He didn’t want to think about it.
It was saying something, that the pain of Fionn leaving him had utterly drowned out Rory’s shock over his latest transformation. Bluefolk or Redfolk, did it really matter which pair of gills he happened to be sporting?
Fionn seemed to think so.
It doesn’t matter because I’m leaving anyway,Rory told himself.I made the decision. I’m following through this time. With or without him.
He made for the surface to get his bearings then began to swim for Ullapool. Its buildings were dark and unwelcoming in the twilight.
As Rory’s mood dropped lower his new spines relaxed and lay flush against his back. It was a strange sensation to feel them jostling there as he moved through the water. His fins, too: as he swam, some automatic muscle reflex caused the membrane to stiffen at the perfect moment to push or pull against the current.
Had they always been there, hiding beneath his skin?
Had he always been this person, hiding beneath himself?
Despite trying to push it all from his mind, the questions kept coming.
If it wasn’t Fionn, would some other man have come along to poke his sleeping libido? Would he have dared face the truth of it, if he didn’t have a soul bond and a persistent prince nagging at him day and night to confront what he wanted?
What did he, Rory Douglas, want?
He felt the pull of the ocean behind him as he neared Ullapool’s harbour. A sense of something vast and dark and exciting stretching into the distance. A horizon beyond every horizon he’d ever stared wistfully over.
Fionn was somewhere over that horizon, also pulling at him from the other end of the soul bond. Rory stopped swimming for a moment and concentrated. He felt he could follow that pull if he tried. The bond could lead him to Fionn.
He looked up at the surface. Stars twinkled beyond the waves.
‘I’ve come too far to back out now,’ he sang to the tide. ‘I’ve made my decision and I’m sticking with it.’
Rory propelled himself to the harbour steps and climbed out of the water. He had a plan. It was a simple one, but it was of his own making and no one else’s.
He was going to say good bye. And then he was going to leave.
And if he could persuade the bastard to see reason, he’d drag Fionn with him.
* * *
Rory snuck aboard theWandering Starbefore entering the town. He grabbed his spare waterproof that hung in the cabin and used it to cover his spines and arms. He’d be a strange sight walking barefoot with his legs out, even without the silky fins fluttering along his calves, but it would have to do.
He ran furtively through the dark streets to his house. Cursed colourfully when he realised he didn’t have keys for the front door. Cursed even more vividly when he discovered he had the strength to break the door from its hinges anyway.
A new set of clothes and boots later, Rory made for his dad’s place. It was only a few doors down. Rory hadn’t managed to get away even when he moved out of the old man’s home.
Tonight, that would change.
He let himself in. The lights were off but the TV blared from the back room. Rory glanced at the kitchen clock and saw it wasaround four PM. The smell of rotten food in the sink told him his dad had at least bothered to eat something in the last twenty-four hours and was probably waiting for him to clear it up.
Sure enough, Hamish Douglas was slumped in his armchair in front of some bland local talk show.
Rory grabbed the remote and turned it off.
‘Oi.’ His father grunted, shuffling upright against the cushions. He smelled of whiskey again. ‘Turn it back on ye little shite!’
‘Not right now.’ Rory placed the remote on a shelf, out of reach. ‘We need to talk.’
‘Pah!’ Hamish picked up the near-empty bottle by his chair and gave it a cynical shake. ‘Ain’t nuthin’ I have t’say to you.Nuthin’. Ye waste o’ skin. Waste’f air. Waste of— of—’
He’s pissed out of his mind,Rory realised, noticing the additional bottles scattered around the carpet.
