“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.
Chapter
Seven
Calia snuggled deeper under the covers, bunching them as high around her neck as she could. The house was cold. Then she remembered why, and the temptation to go back to sleep evaporated, replaced by anxiety-ridden wakefulness. Not only had that tree taken out half her cottage, but she’d told Mathison to leave after all the unbelievable craziness he’d spouted.
She rubbed her knuckles up and down her breastbone, trying to erase the ache that had taken hold like a bank of roiling, red-hot coals determined to burn right through her. Why was it that she always hurt in that spot whenever she was upset—except it was way worse this time? Logic lived in her mind. Did emotions, whether good or bad, really live in her heart?
“It’s probably an ulcer,” she reasoned aloud with a groan.
Otto lifted his head and stared at her, thumping the bed with his tail to let her know he was ready to start the day, too.
“I bet you need to pee.”
He thumped his tail faster.
Surrendering to the inevitability of having to actually see how bad the damage was, she threw back the covers, climbed out of bed, and donned her robe and slippers. “Come on. I need to pee too, but I can wait until you’re done.”
She went to the closed bedroom door. No wonder it was colder in here. Any residual heat from the woodstove couldn’t make it into the bedroom. “Thanks a lot, Mathison.” She yanked it open and staggered back a step.
Towering in the doorway, Mathison turned and lunged to catch her. “It will be all right, Calia. I swear it will be all right.”
It couldn’t possibly be all right. In place of her destroyed living room was a hallway that looked like it had been lifted straight out of a castle. Worn wooden floors. Gray walls of chiseled stone blocks. Blackened metal sconces with stubs of sputtering candles that would soon need to be replaced.
“Calia.” Mathison eased closer. “It will be all right. I swear it.”
“Liar,” she growled—or at least she meant to. At the moment, she was finding it a challenge even to breathe.
Otto shot out the door and took off down the hallway, his bark echoing through the vastness of the unknown and increasing her already reeling panic exponentially.
“Otto!” She tried to shove around Mathison, but he caught hold of her by the shoulders.
“No one will harm him. They know of his presence and have taken the appropriate measures.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Taken the appropriate measures?” She ripped free and backed away until the backs of her legs hit the bed, and she sat down on it with a hard plop. “I have to go get him. If anything happens to him—” Otto was all she had. She darted around Mathison and charged out the door, running as fast as she could in her stupid robe and slippers until she slowed enough to throw them off and continue barefoot in her pajamas. “Otto! Come back here! Otto!”
And then the barking stopped—along with her heartbeat. “Otto!” she screamed, refusing to accept the inevitable. She careened around the curve of the seemingly endless hall and halted.
