#((i'm trying))

The first thing you noticed was the silence.

The second was the man standing beside the river.

No— not a man, or at least not entirely.

Even in the dark you could could still make him out, the unnatural height, the dripping black mane hanging down his back, the pale eyes reflecting moonlight like an animal’s. Water pooled beneath his bare feet though he stood several feet from the shore.

Waiting.

For you.

Your stomach tightened immediately. “You’ve been following me,” you said carefully.

His expression didn’t change. “You walk near my river every evening.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

A slow blink. Then, calmly, “Yes.”

You should have left then. Every instinct screamed at you to turn around and head back toward town, toward lantern light and human voices and safety.

Instead, perhaps stubbornly, you stayed. Because despite the terror curling in your stomach, there was something else too. Curiosity.

The creature tilted his head slightly, watching you with unsettling focus. Like he had memorized the way you breathed. “You spoke to another human today,” he said suddenly.

Your heart skipped. “How do you know that?”

“I smelled them on you.” The answer came instantly, as though there were nothing strange about it. You forced a nervous laugh. “You can’t seriously be upset about that.”

The river behind him churned violently. His eyes narrowed. “I told you already,” he said softly. “What enters my water belongs to me.”

Your pulse jumped. You remembered that night perfectly — his hands dragging you waist-deep into the freezing current, sharp teeth at your throat, that monstrous voice growling ownership into your ear while the river curled around your body like living hands.

At the time, you thought it was a threat. Now you weren’t so sure. “You don’t own people,” you said carefully.

Something dangerous flickered across his face. In one terrifyingly fast movement, he closed the distance between you.

You barely gasped before your back hit a tree hard. One large hand slammed beside your head while the other gripped your jaw, forcing your face upward.

“You continue returning to me,” he murmured. “You stand in my river. You allow me near you.”

His grip tightened slightly. “Why?”

The question sounded almost angry. Like he genuinely couldn’t understand it. You swallowed. “Because you haven’t hurt me.”

A mistake. The moment the words left your mouth, something in his expression twisted.

Not softer. Worse. His pupils widened.

“You think I would not?” he whispered.

The air turned cold. Instinct screamed at you now — predator, predator, predator —

Yet he leaned closer instead, nose brushing your cheek as he inhaled slowly. “I could drag you beneath the water before you managed a single scream,” he murmured against your skin. “I could keep you there until your lungs burst.”

His thumb pressed against your pulse. “But I do not.” Your breathing had gone shallow.

He noticed immediately. A rough sound rumbled in his chest. “You fear me now.”

“You’re saying terrifying things.”

“You should be terrified.”

Yet his grip loosened, contradicting everything about him. His forehead lowered suddenly against yours, heavy and damp and strangely exhausted.

“You walk through the forest alone,” he growled quietly. “You speak to strangers. You stand near deep water at night as though nothing in this world wishes to consume you.”

The hand beside your head clenched hard enough to crack bark. “You are soft,” he said bitterly. “Fragile. Careless.”

The anger in his voice sounded less like hatred and more like panic. As if the world itself offended him for being dangerous to you.

You stared at him. “…Are you worried about me?”

Silence.

Then his lip curled sharply, annoyed at being understood. “Yes.” The word came out harsh.

“You are mine to protect.”

Your breath caught, the realization made your chest ache unexpectedly. He felt like a beast circling something delicate it didn’t know how to hold without crushing.

His gaze dropped to your throat again. “You let that human touch your arm.”

Oh.

This again.

“They bumped into me.” His jaw tightened visibly. “I disliked it.”

“I noticed.”

He stepped even closer somehow, caging you entirely against the tree now. Massive. Cold. Overwhelming. His fingers slid down your wrist until they hooked around your hand possessively.

“You should stay near the river instead.”

“That sounds suspiciously like kidnapping.”

His eyes met yours instantly. “If I wished to keep you,” he said quietly, “you would already be beneath the water.”

Your heart stumbled at that, not because of the threat. But because he sounded offended you thought he needed force. As though in his mind, your place beside him was already inevitable.

The realization should have frightened you more than it did.

His stare lingered on your face for a long moment before his expression shifted again — irritation melting into something quieter. Something hungry in a way that had nothing to do with feeding.

Slowly, carefully, he touched a strand of your hair. “So delicate,” he murmured.

The tenderness coming from something so monstrous felt infinitely more dangerous than the threats.

Then, abruptly, his head snapped toward the forest. A distant voice called your name, someone from town. The kelpie went still. Every trace of softness vanished instantly. His pupils narrowed into slits.

A growl rolled from his chest so deep it barely sounded human anymore. Your stomach dropped. “Hey,” you said quickly. “It’s just—”

“I know.”

The words came sharp as broken glass. The voice called again, closer this time. The kelpie’s hand tightened around yours possessively.

Then he looked back at you, and for the first time since meeting him— he looked truly angry.

Not at you.

But at the thought of something else taking your attention away from him.

..