Kelpies were water spirits who most often appeared in the guise of a black or white horse. They lured victims to them by faking injury or some other poor me ploy. Once there was a foal born of a kelpie father and siren mother that ensnared victims with its song. Regardless of the mechanism, the stories always ended the same way. Kelpies coaxed their victims onto their backs, carried their riders into the depths of the lake or river where they hunted, and then feasted on them.

The problem being Charybdis was roaming, which wasn’t normal kelpie behavior. Neither was wasting a kill. The only damage these victims had sustained was the loss of a hand or forearm. He was allowing them to touch him, hauling them into the water to drown them, and then leaving the bodies. Why?

“Don’t stonewall me,” he growled. “For gods’ sake, Ellis, look at me.”

Compassion waited for me in his gaze, its weight pressed me down until I couldn’t have lifted my head if I wanted. Instead I picked at the cardboard cuff around my cup. “How much did you see?”

His silence told me he had witnessed the entire production.

“What do you want from me?” A mirthless laugh died in my throat. “What do you expect me to say?”

“Does it get better?” His voice scraped up his throat. “Does it ever…?”

“No.” The unshed tears in my eyes fell. “The hole in your chest is always gaping. Nothing else will fill it. No one who didn’t know the one you lost will understand.” I took a slow breath. “People will tell you how to grieve, what to feel, and how long you’re allowed to hurt. A few weeks, a couple of months, and that’s it. The empathy runs dry. Your grief becomes the elephant in the room that tramples anyone who tries to take that pain away.” Harsh laughter burned my chest. “Then you move on, or you do such a damn fine acting job others think you have, and then they sigh with relief. Tears get packed away, the hurt gets hidden.” I cut my finger on the drink’s lid then pressed it against the cardboard until it stopped bleeding. “Everyone supports your loss until they’re tired of how lost you really are.”

A warm thumb swiped across my cheek, smudging the wet streaks. “You can’t heal until you let yourself grieve.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. I hadn’t seen him move. “I can’t go back to that place.” My lungs forgot how to expand until he lowered his hand. “I might never climb out again.”

Shadows darkened his eyes, but he nodded. He understood. His pain was fresh enough for him to feel the same ragged scars on his heart as those decorating mine. Though he did a better job of concealing them than I had at this stage.