The hint of concern in her tone gave him a bit of hope. “No. But I possessed doubts because the conception happened with such speed. We had only coupled a few times. Such fertility is rare among shifters—even those known to have found their fated mates.”
“I see.” She shifted in the chair and reached for her tea. “Go on.”
“She died bringing my sons into the world. Talon and Tanner were fine, strong lads, but their mother was not. Aluwyn had always been a fragile thing, and becoming a mother was her undoing.” He bowed his head. “Her last words were, ‘Tell my sons I will always watch over them.’” He swallowed hard, still touched by his wife’s powerful spirit even though he had never loved her. “She was a good woman.”
“But she cursed you before she died?” Calia recovered her half-eaten biscuit from the table, dipped it in her tea, and nibbled on it, while never taking her gaze from him.
“No. Her mother did. Clan Silvercord’s witch, Bansys.”
“She blamed you for her daughter’s death?” Calia frowned. “That hardly seems fair. Did she not realize the two of you might have children? Or did she not have a say about her daughter marrying you?”
“’Twas she who arranged the match.” A wry snort escaped him. “Chieftain Lanrick might be the head of the Silvercord Clan, but old Bansys is the neck. Nothing happens there without her approval.”
“So, what is the curse other than her taking your children away?” Calia flinched. “Sorry. That sounded heartless. Having your children ripped away is curse enough, but I sense there’s more.”
“My life was stripped from me. Rather than be known as Grand Chieftain Mathison Shadowmist, ruler over all the clans of the shifters of the Ninth Realm, I am now the Wraith—the spirit cursed to wander the lands. Anyone who ever knew me as my true self thinks me dead, because the curse prevents them from recognizing me. Whenever I attempt to stir the memories of my closest friends or any of my origin clan, Clan Shadowmist, I disappear into a swirling mist before their verra eyes, even though I still stand before them. They become blind to me.” He gripped the arms of the chair so tightly that the wood splintered, but he didn’t care. “My sons think their father died the same night as their mother, leaving them in the care of their mother’s clan. Bansys murdered my entire being without so much as touching a hair on my body.”
Calia stared at him, her mouth barely ajar as she slowly lowered her half-empty cup to her lap. “So, no one here in your tower knows who you really are?”
He shook his head. “I am the cursed one. The beastly Wraith of the dark tower to the north, who has become the punishment of the clans.”
“Punishment of the clans?”
“My housekeeper, Mynlis Nalwes, my steward, Tanpip Berreg, and all those serving beneath them are fulfilling their life sentences here. Their clans exiled them and sentenced them either to serve here or die.”
“What did they do to deserve that?”
“Most of them did nothing other than anger the wrong person. The Ninth Realm is not the kingdom it once was.” His heart ached with heaviness over all that had been lost or callously tossed aside. It pained him to share that Talon and Tanner did not rule justly. “It would seem my sons have not received the guidance necessary to make them wise overseers of the clans.”
“And of course, the curse prevented you from having any input.” She set aside her tea once again. “Have you even spoken to them?”
“No.” He pushed up from the chair and went to the cabinet. This conversation called for whisky. “The royal court allows the Wraith admittance but once a year, and I am kept at a distance from my sons. Bansys is not a fool.” Without turning, he drained the glass and poured himself another, then returned to his seat. “That is the curse I have lived with for the past three hundred years.” He prayed she would keep his suffering in mind when he told her the only way he could be rid of it. “And there is naught but one way to break it.”
“How?”
“Win the heart of an otherworldly woman who refuses to love.”
She stared at him, blinking ever so slowly as if struggling to rise from the depths of slumber. “And that would be me.” She flinched as though suffering renewed pain.
“Aye, lass. That would be ye.”
“Why me?” The tremor in her voice twisted his soul as she raked her fingers through her hair, combing it back from her face. “Why?”
“Because we are fated mates, and that bond is the only possibility for either of us to learn to love someone other than our children. Much like yerself, I swore I would never risk my heart. I believed love to be a silly fairy tale for younglings.” Unable to decipher the shadows in her eyes, he gave a despondent shrug. “Mairwen and her ilk felt it their calling to find the other half of my soul since I was once also the Ninth Realm’s leader of the Defenders of the Blessed Highland Veil. They have searched for ye ever since the curse took hold of me. ’Tis important for the balance of what was, what is, and what will be, that no realm or reality falls. That is another reason they swore to help me. The Ninth Realm needs us. My sons are failing as rulers.”
She slowly shook her head. “I don’t know what to say.” She rose from the chair, wrapping the blanket around her like a cloak. Making her way to the hearth, she stared down at the flames, then hissed with what sounded like a bitter laugh full of disbelief. “I’ve allowed myself to become a pawn in another stupid game. One of the main reasons I moved to Scotland to become a hermit, more or less, was to put an end to that.” She shook her head. “Why does this keep happening? It’s happened all my life.”
“Ye are not a pawn, lass.” He knew it might seem that way, but he prayed she realized he would never force her to do anything she didn’t wish to do. “We could find happiness here, ye and I.”
She turned to him, her eyes narrowing. “Of course you would say that. This is where you belong, and you want your old life back.”
He tossed all caution to the wind and joined her in front of the fire, bracing himself, knowing this couldn’t possibly go well, yet there was no other way. It would have to be addressed at some point. “Ye belong here too. This is where yer wolf once lived.”
Her already cutting glare hardened. “If you’re referring to Otto, he came from a shelter in Tennessee. In fact, he was born there. They had pictures to prove it.”
“I am not referring to yer Otto.” He widened his stance, uncertain how the alpha female within her would react when Calia finally discovered the truth that the pale one had taken such great pains to hide. “That inner voice ye sometimes hear is yer wolf. Here, she was known as the pale one, the protector of the lost, revered as one of the most powerful alpha females in the history of the Ninth Realm.”
Calia edged farther away from him, eyeing him as if he were about to attack her. “Why would you say such a thing about an inner voice? Everybody has an inner voice. It’s called intuition or gut instinct.”
