“My wolf heard yer inner voice. She is royalty of the purest bloodline. When she speaks, he hears her.” He wouldn’t add that another reason his wolf could hear the pale alpha was because the two of them were fated mates, just like Calia and himself.
“It’s intuition,” she said, biting out the words. “Your wolf is mistaken.”
“The pale one just told her ye speak the truth,” Dubh said, “and she is not pleased that ye upset Calia. She meant to tell her in her own good time.”
“Then why did yer intuition just tell ye that I speak the truth?” Mathison asked Calia.
She bared her teeth and growled so convincingly that he expected her to shift. “Get out of my head and stay out. You have no right there.”
“’Tis only my wolf able to hear yers. I swear I canna listen to yer thoughts, nor would I ever do so even if I could.” When Mairwen did that to him, he found it intrusive and infuriating. Never would he do such a thing to Calia. “Yer headaches are further proof that ye belong here. When a shifter has difficulties, or canna take the form of their spirit animal, it often causes them pain such as yers.”
She dropped to the floor in front of the fire and held her head, huddling deep into the blanket and rocking in place. Mathison hated himself for doing this to her. He had pushed her too far. Unable to hold himself back any longer, he scooped her up into his arms, settled with her in the wingback chair, and held her.
“I can’t do this anymore,” she said with a muffled sob as she curled into a tighter ball of misery. “I can’t.”
“I am here, and here I shall stay. Ye are not alone, lass. Never will ye ever be alone ever again.” He wouldn’t tell her it would be all right, because at this moment, she couldn’t see it, and honestly, neither could he. The road ahead would be treacherous at best for both of them. But he could assure her he would always remain at her side.
He held her closer, stroking her hair and shushing her as though she were a frightened bairn. Such an enormous change would shake anyone clear to their bones.
She shuddered with harder sobs, keeping her face buried in the blanket and clutching her head, oblivious to his holding her. “I can’t do this anymore. I always tried to be strong. Stand my ground, but I can’t anymore. I’ve been backed into a corner since I was born.”
“Ye’re not alone anymore,” he crooned softly. “I shall always fight beside ye.”
“I have no one but Otto—and now, even he’s deserted me.” It was as if she hadn’t heard him, or still wasn’t ready to accept that he’d never desert her.
“Otto is a pup that is easily distracted by all the unfamiliar smells of Wraith Tower. I promise ye, he has not forgotten ye.” Mathison tossed caution to the wind once again. “Tell me why ye feel ye’ve been backed into a corner since ye were born?” To help her, he needed to know more of her history.
Still shuddering with hiccuping sobs, she shook her head. “According to the caseworkers, I was abandoned at the hospital when I was born, and then passed back and forth from family to family. People who thought they wanted to adopt an infant kept returning me to the state home because I somehow failed to fit in with their families. At least, that was what my file said—so I grew up in the foster system, moving from house to house until I was old enough to be out on my own.” She pushed herself up and glared at him. “How can a baby that’s just days old not fit in with a family? One file even said they thought I was demon-possessed. They took me to their church for an exorcism that failed.”
Mathison suspected it was her shifter abilities that had frightened the mortals and made them reject her. Shifter offspring didn’t usually assume the forms of their animal spirits, but their magic often made itself known in other ways. “They nay understood ye, not like ye needed to be understood.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Ye are more powerful than ye could ever know. As a child, a babe even, if ye wished for something, ye would more than likely cause it to come to ye.” He slid his hand along her jawline, cupping her cheek in his palm and reveling in the warm, sweet softness of her skin. “Do ye remember none of that? None of yer abilities?”
She pulled away and slid off his lap, disappointing him immensely. “I remember always being the odd one out, but never knowing why.” She returned to the hearth and sat on the rug in front of the fire. “There is nothing special about me.”
It had probably been beaten out of her. Maybe not physically, but definitely emotionally. The need to be accepted was an ingrained part of survival, especially for an orphaned shifter. He forced himself to remain in the chair so as not to pressure her any more than he already had, even though his soul hungered to unite with hers. It was no longer just a physical need to join with her but a joining of spirits he yearned for as well. “Ye are and always have been special. No one appreciated ye until now.” He started to say more, but a hesitant knock interrupted him. He strode across the room and yanked open the door.
Otto barrelled in, crossed the room, and nearly toppled Calia over.
She pulled him into a hug and broke down in tears again. “Oh, Otto, we’re in such a horrible mess.”
Mathison’s heart sank even lower. Did she feel nothing for him? Was she oblivious to the mate bond? He’d never felt such an aching hunger for someone before. How could she feel nothing?
“She feels it,” Dubh said. “As does the pale alpha. It would seem she has much to overcome. The alpha requests we give her time.”
“The alpha spoke to ye?” Even in his thoughts, Mathison kept his voice low, remembering the tales of the pale one’s powers.
“Aye, the Realm gives her strength. She wishes to shift but fears what it might do to Calia since she does not know of her abilities nor how to resume her human form.”
Returning to the hearth with Calia and her dog, Mathison lowered himself to the rug beside her. He stared into the flames, begging the crackling wood and the glow of the roiling red coals at the base of the logs to grant him wisdom and tell him what to say to make things better for her. But nothing came to mind, so he remained silent.
Gradually, her sobs quieted to occasional coughs and sniffing. He rose and went to the cabinets behind the room divider, fetched her a handkerchief, and returned to hand it to her. “Here, lass. To wipe away yer tears.”
“Thank you.” She wiped her eyes and blew her nose, then pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Sorry about the breakdown. I’m normally better than that.”
“I know this has not been a simple thing to experience.”
