Then, this would all be over. Hæra would eat Madeleine, and Madeleine would be a part of her forever. She’d return to the sea in triumph, gain her wings, and take to the sky. No more confusion or desire, no more deluded reflections about wanting to stay on land. No more worries about a human man’s opinion of her.

And definitely no thoughts about becoming human herself.

She’d remember who she was. Each-uisge, predator of the seas, destined for the skies. Not a woman with a cold current in the pit of her stomach and skin that prickled with panic.

She’d take care of this once and for all.

Hæra threw the rosary back in the drawer—neither she nor Madeleine would need it, after all—and stormed through the house. Time to leave and never come back.

She paused briefly by Jonathan’s closed bedroom door. He was snoring on the other side.

She’d never see him again. He’d wake up to find her gone. Eventually, he’d hear that Madeleine had disappeared, he’d put two and two together, and he’d know that Hæra was what he feared. As bad as Asgall.

Well then. He would be correct. But he’d be all right, wouldn’t he? She’d made him prosperous. The community respected him now. He’d found a purpose in running the farm. Once Hæra left, he’d no longer share his home with a creature who was everything he despised.

Jonathan would be better off without her.

Hæra swallowed down a groan and fled what had become her home for a brief and brilliant time.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“Closing time, love.”

Madeleine looked up from her drink, blinking more slowly than she usually did. Iona Darrow stood over her table, drying a beer glass with a towel.

Iona and her husband, Elliot, were co-owners of the Kestrel. They’d met when they were teenagers and had lived here their whole lives. They had one son who worked at the oil terminals. Plus a dog. Elliot was allergic to walnuts.

Madeleine had learned all of this during their multiple visits to her table, because she’d been here for a while. Now it was after midnight and she was the only one left in the pub.

“I’m sorry,” she said. The words didn’t sound right, maybe because her tongue felt thick in her mouth.

“No need to apologize.”

There was, but Madeleine couldn’t remember to whom, or why.

“We’ve got to close up. Why don’t you just finish that one?” Iona raised an eyebrow. “Or not, maybe.”

There was still a swallow or two left in Madeleine’s second whisky. She didn’t love whisky but had needed to order something, and gin or vodka hadn’t felt right. The Kestrel didn’t do fruity little cocktails. She didn’t like beer, and wine was right out.