Otto jumped up onto the bed with her, but didn’t lie down. He stood beside her, growling.
“Shh…Otto. It’s all right.” But it wasn’t. Something was terribly wrong. She just didn’t know what that something was. The water would help. She’d concentrate on sipping the water and keeping it from coming back up.
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.
