Kissing the Kelpie: A Monster Bride Romance, page 1
Kissing the Kelpie
By
Danielle Sibarium
Table of Contents
Danielle Sibarium
Table of Contents
Dedication
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Monster Bride Series
About the Author
Sites to stalk me!
ARC TEAM
Dedication
To S.C. Principale without you I never would’ve delved into the world of monster romance.
Copyright
Kissing the Kelpie
Copyright © 2024 Danielle Sibarium
The right of Danielle Sibarium to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by them under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000
All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed, or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, or similar organizations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, or mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the authors.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
Cover Design: Kit Fox
Editing: Evil Commas Editing
For questions or further information please contact: danielle@daniellesibarium.com
Chapter 1
“I’m scared,” I admit to Finn, keeping my voice down so that the mystical powers of the universe don’t hear, lest they should decide to seize on my concerns.
“Me too,” he confesses. “But I promise, we can get through it together. You just have to let your fear go and have faith.”
“In what?” I’ve given up on things like faith and hope. Finn was my last shot at either. Every time I crack the door to those foreign notions, it’s slammed hard in my face.
“In me. In us. I’ve got you, Masha, and I’ll fight for our family.”
“We don’t have a family. I have a family.”
“You, Ana, and our baby are now my family as well.”
I cry out as a ripping pain tears across my abdomen. After a minute or two, I find the strength to speak again.
“We’re not flowers, Finn. You don’t get to pluck us and hide us away for your keeping. That’s not how it works in my world.”
“I’ll fight anyone or anything that threatens to come between us. That’s how it works in my world.”
I have no doubt he believes what he’s saying, but I don’t think it’s that easy.
“Your kind kills my kind. End of story.”
*
One month ago
“What the . . .?”
Music rouses me, but for a moment, I cling to my slumber. What a realistic dream! I was back in dance school, jumping, leaping, and spinning on stage under bright lights to loud music echoing off the walls of a crowded auditorium.
I miss dancing. Hearing the spectators break out in applause each time a song ends, bending at the waist, taking a bow, acknowledging their love and praise.
Okay, so the cheers in the past weren’t all for me. They were for everyone on the stage.
Enveloped in memories, I smile and stretch, longing to go back to the dance recitals of my early youth. I loved ballet with all my heart, the pink leotards and tight buns. I practiced every day, determined to be the best ever, and I looked forward to the day my grandmother would come see me dance in Carnegie Hall.
Shortly before my tenth birthday, ballet lost its appeal. Carnegie Hall was for nerds, and I was too cool to spend my life practicing my plies (plee-ays) and releves (ruh-leh-vays). I insisted my grandmother enroll me in hip-hop classes, or I’d quit.
That was the end of my dance career. At ten, I was the most talented has-been in my elementary school. Probably in the neighborhood.
Lying in bed, now fully awake, I look around the bedroom of my little cottage, my gaze resting briefly on my daughter sleeping peacefully in the opposite corner. I still hear music playing. Impossible.
“Am I losing my mind?” It’s a real consideration after living tucked away from civilization for years. “I’m confusing the noise around me for music.” I listen for a moment to see if I can pick up on what sounds so melodious.
There are rhythmic sounds in the forest, like when the rain pelts against the roof and thunder cracks during a storm. Or in the mornings when the birds chirp. And at night when the frogs and crickets sing. Those are nature’s instruments. But I haven’t heard anything organized and man-made like this in years.
“No. This music is coming from an instrument.”
Before I think it through, I’m out of my front door, allowing my feet to lead me, humming to the ear-pleasing sounds. I look up through the trees. It’s a clear night. Hundreds of stars dot the inky black sky. Moonlight guides me, lighting my path.
“I don’t care if I am crazy.” The closer I get to the source of the music, the more excitement bubbles up inside me. I feel . . . buoyant. Like I’m walking on air. I haven’t felt this way since I found out I was pregnant.
The five and a half years since feel like thousands. Even before I saw the little plus sign progress in the window of the pee stick, I knew. I felt light on my feet, and bright, like sunlight was splayed through me from the inside out.
“Kukla,” Mike slips his arms around my waist and pulls me against him. His hands move to either side of my face as he looks down, his blue eyes meeting mine. “You are so beautiful.” Using the back of his fingers, he brushes stray hairs away from my face, leaving a warm trail in their wake. “I can’t tell what it is, but something’s different about you.”
My hands tangle in his dirty-blond hair. My smile grows and covers my face. “I’m happy. But if we’re going to speak Russian to the baby, Baba needs to teach you more than Kukla.”
His eyes grow in disbelief. The light radiating inside me spreads to him and reflects in his eyes. Excitement and joy settle in his features.
“Baby? We’re having a baby? Are you sure?”
“Positive. You want to see the plus sign?”
