Kelpie's Claiming

By Alexa Piper

Rob’s current goal in life? Do not eat people. That’s easier said than done when you’re a kelpie in the service industry. While Rob pursues his goals from behind the bar, a stranger walks in, and Rob catches the man’s scent. Yet patrons are not for eating, and it should have ended there… except when Rob smells that delicious scent again, the beautiful stranger needs help.

Bertrand wants to fit in but because he’s part Fae, part Elf, and grew up human, he’s not really at home in either human or supernatural society. Still, he likes being a reporter and following a story all the way to its conclusion. The story he’s pursuing when he walks into Rob’s bar one night is one of supernaturals going missing, and Bertrand seems to be the only one who cares.

Meeting Bertrand might just shift Rob’s life goals. Coming face-to-face with a kelpie stallion might be enough to help Bertrand see where he fits in perfectly. Except Bertrand doesn’t really know what to make of Rob, and also, Bertrand‘s missing persons story is bigger than even he envisioned. It’s turning into a case of abduction and trafficking he needs to unravel before he can even think about Rob’s advances. The story will lead Bertrand to some dark places before the year is out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: May 6, 2022

Book preview

Chapter One

Rob

In his more philanthropic youth, Rob had been excited about opening a bar-slash-diner and making a name for his establishment. He had succeeded with the Ragdoll, which was known for amazing sandwiches and exquisite liquor concoctions in supernatural circles and human circles alike. Going fully vegetarian had been the logical choice for Rob when he’d moved to the city of Fairview.

Now, he had over twenty years in the service industry under his belt, and the occasional slice of liver sounded so appealing when Rob had to cling on to his smile for all he was worth in front of a customer. It was why he’d hired a half-succubus and sexy Ilya whatever-he-was to handle the personal interactions.

(Rob was convinced Ilya could have, if he’d ever shown the inclination, charmed the pants off a barstool if barstools wore pants.) But now, with Ilya in love with a disgustingly rich witch and consequently out of town for whatever spell the Fey had planned to put on Rob’s most beloved employee, Rob had to pick up the slack behind the bar. And Ilya’s brother was not a suitable replacement, even if he was responding well to getting trained for the job.

There is not enough rum in this, the customer told Rob again, and Rob was pulled from his musings and back to wishing for a slice of liver.

I’m ever so sorry, Rob said without conviction. He looked up from the lime he was about to dismember on his cutting board behind the bar and glanced over the customer’s shoulder at Titi. The busboy was taking down the Fat Man Day decorations and prepping the Ragdoll for Sparklers and Public Drunkenness Day. There would be even more early drinkers here on Sparklers and Public Drunkenness Day, and Rob would have to be behind the bar, because sweet Ilya was getting bewitched.

So are you gonna make me a new one? the customer asked. Apparently, the red-faced man in his thirties with a beer belly threatening already was still there. At three in the afternoon. To consume rum cocktails. Not that Rob was the judgy type.

Rob had no intention of making another Mai Tai. He took a step to his right, located the dark rum, and poured the customer another finger of the liquor into his glass. There you go, Rob said, giving the man his best take it or leave it look.

The man looked from Rob to the cocktail, back again, and took it. He was complaining under his breath as he moved back to the table he’d occupied with two equally annoying male companions. The beer bellies were imminent in all of them, in Rob’s opinion. Sadly, that meant their livers would be fatty rather than yummy.

Sorry, Ilya’s brother said. Rob looked over to the man, who wore a black button-down shirt and jeans, but not as well as Ilya. He didn’t look half as sexy as Ilya. Rob still could not understand how that worked, how they were related. Ilya was a mysterious pale-skinned and raven-haired delight (who could easily handle over-drunk patrons with his charm). Kyle was plain dishwater blond. It made no sense, apart from being unfair to Rob, who would have loved nothing better than two Ilyas behind his bar.

It’s fine, Rob said. The drink wasn’t the issue.

Kyle narrowed his eyes and looked at the floor. Okay.

Rob frowned. Kyle was an odd one, but he followed direction perfectly. The real downside was simply that he wasn’t the sexy barman his brother was.

Really, it’s okay. Some people just need to be assholes, and there is nothing you can do about that. He patted Kyle on the shoulder. Kyle jerked a little at the contact before he relaxed.

