Lachlan paused, chewing his lip. ‘You told me you were going to be late.’ He thumped Cam’s arm—a gesture that looked light but landed hard. ‘Cam, you idiot! I could have carried you across the loch!’
‘Ow! You’re not serious?’ Cam halted, halfway down and briefly blinded by a swirl of snow. He shook his head and gripped Lachlan’s shoulders. ‘Lachy, love… I wouldneverask you to put yourself at risk for me like that. What if someone saw you? It’s not worth it.’
Lachlan’s lips pursed, then blew out a soft sigh. ‘You should tell me, the next time you’re in trouble.’
‘I wasn’t in trouble.’ Cam squeezed his shoulders before releasing them. Then he winced. ‘But, uh. I am worried about this creature.’
Lachlan squinted past him at the trees. ‘What does it look like?’
‘Not sure. Sort of… wolfish.’
‘I don’t think there are any wolves left in Scotland.’ Lachlan tagged close behind as Cam advanced.
Cam pulled the Walker talisman from his pocket. The round stone was warm as usual, though its smooth surface was now interrupted by the criss-crossing of leather cord. It was a recent idea of his, in order to wear the amulet around his neck. With its open eye and curled tail motif, it even looked like a purposefully fashioned pendant, innocuous enough that he could wear it openly without drawing suspicion.
The trouble was, he couldn’t stand wearing it all the time. The constant magical tug on his vision gave him eye strain after a while, like he was staring through a pair of invisible and imperceptibly out of focus glasses.
He grasped it in his hand for now while scanning the dark undergrowth. No magical traces caught his eye, and no physical tracks either. If there’d been more snow then he might’ve found footprints, but it had only just begun to fall and the ground here was hard from a lack of recent rainfall.
‘Anything?’ Lachlan whispered at his side.
Cam shook his head, slipping the talisman away. Spots blinked in and out of his vision, a sign of just how tired he was. ‘I’m not sure I didn’t imagine it. I really need to sleep.’
Lachlan gently tugged him away. ‘Let’s get home, then.’
They picked their way cautiously across the hill, alert for any more signs of a hairy beast. None materialised, but Cam couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on the back of his neck even as they reached The Lucky Teapot.
Exhaustion was finally catching up with him, however. He struggled to remain upright, leaning heavily on the brick wall while Lachlan made horrified exclamations over the state of his motorbike. His feet were throbbing with pain and Cam could admit, at least to himself, that maybe forcing them on an additional hike might not have been the best idea.
When Lachlan towed him upstairs, intent on checking him for injuries, he made zero protests and allowed Lachlan to pull his clothes off and push him onto the bed. He closed his eyes and grunted a soft, involuntary noise of contentment while Lachlan’s slender fingers ran over his skin. Their warmth spread over his body like a salve. He heard a disapproving tut as Lachlan skimmed over a few bruises, but it only made him emit a rough chuckle as the promise of sleep bloomed behind his eyelids.
Lachlan’s hand flattened on the centre of his chest, now rising and falling in deep, slow breaths. A final word made it into his ears before sleep overtook him; a soft, affectionate, ‘Idiot.’
Chapter Three
The Lucky Teapot was open the next day and business was booming. Cam donned a lilac apron and set straight to helping Lachlan prepare the hearty breakfast orders of fried bacon and hot butteries and potato scones.
‘Morning Helen, Donald,’ he said, setting down two cups of tea in front of the Teapot’s most regular patrons. ‘How’s the shed extension going?’
‘Bloody tiles keep slipping off,’ Donald replied grumpily. ‘Won’t stand up to this snow.’
‘Don’t mind him,’ Helen interjected. ‘He enjoys the challenge. Did you boys have a nice Christmas?’
The overly casual inflection in her voice told Cam she was fishing for confirmation that he and Lachlan had spent it together. He was amused to think that the nature of their relationship might be the subject of gossip among the Teapot’s clientele. But in this instance, he’d have to dash the hopeful gleam in her eye. ‘I had to spend the holiday working elsewhere. But Lachlan tells me things have been going well here.’
He caught the knowingI told you solook that Donald flashed his wife and nearly laughed out loud. Perhaps the two of them were having an argument as to whether he and Lachlan were shagging.
‘You seem to be away a lot?’ Helen continued lightly, pointedly ignoring her husband.
‘Bikes need fixing all over the place. I travel to people who need the help.’ Cam’s past life as a mechanic was his go-to explanation for anything work related, and much more acceptable than saying ‘witchcraft’. Besides, it wasn’t a total lie—he still carried out odd jobs for folks now and then.
‘Well, it’s always lovely to see you,’ Helen said with genuine warmth. If The Lucky Teapot were a family, then Helen would naturally slot into the role of Mother for it. Cam felt she was moments away from pinching his cheek during half their interactions.
Most of the patrons in the café today were regulars. Their faces had gradually become familiar to Cam, along with their mannerisms and slightly odd orders. Donald would always ask for cream instead of milk, and was a cheerful soul despite his outwardly grumbly nature. Quiet, middle-aged Shona tended to be as unobtrusive and undemanding as possible, except for when she ordered a buttery, which she wanted toasted forexactlyone minute either side. And then the elderly Crawfords (who only heard about half a sentence each, and spiritedly attempted to translate half-heard conversations in tandem) were the sole reason Lachlan kept a steady supply of smoked haddock in the fridges as they often requested a plate of it, sans any accompaniments.
The largest table in the middle of the room (which was in fact two tables pushed together) was occupied by today’s rowdiest patrons: the local Wild Swimming Club, a bunch of friendly nutters who’d been for an icy dip in the loch that morning. They had an arrangement to use Lachlan’s pier as their diving point—which Cam suspected had been a cunningly conceived plan on Lachlan’s part so that he always knew when they were going to be entering his area of the loch. They were all still a little damp and somewhat red in the face from the cold water, but cheering each other on for their earlier efforts.
It was the kind of crowd Cam expected to see on the second day of the new year—no holidaymakers would be making the trek until February, at least. But there was one group of customers he didn’t recognise. They’d entered silently and clustered tightly round a far corner table. They stuck out by a mile as outsiders.