“Masha, we’re having a baby!”
“I know, I told you.”
He exhales, and his eyes fill with emotion. “Is it bad that I’m turned on right now?” He lifts me by the back of my thighs and wraps my legs around his torso.
“You’re turned on when the wind blows.” I counter, clasping my hands behind his neck as he holds me against him.
“Only when I’m next to you.”
That night, Mike carried me into the bedroom, set me down on the mattress, and took a painstakingly long time kissing every part of my body as he undressed me. Slow and tender, he made love to me. Before then, we fucked, but not that night. Not any night after that.
He didn’t want to hurt the baby and was nervous that anything not slow and tender would do irreparable damage to her. I thought life couldn’t get better. I definitely didn’t count on how much worse it would get—and in such a short time.
Replaying the scene in my head wipes the smile from my face, but the fact that I enjoyed the memory is progress. You would think after five years, I wouldn’t still cry when I allow myself to swirl down the funnel of memories. But I do. I ugly cry.
I keep a brave face on for Ana. I don’t want my daughter to see me wallowing in pain from missing her father. That’s why I push thoughts of the only man I ever loved from my mind.
The seclusion is a source of comfort. It’s part of what attracted me to living here. Sure, Em provides serious protection for Ana and me, but it’s the solace and quiet that have helped me move on. Or have they helped me shroud myself in denial and stolen away my chance to ever lead a normal life? I shake away the intrusive thought.
Living in the forest, I don’t have the time to wallow and dwell on what I’ve lost. The constant need to work keeps my body and mind busy. My day starts with collecting eggs. Em brings me buckets of water to boil and for laundry. And then there are clothes. I always seem to be working on a new sewing project.
Thankfully, Ana isn’t going through sizes the way she did her first two years. Now, at least, the clothes I make her last more than a month or two. I don’t mind sewing her dresses and outfits or using the gifts the forest offers to make other necessities for our day-to-day life. Every now and then, Em surprises us with things from outside the forest, like bottled water, children’s books, and coloring books and crayons. What I wouldn’t do to sit and watch t.v. once in a while.
Em sees to it that the farms around his domain are safe from poachers and wild animals. The wolves and coyotes learned the hard way that unapproved hunting will not be tolerated. In return, the farmers share their abundance with Em, and he shares it with us.
Not being faced wit
h listening to love songs, reading romance novels, or seeing rom/com movies also helps with Project: Keep My Sanity. It shields me from the resentment that comes from even the idea of people finding lasting love and happiness.
When I first lost Mike, a dangerous rage settled inside me. At my brother. At the unfair twists in my life. The last thing I needed was to have other people’s happily ever after shoved in my face. Here, that didn’t happen. Until Em found Erin. Now, I have to witness it on a daily basis.
I hated her when we first met. I knew immediately Em caught feelings. Fuck caught them; it’s like he dove in head first and swam to the bottom of the ocean searching for them. And after only spending a few hours with her. I thought maybe it was just his protective instinct, but no. Em fell hard. I resented Erin and wanted her out of our forest. Away from our home.
Things changed quickly, and now, I enjoy having her here to talk to and do chores with. She’s become a trusted friend. I still haven’t told her the nitty gritty details about Mike and his murder. She knows the bird’s eye view: he was Ana’s father, I loved him, and my brother killed him.
I’m relieved that she hasn’t asked questions about how we met or how long we were together. Not long enough before my brother found us and ended his life. I’m sure she will eventually, but I think she understands I’m not ready to talk about that time in my life.
I bring myself back to the moment. And the music that’s still playing. Is it a violin? Could Em have given one as a gift to Erin? Even if he did, she wouldn’t be playing it outside at this time of night, would she?
The tune leads me unwittingly down the path to the spring where we bathe. My favorite spot in the forest. It’s beautiful, peaceful, and every bit a paradise. Even at night, the splash of color from the bright flowers shows in muted tones.
As I step closer, I blink my eyes, sure I’m hallucinating. On the other side of the water, opposite me, I see a man. A stunning man, and he’s playing the violin.
Chapter 2
Lost in his music, the breathtaking man doesn’t appear to notice me. I blink a few times to see if he disappears when my vision clears. Instead, I have a better view of him. His light blonde hair hangs to his shoulders, droplets of water falling from the ends. He must have just taken a swim in the spring. I smile at the leaf or vine stuck in his hair.
Serves him right for sneaking a quick dip in our bathing area. I feel a strange stirring as I imagine him without his clothes, enjoying the warm water in the moonlight. The image stirs something inside me.
I let out a long breath. I don’t know why my brain went there. I step closer for a better look, soaking in the details of the stranger with hair so light it looks white.
Could he be an angel? No. That’s ridiculous.