Rob felt that was enough life advice, so he went back to murdering the lime. About five seconds later, the door opened, and on a breeze of cold air, the local mage and one of her lovers drifted into the bar. This lover (the nice one) was slightly too chatty for Rob’s taste, but judging by the time, the two of them were just here for a late lunch or coffee and something sweet. (This time, Rob hoped they wouldn’t have their… dessert in the ladies’ room. Rob wasn’t a prude by any means, he just disliked cleaning a bathroom after people spent time on their knees in there for whatever reason, and it was extra work, even if Kyle happily volunteered each time.)

Predictably, after the mage -- in conversation with the nice lover -- waved hello at Rob and Kyle, who seemed like he wanted to hide under the bar at seeing her, they made for a table rather than the bar. Rob knew Ilya, and possibly the Fey witch, had gotten the mage to become a regular, and it made Rob miss his night bartender all the more.

Kyle sidled up close to Rob. Uhm, do you want me to serve them? he asked quietly.

Rob put his knife down. This lime was getting lucky, for now. I can do it. I don’t think she bites, and that lover definitely doesn’t.

Kyle mumbled his thanks, and Rob walked over to the two of them, menus under his arm in case those were needed.

Mage, he said.

Kelpie, she deadpanned back. For a mage, this one stood not at all on ceremony.

Are Ilya and Aaron still in Morrowvale? the sweet lover asked. Rob was sure this one’s liver was delicious. He was equally sure he shouldn’t be thinking about the taste of the mage’s lover’s liver. (He had never ever thought about the taste of the mage’s liver, even if it was probably delicious, but that way was where madness lay. And also death by magelight.)

Sadly, they are, Rob said. They are spending the New Year there. Sadly. And, sadly, pretty Ilya had been talking about taking a few nights a week off. For luuurve. Rob liked Ilya dearly, and the willowy man had roused in Rob the need to see Ilya was fed regularly. But falling for a witch (though handsome) was a disaster. For Rob. Ilya seemed happy. And Rob knew that he should be happy for his most sexy barkeep. But Rob was now short one sexy and single barkeep, and that meant Rob would be behind the bar more, and that in turn meant people would say stupid shit like there wasn’t enough rum in their cocktails, yada yada, and consequently, Rob would end up craving liver.

He sighed. The mage would likely do something mean to Rob’s balls if ever he commented on how he was interested in her lover’s liver. Or worse, she might send her other lover. And no one liked a taotien coming for them and their testicles.

Rob glanced over his shoulder at the rum-thirsty beer belly grower.

Rob?

The mage’s concerned voice made Rob remember he was still, after all these years, in the service industry, and he needed to listen. And also, he liked that and had chosen it.

Yes, sweet mage? Rob said with his best mount me, and I’ll let you ride me into the lake grin.

We need gingerbread spice lattes. And double chocolate brownies, she informed him.

Fat Man Day is technically over, and while I will make you whatever you want any time of year, I’d like to raise a protest, Rob said.

The week between the holidays and the new year really isn’t anything and can’t be categorized, the sweet lover said. It’s the limbo of seasons. And you can totally have gingerbread in limbo season.

Rob nodded as if he were taking the man seriously. In that case, I should inform you that there are also gingerbread brownies with cherry swirls.

Oh dear, the mage said and exchanged a look with her lover.

We need to have those, then, the lover said. The mage nodded along.

Rob cocked his head. If you are sure.

We don’t joke about gingerbread brownies, Rob, the mage informed him. The sweet lover’s head bobbed in fervent agreement.

Rob nodded once and walked back behind the bar to put the unused menus back and get the lattes started, but Kyle was already at it, frothing the oat and soy milk they used.

A bit sweeter for her lover, and add chocolate shavings for both, Rob said and left Kyle to take care of the beverages while he headed back to the kitchen to get the brownies.

Titi was loading the dishwasher while Zoraya got the dinner prep started, the chopping of her knife soothing to Rob’s ears after he’d had to deal with customers all day. Rob liked that Zoraya, quiet but unfailingly polite, took as much pride in prepping the food as Rob did. Not that the Ragdoll was fine dining, but Rob had made a name for their sandwiches, salads, and fried tubers with homemade, secret recipe dips.

He put two of their brownies (which also came with white chocolate chips) on plates and headed back to the mage’s table.

Two serious gingerbread brownies, Rob said as he put them down in front of the two.

