“And she does not fear us. Do ye not find that strange? I thought wolves terrified mortals?”
“She thinks we are a very large stray dog because our fur is black.”
“’Tis the mark of royalty.”
“She doesn’t know that, ye ken? In her world, shifters are nothing more than make-believe where their wolves are either evil destroyers or lust-crazed heroes in novels.”
Dubh snorted. “Ridiculous. Just because we enjoy a good romp does not mean our lust controls us.”
“The old one said it was so in our Calia’s world.” Our Calia. Mathison couldn’t believe he’d said that. Nothing was confirmed as yet. It could be the pain of sheer loneliness that made the lass such a distraction.
“She is our Calia. Ye ken it as well as I.”
“Dinna be an arse.”
“Shall we draw closer? Her beast is sound asleep.” His wolf snorted again. “Poor protection for her, indeed.”
Mathison agreed, but he wouldn’t fault her chosen ally overmuch. After all, he was but a dog—loyal and true, but in no way as magnificent as a wolf. “Mind the light coming from the door. If either of them senses movement in the shadows, we could be discovered.”
They crept across the back garden, ignoring the rain and deftly maneuvering around a myriad of stone figures, more of the watchers, no doubt placed there by Mairwen and her ilk. But Mathison understood why. The Weavers, the immortals charged with reuniting fated mates, had invested many an age into this particular match, and Mairwen had told him that a shifter’s reunion with the other half of their soul provided the Highland Veil with even more healing power than the usual binding of fated mates. Perhaps it was because a shifter was already two beings, so helping them find their other halves was double the result. Except in this case, Calia was not a shifter. Mathison blinked away the complicated thought. This was no time for confusion or muddying the waters, even though this situation was indeed strange.
Just as they drew up even with the set of doors, Calia stirred and opened her eyes. It was almost as if she sensed them. She sat up and combed her fingers through her long, dark hair, raking it back from her face and redoing the tie that kept it in place.
Her hazel eyes were lighter than the palest green, with barely a hint of a golden ring at their center and a dark, almost black border around their rim. He’d never seen eyes that shade before. It was as though she possessed the power to peer into a man’s very soul. And she was a tall woman, long and lean, who moved with the grace of a wild spirit roaming the woods. She was beautiful. She was his Calia.
He crouched and eased backward, deeper into the shadows as she walked to the door and peered outside. Her restlessness made him wonder if she could sense him as strongly as he sensed her.
Her beast joined her at the door, fogging the glass and then smearing it away with its nose and a swipe of its tongue. Mathison eyed the dog’s oversized feet. The beastie was a youngling and had yet to fully grow into itself. He hoped to befriend the canine and gain its trust.
Then she turned and looked right at him as if she had known where he was the entire time. Their eyes locked, and she smiled. Slipping out the door without letting her ally follow, she crouched and held out her hand. “Hi there, handsome. Are you hungry?”
“She thinks us handsome,” Dubh said.
“She thinks us a dog,” Mathison reminded his gloating being. “Take care. She still wears the amulet.” As long as neither of them spoke directly to her, whatever they said would remain hidden. But if they spoke to her, she would hear them as clearly as they heard her.
She wiggled her fingers and smiled, patient in her quest. “I have some biscuits that Otto loves, and I’m sure he’d share his kibble. He remembers how it feels to go hungry.”
“She understands her beastie, but she canna hear us without the amulet?” Dubh asked.
“I think she senses what her mongrel thinks and feels. They have forged a connection of trust.” A stronger surge of jealousy washed through Mathison.
Otto bounced against the door, barking and gnashing his teeth to be released.
“Otto, stop.” Calia turned and tapped on the door, her tone calm but firm. “Wolf means us no harm. He’s just looking for shelter and a meal. Remember how that feels?”
Whining, the dog pawed at the door with less force.
“Otto. You’re better than that, and you know I love you. Now, calm down.”
The canine rolled back on his haunches and sat, but he was not pleased.
Calia eased forward, her knuckles still extended. “You can trust me, Wolf. Here. Have a sniff.”
Lore a’mighty, he could smell her from here, and her intoxicating scent would be his undoing. Mathison licked his chops. His wolf whined louder than the mongrel behind the door.
“I have plenty of food, and you can come inside by the fire.” She rubbed her arms and slowly straightened from her crouching position. “I’m going to put Otto in the bedroom so the two of you don’t have any issues. I don’t want anyone hurt. Don’t run off. I’ll be right back.” She went back inside, treating them to a mouth-watering view of her fine, round arse displayed ever so brilliantly in those dark blue trews of hers.
“This realm’s clothing displays a woman’s shape to anyone who cares to look,” Dubh said. “Do we like that?”
