Wild Waters

The lodge looks worse than Rowan expected.

Crumbling stone. Overgrown gardens. Windows that need replacing.

MacKay Lodge has been in her family for eight generations. Now it's dying.

"Welcome home, Ro." Her aunt Moira stands in the doorway, looking exhausted. "It's worse inside."

It is.

Pipes burst over winter. Mold in three rooms. The roof leaked. Bookings are down to nothing.

"The horse scared off the last guests," Moira says. "Came right up to the lodge. Screaming. Terrified everyone."

"What horse?"

"Wild one. Lives in the loch. Been here as long as I can remember. Your grandmother used to leave it offerings." Moira shakes her head. "Tourists think it's charming until they see it up close. Then they run."

Rowan looks out at the dark water.

Loch Dubh. Black Lake.

She grew up swimming in those waters. Fearless.

Until the night she almost drowned.

Sixteen years old. Swimming after sunset. Something grabbed her ankle. Pulled her under.

She remembers dark water. A shape. Eyes that glowed green.

Then nothing.

She woke on shore. Alone. Coughing up water.

Left for California the next day. Hasn't been back since.

"I'll check it out tomorrow," she says. "The horse. Make sure it's not dangerous."

Moira gives her a look.

"You always were the brave one."

---

Dawn.

Rowan stands at the water's edge in her wetsuit.

The loch is glass-calm. Mist rising. Beautiful and eerie.

She sees movement.

A horse.

Massive. Black as the water. Mane flowing like silk.

It's standing in the shallows. Watching her.

"Hey, boy." She approaches slowly. "You're the troublemaker, huh?"

The horse tosses its head.

Its eyes catch the light.

Green. Glowing.

Rowan freezes.

She knows those eyes.

"You," she whispers.

The horse moves closer. Water sluicing off its flanks.

Up close, it's enormous. Easily seventeen hands. Its coat is wet—always wet, like it just emerged from deep water.

And its eyes—

Intelligent. Too intelligent.

"You're the one who pulled me under. Sixteen years ago."

The horse doesn't move.

Rowan should run.

Instead she reaches out.

Her hand touches its neck.

The world shifts.

Suddenly she's not touching a horse. She's touching a man.

Tall. Muscular. Soaking wet. With the same green eyes.

And completely naked.

"Christ!" She stumbles back.

He doesn't move. Just stands there, water dripping from black hair that falls past his shoulders.

"You came back," he says. Scottish accent. Deep voice. "I waited...