Chapter 6 #2
Mathison returned, gently slid his arm under her shoulders, and helped lift her. A thick rim of metal pressed against her lips. “Here, lass. Fresh from the burn. Have a wee sip.”
She risked opening one eye and squinted down at the antique pewter tankard he held. “Where did you find that? I don’t have cups like that.”
“It is mine, Calia.”
Simple enough words, but his ominous tone gave her the strength to force open both her eyes and stare at him.
She hadn’t seen him bring anything with him other than a bag of tools.
Had he kept the tankard in there? Even though her inner voice remained silent, her other instincts kicked in with adrenaline-fueled force, stamping her nausea into oblivion. “What are you trying not to tell me?”
He bowed his head, then eased her back down onto the pillows. “Welcome to my home. Wraith Tower in Scotland’s Ninth Realm.”
Her skull started pounding as if the strangeness of what he’d just said struck her like a sledgehammer. Clamping her hands to her head, she rolled to her side again and curled into a tighter ball. “I’m going to need you to say that again. Slower. I don’t think I heard you right.”
“In the timeline of the mortal realm, this is considered seventeenth-century Scotland. But this is also the Ninth Realm. The reality of the shifters.”
“Look…I don’t know what kind of role-playing you’re trying to pull off here, but could you just stop? Today is not the day for it.”
“I speak the truth, lass. This is the Ninth Realm.”
Without opening her eyes, she burrowed her face deeper into the soothing coolness of the pillows.
Her pillows. The ones that smelled like her favorite shampoo and conditioner, and maybe a hint of dog from where Otto hogged them when they slept.
“Are you on drugs?” If he wasn’t role-playing or mentally unstable, that had to be the only other explanation.
“If you’re on drugs, get out. I don’t tolerate that behavior in any way, shape, or form. ”
The bed shifted with his weight, and he groaned out a noisy sigh. “I dinna ken what ye mean by that. There is much that I dinna understand about yer time.”
“About my time?” She refused to uncover her eyes or leave the refuge of her familiar-smelling pillow, and the way this conversation was going, it was better that way. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Yer time is the twenty-first century. The era here is the seventeenth—but it is still different from yer Scotland’s historical timeline since this is the Ninth Realm. A different sliver of reality than yers.”
She clutched the pillow to her face, wishing she could hold it there with enough effectiveness to cut off her air and make her pass out until morning.
She’d feel better in the morning, especially after she called Mairwen and had her send someone to cart this lunatic away.
Nice man or not, undeniable attraction or not, Mathison had to go.
“If I am supposedly in your Ninth Realm, how do you explain that this is my bed, in my destroyed house, with my storm-damaged stuff scattered all over the place?”
“The storm was Mairwen’s way of sending us through the blessed Highland Veil. ’Tis apparent she sent this part of yer home with ye, joining it with mine. As the Master of all the Divine Weavers, she has the power to do many things, but I must say, this is impressive, even for her.”
“I’ll be sure to tell her you said that the next time I see her.
” Head still pounding too hard to open her eyes, she fumbled with the drawer on the nightstand.
She needed migraine medicine. Now. Once her head quit hurting, she could better deal with this man who had actually tempted her, made her think that maybe, just maybe, it might be worth the risk of getting to know him better and exploring the strange connection she felt with him.
Idiot. She should’ve known better and stuck to her guns.
She felt for the pill bottle she could open with her eyes shut.
Migraines had tortured her all her life, and thankfully, the drug companies had finally come up with treatments that weren’t just as debilitating as the headaches.
Her fingers closed around the bottle. She opened the lid and fished out one of the little miracles that would have her feeling human again within thirty minutes—and then, she would deal with this latest disappointment life had thrown at her.
Without opening her eyes and holding the pill on her tongue, she held out her hand and mumbled, “Water.”
The cool walls of the metal tankard hit her palm. “Thank you,” she said after washing down the tablet. Feeling for the table again, she carefully slid the cup onto it, then buried her face back into her pillow. “Go away, Mathison. We are done here until I feel human again.”
“Human again?”