Thank you, her lover said. He was holding the mage’s hand. Rob, who was not a romantic, had to concede that they were cute together. He brought them their lattes as well, because Kyle was just too afraid of the mage to do it. There was a story there, of course, but Rob was not the prying type, and so he’d never pressed Ilya nor Kyle (but Rob made up stories in his head sometimes to entertain himself while dealing with customers).

The daytime drinkers with the incipient beer bellies were getting louder. Rob was just about to get back to gutting his lime in order to suppress thoughts of gutting those three when the door opened once more.

The icy air tickled Rob’s nose with the smell of the season turning, of snowdrops shaking off the weight of frozen water to sing of longer days and sun returning to the world.

But the man walking into the Ragdoll wasn’t a sprite. He was -- glamoured.

Rob, who knew how to use a glamour even if he turned into a carnivorous horse who could break hearts without prettying himself up with magic, could tell. The glamour wasn’t exceedingly strong on this man.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rob saw the mage look up briefly, noticing the same thing, but then dismissing it. She’d have been able to see through it easily enough, and since she didn’t react further, Rob could be sure the man who smelled of snowdrops didn’t have any openly nefarious intentions.

But the man… Rob’s mouth was watering, and he watched as the new patron pulled his fur-trimmed hood back from his golden locks and pried his snug gloves off his long fingers. He had to be part Fae. Rob was pretty sure just from his looks, but with a glamour that hid what he was, Rob couldn’t tell precisely.

The man looked shifty, though. Rob had misspent his youth lingering in pools, ponds, and really any body of water that didn’t have a kappa infestation. He’d done it in order to lure humans and whoever wanted to be lured, so he knew what shifty looked like quite intimately.

The glamoured patron wasn’t the let’s-drown-them-and-eat-their liver type of person (not that Rob would ever admit to anyone that he himself had ever been that person). The man wore glasses. They misted up in the warmth of the Ragdoll, and he had to pull them off, revealing a set of hazel eyes that brimmed with intelligence. Without the glasses, he wasn’t too blind to find one of the quiet corner tables, where he deposited his large frame in a chair that looked flimsy under him.

Because yes, the man looked like the kind of person Western directors with a bottomless budget would cast for the role of a Greek hero or an intergalactic hero. Rob liked a man who could hold his own in a fight, and he shivered at the thought of this one’s thighs pressing into Rob’s sides when he was in his horse form. He shivered at the thought of this man riding him.

Kyle grabbed a menu and made his way to the man while Rob watched.

The new patron was interested in the soon-to-be beer-bellied. He glanced past Kyle and seemed too distracted to properly examine the menu, but Kyle nodded and scribbled something on his notepad.

Hey, boss. Carla, Rob’s strawberry blonde half-succubus bartender, had snuck up on him and was clapping him on the shoulder.

Please don’t startle me, he told her. And also, hello. You are early.

Well, I figured you might need the extra pair of hands, she said and gave his still unharmed lime a pointed look.

I was getting to that, he told her, frowning.

Carla sighed. Can I say something?

Can I stop you?

She crossed her arms in front of her beautiful succubus chest. What do you think?

Well, let’s have it.

You, boss, need to get laid. It might be, I don’t know, a shifter thing. I swear it’s like you guys molt or something.

Rob sliced the lime in half neatly and let it bleed its acidic last on his cutting board. "Carla, dear. I turn into a horse. I do not molt."

She raised her finger to forestall a lecture. Changes nothing. You need to bang someone. She tapped her nose with a finger, the nail painted fire-engine red. I can tell.

I’m stressed because I’m tending bar when I shouldn’t be tending bar, Rob said.

She waved that off. Pfft. You’re happy for Ilya, admit it. Maybe ask that witch if he has a brother? she asked and wiggled her eyebrows.

He’s the sole Fey heir, and you know that as well as I do, Rob said. Also, I do not need to urgently bang a witch. Rob kept his voice down, because he was not easily shaken, certainly not by the suggestion that he was in need of sex. Rob was accomplished. He had the occasional one-night stand, because (just like Ilya) he looked good behind the bar, almost as good as he did as a horse with his hooves in a lake, his mane dangling in the water, and the moon hitting his shiny coat just so.

Yes, if Rob wanted to find a warm body to put his cock in, he could do just that, but the succubus was overreacting. It was a thing with ‘cubi, assuming that one needed to have sex all the time or else one’s health -- mental or otherwise -- was in danger.

Did you just daydream about fucking Aaron? Carla asked.

Rob made quick work of the lime. I did not, and I reject the idea. Although the witch was a big strong man under that coat he wore