make it in time, too delayed by making sure Stanley was dead, and now she’d be joining him in the water. Vanished, just like her parents had, lost on a trip she should never have taken.

Hangs grabbed her shoulders, spinning her around, and before she could lash out to shove Stanley down again, she found lips pressed to hers, the cool firmness bringing a delighted breath of understanding into her lungs.

One large arm wrapped around her waist, pressing her into the waiting tendrils, and then she was being rushed to the surface, Hal’s plants soothing her as they soared upward.

Hal dragged her to an island, maybe the shore. She couldn’t tell more than there was something solid on her back as he tipped her sideways, slapped her back once – hard – and the body-warm water poured out of her mouth. She hacked and spat until she was nearly sick; the water rushing through the gorse and heather back into the swamp, and then she fell onto her back.

“Stay awake with me, love.” Hal was at her side, lifting her against his chest, standing so he was carrying her in the crook of his elbow, her torso laid against his. “We’re nearly at the old communications building. We can light a fire in there.”

“They shot you.” Her throat ached with the words, as much from the bile as her earlier tears, and he shrugged.

“I’m much harder to kill like this. The other one of them is tied up in his boat, unconscious for now.”

“Oh.” She had technically tried to knock Stanley out. It seemed a little flimsy now.

“You did what you needed to. Don’t feel guilty. I’d have torn him in half for what he was going to do to you. Left parts of him strewn around the swamp for everything to take a bite.”

Naomi laughed, knowing she shouldn’t but glowing from the idea of Hal being so righteously angry on her behalf. “I’m glad you didn’t have to. Do you know what’s in the water back there?” He nodded. “When I call the police, I want to report it. I need to. My fingerprints are all over it, but it’s a tie to the landowners as well.”

“How?”

“The barrel. That’s a cask from their private distillery. I’ve seen them a thousand times as a kid. And if Ian knows that’s been discovered, on top of the chemical dumping, he’s got reason to go in as an informant of them to get a lesser sentence. Poacher turned gamekeeper.”

Hal hummed, the sound rolling through his chest so Naomi could feel it through her side. “Alright then, that sounds good. Gets the company and the owners both into the conspiracy.”

“I was so scared you were dead.” It hadn’t been what she meant to say, but the words came out unbidden, and he squeezed her tighter as he brought them into the low-roofed building. It still had a fireplace, cleaned and clearly used, and he set her beside it while he began starting a fire.

“I have to say, it’s the first time I’ve tried it. Still wouldn’t recommend doing it, but I am much harder to kill, as I promised.” They lapsed into silence as he started the fire and Naomi took her phone out, setting it against the wall to let it drain out and hopefully dry enough to place an emergency call soon. If not, they might have to use Ian’s.

“I’m glad you’re harder to kill,” she said eventually, as if picking the conversation up again.

“Me too. Do you think we could keep seeing each other, despite you solving the pollution issue?”

“How do you mean?” She tilted her head at him, not missing how carefully he tended the fire rather than look at her.

“I meant what I said earlier. I’ve never felt this need for someone like I do you, and I don’t want to lose that.”

“Of course I’ll be coming back. I’m a conservationist, this is where I belong. And I would like to keep seeing you. And maybe introduce you to a friend who is a marine biologist, if that’s not too weird.”

“Not at all.” He smiled, the plants on his chest fluttering in delight as he came and sat next to her. “I know this won’t be normal, but it could be good.”

“I think so too.” She sank her arm around his torso, leaning into him for support as the fire ate into the wood below, and she basked in the glow. Pressing just a little higher, she kissed him, carding her fingers through the eager plants. “You’d best keep me warm until the fire takes a proper hold, though.”

“Of course.” He turned her, laying her flat against the stone floor, and devoured her just as thoroughly as he had in her dream.

Other stories from Terri Stern:

The Monster Erotica collection

A Vampire’s Debt Steamy Short Stories collection

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If you enjoyed this story, I would sincerely appreciate if you would leave a review or a rating! Reviews and ratings are a great help to the author and they make my day. Thank you!

Terri Stern is a writer and student based in Scotland. Outside of writing she enjoys walking and cocktails, as well as belly dancing. Her favorite tea is Royal Milk Tea from South Korea and she dreams of being able to travel again so she can visit there to try it fresh.

Find her on Twitter: @TerriSternWrite

Website: terristernwrites.com

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