“Until my head feels better,” she clarified.
What else could she possibly mean? Then what he’d said about the Ninth Realm came back to her.
Even though she’d thought to wait until the migraine was gone, she had to weigh in and ask.
“What did you mean when you said that the Ninth Realm is the reality of the shifters?”
“Just that. The clans of this realm are all shifters.”
“Shifters?”
“Aye.”
She risked cracking open an eye to see if he was lying. Everyone had a tell when they lied, even the pathological liars who were the most convincing. “Are you talking about people turning into werewolves?”
Scowling down at her, he shook his head. “Nay, not werewolves. Wolves. Or eagles. Bears. Stags. Great cats such as panthers, lions, and such. It depends on the clan, and the animal spirit the goddesses assigned to their bloodline.”
The fact that he seemed so sincere made her sad beyond all belief.
He fully believed what he was telling her.
Damn. She covered her eyes again, wishing this was all just a bad dream.
He’d had such…No, they’d had such potential, enough potential to make her actually toy with the idea of at least thinking about being less of a loner and getting to know him better, maybe even.
..She closed her eyes tighter, shutting off that line of reasoning before her thoughts reeled into something she’d sworn she’d never do again.
Why couldn’t he be…normal? Sad thing was, even though he couldn’t possibly be sane, he still seemed so…
safe. That upset her even more. Instinctively, she knew he would never hurt her.
Even her inner voice had assured her of that.
There was just something about him that epitomized comfort, home, the place where she was always supposed to be.
“I can’t deal with this now.” She buried her face back into her pillow.
“Come morning, I will explain more.”
“Oh, I think you’ve explained quite enough.
Just go. Okay? I know it’s the middle of the night, but the storm’s over.
If you can’t find a dry place out there to sleep, feel free to head back to Seven Cairns.
Immediately.” She pulled the blanket higher and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from giving in to tears.
She hated being right about relationships. They just weren’t worth it.
Otto settled down against her back and rested his head in the curve of her neck, comforting her more than he could possibly realize. So much so that she amended her opinion. Relationships weren’t worth it unless they were with a dog.
The click of the bedroom door closing assured her that her almost mistake had finally left her in peace. At least with all the damage to the house, she’d be too busy to think about him and wonder about what might’ve been.
* * *
As soon as Mathison stepped out of Calia’s bedroom, he found himself in the hallway of Wraith Tower’s uppermost floor.
He had no idea how Mairwen had managed it, but the old one had melded that wee chunk of Calia’s world to the place where he’d lived ever since the curse had exiled him from his ancestral keep, the place where he’d ruled over the shifter clans of the Ninth Realm.
His housekeeper, Mynlis Nalwes, met him in the hall, her large, dark eyes filled with compassion.
She was an ousted member of the Selkie Clan, condemned to serve him, the Wraith, for the remainder of her life as punishment for angering her chieftain.
Even in her human form, it took no stretch of the imagination to see her as an overfed seal stretched out and sunning her great, round belly on a wharf.
But she served him well, and he’d never found any fault with her.
She and her loyal maids kept the tower as comfortable as it could be kept, considering it was not only his home, but his prison.
“Would ye be having us bring anything up for yer guest, mighty Wraith?”
He shook his head. “I would not, and no one is to go in there unless by my order. She thinks herself still within her own reality, the mortal realm of the twenty-first century.”
“The mortal realm of the twenty-first century?” The housekeeper toddled a bit to the right and leaned around him to eye the door.
Mynlis slowly shook her head and made that annoying tsking sound she always made when she found something unbelievable.
“That poor lass will no’ have an easy way of it here. What would ye have me tell the others?”
“When I deem it time for the lot of ye to meet her, ye will treat her with the utmost respect, ye ken?” He was well aware Calia wouldn’t have an easy way of it and wasn’t in the mood for the reminder.
Mynlis backed up a step and bowed her head. “Of course, mighty one. That goes without saying.”
“Forgive me.” Mathison scrubbed his face with both hands. “I nay meant to growl at ye.”