But how could an ordinary man get this deep in the forest without Em’s help? And if Em brought, or even allowed, a man here, he would’ve told me. His job is to protect Ana and me. And he does it with pride and skill.
A chill kisses my skin, leaving my arms covered in tiny bumps. Em doesn’t know the man’s here. He subverted Em’s detection. A shiver runs up my spine.
This man, this thing, isn’t human. He can’t be. Danger flashes like a neon sign before me. Fear spears my heart. Whoever, whatever, the stranger is, he doesn’t belong here, and the fact that I've gotten so close to him means my defenses are down.
“Safra,” I keep my voice low as I call my feline escort. She responds with a low, non-threatening sound to let me know she’s with me.
This catches the man’s attention. He pauses a moment. Our eyes meet. The air is pulled from my lungs. Suctioned. My body quivers. Feeling overexposed in the thin white nightgown I made for myself, I cross my arms over my chest as if that will offer some sort of protection.
Unable to think straight, I pull my eyes from his and soak in the rest of him. His broad shoulders stretch the loose-fitting cream shirt he wears. It’s loosely laced up in the front, hinting at his smooth chest. That, along with his black baggy pants, reminds me of a pirate from a hundred years ago. All he’s missing is a hat, sword, and boots. Well, he may be missing boots. I can’t see his feet from where I am.
There’s something pulling me to him. I want to get closer. See him. Touch him. I have to fight the urge with everything I have inside me.
My eyes return to his. They’re piercing, cutting into my inner self. The bright blue color captivates me from across the spring. The corners of his lips lift ever so slightly before he nods at me in acknowledgment, then pulls the bow across the strings of his instrument and makes music once again.
I release a shaky breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I want to get rid of the ominous feeling in my chest so I can approach him with a clear head. I can’t. Seized by fear, I’m frozen in place.
This is wrong, I remind myself. He’s dangerous because he doesn’t belong here. Breaking out in a cold sweat, my heart drums against my chest. My body trembles. I have to force myself to flee. I swallow hard gathering my bearings. I need to be strong for Ana and create distance from this being.
“Come, Safra,” Pretending I’m not affected by the man, I ignore him and use all my self-discipline to turn around and rush back to my cottage. Twice, I feel the need to look behind me and see if he’s following. He isn’t.
The closer I get to my cottage, the faster my heart beats. Once inside, I rush to close the door and lean my back against it. Clutching my chest, I catch my breath and search the room for something to use as a weapon if he forces his way inside.
*
Sleep evades me for the next week. I toss and turn in the dark, waiting with anticipation to hear the beautiful music again. The music that filled me with nostalgia and joy. I know it’s coming.
That he’s going to return.
I fill with disappointment instead when, night after night, I hear nothing but the hooting of owls and the croaking of frogs in the darkness.
I consider asking Em if he encountered the stranger, but decide not to. If he knew about him, he’d tell me. Since neither he nor Erin mentions anything, I leave it be, in case the man was here by mistake. No need causing problems for someone who meant no harm.
Unless he did. Does.
I believe he had a purpose for being here. At least, that’s how it seemed when I saw him at the spring. He looked too comfortable and carefree, too unafraid of the environment around him to have stumbled here by chance. And who carries a violin on them?
For now, I decide to keep the mysterious man my secret. Why stir up trouble for no reason? At this point, the likelihood of me ever seeing him again is slim to none. At least, that’s what my head tells me. But my heart waits with anticipation for his return, knowing it’s only a matter of time.
Chapter 3
My feet move. I barely notice that I’m walking. It feels like I’m floating or being pulled on a conveyor belt. The closer I get to the spring, the faster my heart beats. Trepidation or excitement, I’m not sure which, has me trembling so much I can’t see straight, and the images around me bounce and blur.
“This is crazy!” I reassure myself. “I have nothing to be nervous about. You’ll keep me safe, Safra, won’t you?”
She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even turn her head to look at me. What do I expect? She is a cougar. It’s strange, though. I always get some sort of acknowledgment when I speak to her.
I wonder if this should set off a warning flare. It doesn’t. At least not one obvious enough for me to turn around.
“You’re a little out of sorts, girl; you’d stop me if you sensed danger. Wouldn’t you?”
She yawns in response. Maybe she’s just tired and upset because I woke her from her sleep to walk with me. I chalk her behavior up to the fact that cougars are wild animals and don’t respond the way humans do, even though Safra is a lot more interactive than your everyday cougar.
Ignoring the niggling feeling that I may be heading for a trap, I forge forward, almost as if I’m powerless to stop myself. Although, I know if I decide to turn around and go home, I’ll find the will to do it. Just like last time.
I give it one last shot. “We’re out for a nighttime walk, that’s all girl, right?” I ask her, as if we do this all the time. This time, Safra gives me a side glance and a low growl.
