14
LIZ LAUGHED, A SHORT, SHOCKED, DISBELIEVING sound. “You‟re kidding.”
You’re crazy.
But Morgan appeared perfectly sane, his odd golden-colored eyes unwavering, his hard face composed. He didn‟t look
delusional.
He also didn‟t look like he was joking.
A different fear seized her throat.
“I am finfolk. Our son Zachary is one of those children.”
“You mean Finnish,” she said.
“I am a shape-shifter, Elizabeth.”
No. Her body stiffened in rejection. Her mind reeled in shock. This was Morgan, a man she‟d admitted into her home.
Allowed alone with her children. Had sex with. Twice. And he was . . .
Joking, she told herself firmly.
Or insane.
“This isn‟t funny.” She wet her dry lips, glanced over her shoulder. The shore seemed suddenly very far away.
His words on the beach came back to her. “Otherwise I cannot be sure you will not run away . ”
Dear God.
She twisted on her seat, forcing herself to hold his gaze, to speak calmly. One of them had to be rational. “You look human
to me.”
He was human.
How could he be anything else?
“I am finfolk. A man on land,” he explained. “In the sea, we take the form of creatures of the sea.”
Her stomach lurched. She was trapped on a boat with a madman. Should she try to humor him?
But this was Morgan , her heart insisted, who had shown such insight with Zack, such patience with Emily. There must be
some way to reach him, to reason with him.
“Morgan, I‟m a doctor. I‟ve spent years studying and treating the human body. What you‟re suggesting simply isn‟t
possible.”
“Your medicine is based on human science. I am not human. I am an elemental.”
She ignored his outrageous statement, seizing gratefully on the one word she trusted. “Exactly. Based on science . Reliable
knowledge acquired through empirical evidence and critical thinking. Not speculation based on some cockeyed interpretation
of the Bible or, or fairy tales. You can‟t believe . . . You can‟t expect me to believe . . .”
“I expect nothing. I had hoped . . .” Morgan shook his head. “No matter.”
The oarlocks creaked. The paddles flashed as he raised them, dripping, from the water. Shrugging out of his jacket, he laid
it on the seat beside him.
Liz‟s face felt stiff. Her lips were numb. “What are you doing?”
“Providing you with the empirical evidence you require.” He tugged his shirt over his head. His shoulders were broad, his
torso as pale and smoothly sculpted as marble in a museum. His silver medal gleamed on his chest. “We cannot discuss
Zachary‟s future until you believe.”
Her heart stuttered. “Let‟s not do anything”— crazy —“hasty now. I‟m a doctor,” she repeated, holding on to her
professional identity like a talisman against madness. “I know people you can talk to. People who can help you.”
“Other doctors.”
“Yes,” she admitted.
“No.” The boat bobbed in the mild chop. “We are deep enough here.”
Liz clutched the sides, apprehension coiling in her belly. “Deep enough for what?”
He met her eyes. “For me to show you what I am. What our son is.”
Even though she knew nothing was going to happen, a primitive chill chased across the back of her neck and down her
spine. “You really don‟t have to.”