Compassion and respect rolled off the Selkie housekeeper in waves. “Ye are a good and fair master, for which I am verra grateful.” She tipped her silvery head at the door behind him. “All of us here will do our verra best to make the lady feel welcome.”
“I know ye will, Mynlis, and for that I am grateful. Spread the word and do what ye can to prepare.” He dismissed the woman with a nod.
As the echo of her footsteps faded, Mathison leaned back against the wall beside Calia’s door and rubbed at the grit of weariness burning his eyes. This was not how he’d planned to introduce his fair mate to the Ninth Realm. “Damn ye, Mairwen.”
“We should have shifted,” Dubh said. “Why did we not shift when she asked about the shifters?”
“Because I nay wished to shock her more than I already had. The woman already thinks me either addled or a liar.”
“Or a drug person…nay…a drug user. What the feck is a drug user?”
“Perhaps she meant laudanum? I dinna ken if they used that in her time.”
His wolf snorted. “Wicked stuff, that. Makes ye see things that are not there.”
Mathison agreed. “We should rest. When she awakens fully recovered from passing through the Veil, the true chore begins—not only getting her to accept our bond but helping her accept the Realm.”
“The pale one told her ye were safe. I heard her speak. Plain as day. Just as I hear yerself.”
“Could ye tell if Calia acknowledged her?”
“She relaxed as though she trusted the pale one’s opinion, but she nay spoke back to her as ye speak with me.”
“Interesting.” Mathison turned and eyed the door.
If Calia heard the infamous pale alpha speak to her, where did she think that voice came from, since she had clearly said she didn’t believe in anything she couldn’t see or touch?
“Stay alert for more conversations,” he told Dubh as he settled across the threshold of the door and pillowed his head on his arm.
When Calia awakened, he wanted to be the first to know, and sleeping on the floor across the doorway would ensure that.
“Aye. I will. Do ye truly mean to sleep?”
“’Tis doubtful that I can, but at least I can rest a bit.”
“Understood.”
But just as he went to close his eyes, an ever-brightening glow just beyond the far curve of the hallway shot him to full alertness. He jumped to his feet and stood ready, barring the door from whatever approached.
His wolf rumbled with an angry growl, ready to battle if called.
“Be at rest, grand chieftain. It is only I.” Mairwen came into view, the golden glow dissipating as she stepped forward.
Mathison couldn’t resist responding with a low, throaty snarl. “This is not the way we agreed upon.”
She gathered her hooded cloak closer and cast a glance all around.
“Ye should light more fires. A cold woman is much more difficult to deal with than a warm one, and we nay agreed upon any particular way, mighty chieftain. We simply agreed that the two of ye would return to the Ninth Realm when the time was right.”
“And ye took it upon yerself to decide that now was the correct time?” He clenched his fists so tightly, every knuckle popped.
“Aye, when my watchers reported the storm did little to help yer cause.”
He charged toward the infuriating Weaver, barely containing his rage. “It takes more than a single day to forge a bond of trust with a woman such as Calia. But know this: what ye did reversed every bit of progress I had made. She will never trust me now.”
Mairwen’s eyes sparkled as she shook her head. “Ye are wrong, my fine chief of the royal wolves. She will depend on ye more here to survive. This place is yer strength. Her future was yer weakness.”
“What of the people she may have cared about? The people she will never see again?”
“She has no one other than her dog, but that is her story to tell.” With a swing of her cloak, Mairwen gave him her back and retraced her steps down the hallway.
“I will be watching, mighty one. May the goddesses and the Highland Veil bless yer endeavors.” A golden, blinding light swallowed her up, then flickered out like an extinguished candle.
Teeth clenched, Mathison stared at the spot, sending all his unspent wrath after the old one. Daughter of the goddesses or not, he no longer found the Divine Weaver deserving of his loyalty or trust.
Returning to his post in front of Calia’s door, he stood in front of it with the self-assured stance of a warrior ready to attack. There would be no rest for him now. He was too feckin’ angry. When Calia awakened, the dangerous game of winning his mate’s trust would begin.