Page 48 of The Last Kelpie

She peered up at the shelf, going from book to book, and then smiled. “That would be the Kilmartin Journal. Thirteenth century, but documenting oral traditions from much earlier.”

“Do you know where it is?”

“One moment.” She hurried away. A few minutes later, she returned with a large, leather-bound book that she set down on a nearby table. After flipping through the book, she looked up. “I don't have any record of someone signing it out.”

“Then someone took it?” Áedán asked.

“No one would do that.”

“Maybe you forgot to write it down,” I suggested.

Eleanor lifted her chin. “This isn't the only record. You need approval from a senior archivist to remove anything from the Archive.” She flipped to the back of the book, stopped at a page, and shook her head. “These are the most recent sign-outs, and this is where the approval form would be.” She flipped the page, and behind it was a pocket full of slips. She removed the slips and looked through them. “None of these are for the Kilmartin Journal.”

“Could it have been misfiled?” I looked at the stack of slips, thinking how easy it would be to misplace one.

“I don't misfile things, Mr. Clarke.” Her tone was more worried than offended. “This is irregular. Very irregular.” She closed the logbook. “I need to bring this to Agnes's attention immediately. Excuse me.” She hurried off with the huge book clutched to her chest, her vintage dress swishing around her legs.

I watched her go, my mind already spinning. “Why that book?” I said, more to myself than to Áedán. “Of all the manuscripts in here, why would someone take that specific one?”

“Maybe it's a coincidence.”

“You don't believe that.”

“Nae.” He looked over his shoulder at the bookshelf. “I don't.”

He turned back to me, and we stared at each other. The moment from before was gone, replaced by something heavier. The missing book felt significant. Had the person behind the alterations been in the Great Archive?

The image of that person on the fourth floor of the Archive, the one I'd seen watching me, came to mind, and I shuddered.

“We should stop for the night,” Áedán said. “We've been at this for hours.”

“I'm fine.” I went back to our table.

“I'm not fading right this second, Ethan.” Áedán came up behind me, reached around me, and gently closed my laptop. “And it's time to get back to us.”

My breath caught. I wanted to turn around and kiss him, but I froze. “What do you mean?”

He shifted and sat on the edge of the table. “I want to kiss you again. And this time, I wullnae stop there. So, if you dinnae want that, tell me now.”

I couldn't breathe properly. “I've been thinking about kissing you all day.”

“Have you?”

“Yes.”

“And?” His voice was soft, careful.

“And I want to kiss you again.” I wet my lips. “I want more than that. Tonight.”

Áedán smiled, slow and devastating to my heart. Then he leaned down and kissed me.

It differed from the last time. Áedán kissed me slower, with more intention. His hand came up to cup my jaw, his thumb brushing my cheekbone, but he didn't press himself against me as he had before. And I needed that. I whimpered, the only way I knew how to express what I needed, and he pulled me against him. His erection pressed into my thigh, and the feeling of that thick, hard length nearly sent me to my knees.

When we broke apart, we were both breathing hard.

“Come with me.” I took his hand.

His eyes darkened. “Are you sure?”