Swallowing hard against a sudden rush of heat that burned through her like wildfire, Calia tried not to stare. The man was a perfectly chiseled titan. Her eyes burned with the need to blink, but she hated to miss a single second of this view.
But then he changed. The lush black coat of the stray dog of Seven Cairns came first, then he fully morphed into the wolf with such smoothness that it was as though the man was a liquid poured into the mold of a wolf. It wasn’t the grotesque, bone-popping changes of werewolf movies. It was a transformation from one form into another.
And now she understood why she’d felt she had seen Mathison’s eyes before. They were the only thing about him that didn’t change. The wolf before her possessed the same icy blue-white eyes as the man. She stared at the animal she’d thought was a stray dog. How could she have been so easily deluded?
The wolf took a step closer and whined, pulling at her heartstrings.
She hugged her knees tighter to her chest, fighting the urge to open her arms to the familiar beastie she’d been more than ready to adopt into her and Otto’s inner circle. “Okay. I believe you. Change back so you can explain the curse and the holy ground part of your earlier statement.”
With amazing ease that made her blink to make sure she was seeing things right, Mathison changed back and once more stood before her in all his naked glory.
“The goddesses ordained Seven Cairns and its surrounding borders as holy ground at the beginning of time. The magic wards at its boundaries prevent or at least slow evil from entering the village,” he said while making no move to get dressed. “As I explained earlier, the holy ground of Seven Cairns is set apart from time and realities. It exists whenever and however it wishes. The village of yer time has yer time’s conveniences, while the Seven Cairns of my time seems locked in the seventeenth century.”
“A way station straddling the strongest crossing of the ley lines.” She’d read a book about that while deciding to emigrate to Scotland. Realizing he seemed perfectly comfortable standing there in the nude, she fought to focus on his face rather than staring at his delectable expanse of ripped body. “Would you mind getting dressed, please?” She closed her eyes again and concentrated on massaging her throbbing temples.
“Mynlis has herbs that might help with the ache in yer head, lass. And tea. A strong pot of tea might help ye as well. Shall I send for them?”
From the rattling clack of belt buckles and the muffled whooshing of cloth being shaken out, he was dressing; she didn’t risk opening her eyes to find out. She could only control her lust up to a point. “That would be nice. Thank you.”
“After yer tea and the herbal for yer head, I will explain the curse as best I can.” The bedroom door clicked.
She opened her eyes and glanced around the large room. She’d already known he was gone even without looking or hearing the sound of the bedroom door. Whenever he left the room, it was as though the space exhaled and became colder.
With a despondent groan, she sagged over onto her side, curled around her pile of clothes, and pillowed her head on the arm of the chair. She so needed this to be just a bad dream.
“He is safe,” her intuition whispered. “And he is our mate. We need him as much as he needs us.”
“Leave me alone,” Calia whispered back while trying to remember the study she’d read on mental illnesses that caused you to hear voices. She’d always trusted her inner voice before, but here, it was louder, spoke to her a great deal more, and was counter to everything she believed. Maybe stress made it worse. If that were the case, her intuition would soon be strong enough to take over.
She can have it. Calia couldn’t handle much more of this life.
Chapter
Eight
Mathison opened the bedroom door for Mynlis, breathing somewhat easier when Calia didn’t open her eyes or move from her tightly curled position in the crimson wingback armchair. The sight of her suffering like a terrified stray was heart-wrenching. A change in realities often caused physical distress to those most sensitive to the ebb and flow of time’s tapestry. He longed to hold her, comfort her, lend her his strength, but knew, at the moment, that would only make matters worse.
The efficient housekeeper marched into the room with a pair of maids while pressing a finger to her lips in a stern command for silence. The young selkie shifters nodded and hurried to sort the trays with fresh tea and toast, and a pot that possessed the nose-tingling scent of steeping herbs. They stoked the fire and saw to the chamber pot before hurrying back out of the room.
Mathison closed the door behind them, then leaned back against it, eyeing the poor woman who had been ripped away from everything she had ever known. At least her dog had managed the transition well. Otto was currently sniffing and exploring every bit of Wraith Tower. A team of maids and footmen followed him, keeping him out of harm’s way.
“Might we should let her sleep?” Dubh asked in a hushed voice as if Calia could hear him.
“I promised to tell her of the curse,” Mathison said, speaking aloud but quietly. It no longer mattered if she overheard him talking with his wolf. He went to the trays on the cabinet and prepared a cup of the herbal mixture that Mynlis had promised would help. It smelled like brackish bog water, but if the housekeeper swore it would chase away Calia’s pain, then it would. Selkies knew their remedies.
He crossed the room, knelt in front of Calia, and gently touched her arm. “Lass?—.”
Her eyes flew open, and she flinched away from him as if she had forgotten who he was.
“Calia, ’tis me. Mathison.”
She blinked rapidly while rubbing her forehead. “Mathison,” she repeated in a raspy whisper. “Sorry. Of course, it’s you.”
A raging protectiveness surged through him. “Who hurt ye, lass?”
She squinted up at him and curled tighter into herself. “I fell asleep, and you startled me. That’s all.” Wrinkling her nose, she eyed the cup with a look of disgust. “What is that unholy smell?”
“Hold yer breath and drink it. Mynlis swears it will help take away the pain in yer head.”
