He knows something.
If he knows anything, it’s too much.
What did I do? What mistake did I make?
My heart rate speeds and my breath with it.
“Isla?”
My eyes flick to the door.
Should I run? The MacNamaras are just downstairs. I could tell them…
Realization crashes over me.
Finn is Owen’s best friend. Coworker. Has spent countless hours in this house.
He might have learned about my kind. Many humans in Folk Haven know. But not all.
“How well do you know the MacNamaras?” I use my most neutral tone to ask the question, attempting to ease away from a panic that won’t serve me.
“Very well.”
“How well?”
Finn sighs, dragging a hand through his hair, which messes up the dark mass more than usual. “Well enough to know what happens the night of the dark moon.”
The night of the dark moon.
His phrasing reveals the truth. That is how most selkies speak of the one night a month we decree it safe enough to bring out our second skins and take on our other form. On the pitch-black nights, with no moonlight to reveal us, we can reconnect with our animalistic selves, become one with the water, and replenish our souls.
“Owen told you.”
Finn grimaces. “Yes. But only because he had to.”
“You forced him?”
“No!” Finn leans toward me and then immediately back again.
Then, he stands from the bed, and I catch a glimpse of his bare ass before he pulls on his discarded shorts. Now partially clothed, he paces the floor, and I watch his movements, trying to figure out the proper reaction to this situation. Or at least come up with a question to ask that’ll help me understand.
Suddenly, Finn crouches beside me, and when he speaks, the pain in his voice reverberates off my bones. “Owen told me to help me understand the extent of the harm I’d caused. Because I was there the night you were injured, Isla.” He bows his head. “I’m the reason you have nightmares.”
8
FINN
I don’t knowif I’m doing the right thing.
But I hope I am. Hope that knowing more details about the event might in some way help Isla sleep through the night without fear.
“I was with my dad,” I start, lowering myself to the floor. Placing myself beneath her.
Isla shifts until she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, her feet flat on the floor. The same position she was in last night when I tasted her. It would’ve been so easy to kiss her this morning, but this lie has lingered between us too long.
“Your father is in prison,” she points out.
“Now, he is.”
