“The last time I got a massage and alovely soak, I ended up in this alternate Scottish hell!” Lyla stamped her foot again, then flinched because the flagstone flooring was not conducive to a pain-free rant. “I just want some clothes so I can go home.” Then a tidal wave of guilt crashed into her because the girl who was just doing what she had been told stared at her with the biggest set ofI’m-so-sorrypuppy dog eyes. Holy crap, it looked like she was about to cry. “Albionna—look. I’m sorry. None of this is your fault, and I’m not angry with you.” She jabbed a thumb in Magnus’s direction, noticing that at least he sat upright inthe pool now, looking…worried…or something along those lines. “It’s his fault for threatening me with imprisonment.”
“I did not threaten ye with imprisonment!” Magnus’s voice rumbled with such a loud growl that the flames danced wilder across the candles. “Did I once say ye would be sent to the dungeons?”
She stormed closer, shaking her fist at him. “You said I had to stay here fourteen days and fourteen nights, even though I told you I wanted to go home. Whether it’s in a dungeon or a five-star, luxury spa, holding someone against their will is imprisonment! How would you feel if someone forced you to stay where you didn’t want to be?”
“If ye dinna stay and accept me as yer mate, many will die,” he roared so loudly that the vibration traveled through the stones of the floor and tickled up into her bare feet. “They need yer magic!”
She nearly let the blanket drop again and had almost reached the point of not caring. “What are you talking about? That makes no sense.”
He shifted his glare to Albionna. “Leave us. I shall summon ye when yer mistress is ready. It appears she and I have a great deal more to discuss.”
The maid scurried out before Lyla could stop her, closing the door with a rattling of the latch that sounded suspiciously like a lock or a barrier of some sort falling into place.
Lyla went to the door and tried it. It was sealed as if the metals of the opening and the frame had melted together into a solid mass of rock. An unnerving sense of panic and helplessness shot through her. “She locked us in.”
“Nay, lass,” Magnus said with an almost weary gruffness. “She locked everyone else out because ye will not like the truth I am about to tell ye.” His pained expression squeezed something deep inside her, making it hard to breathe. “The truth I hadhoped to ease ye into over the next fortnight while I did my damnedest to make ye feel the mate bond and choose to stay at my side—willingly, because yer heart convinced ye to do so.”
He stepped out of the pool, his lean, muscular form glistening and rippling with such perfection in the candles’ glow that it paralyzed her. “Bracae,” he growled, and his snug leather pants immediately covered his lower half.
Lyla bit her lower lip. How was that possible?
“Magic, lass.” He scowled at her, his eyes narrowing. “And no, I dinna read yer thoughts. ’Tis unnecessary when yer face shows all that ye think and feel.” He jerked a nod at a long, low couch near the hearth. “Come. Sit. I have much to tell ye to explain yerimprisonmentsince ye seem oblivious to the pull of the mate bond.” Teeth bared like an angry beast, he bowed his head and raked his hands through his hair, then tied it back from his face once again. “I dinna understand how it could be so. My soul wants ye with a fury the likes of which I have never known, and yet, ye feel nothing.”
“I never said I felt nothing.” And she probably shouldn’t have said that, but the way he suddenly seemed so defeated broke her heart. “I’m afraid. You and this place are simply unbelievable.”
Head still bowed, he stood beside the couch and didn’t comment.
It took her a minute to realize he was waiting for her to sit. His manners were so… A soft, huffing laugh escaped her.Extinct.Manners like his had become a sham or a con back home, only used by men to impress those around them. True gentlemen who behaved with such thoughtfulness because they felt it the right thing to do had become a rarity. Radical feminism and overzealous haters had persecuted them to the point of retiring all the polite niceties their mamas had taught them just so they could survive and avoid lawsuits.
“Thank you,” she said as she seated herself on the end of the sofa closest to the fire.
Still scowling, he sat on the other end of the long couch, leaving an arm’s length of space between them. He stared at her, studying her as if she were as strange to him as he was to her.
“You have been nothing but nice to me, but”—she looked all around the room, awkwardly waving a hand at everything within it—“this place, and you…” She didn’t have the words to explain how vastly different everything was. “This place, the Thirteenth Realm, is like nothing I have ever seen before, and I’ve traveled all over the world. I know I’m a simple girl from the South, but I’ve seen a lot. Nothing compares to this.”
“And since ye have never seen it, ye canna believe it exists?” His despair, the misery in his tone, nearly broke her.
“Since I’ve never seen it, it makes me think I’ve either lost my mind or died and ended up somewhere my Sunday school classes never talked about.”
“The Thirteenth Realm is an alternate plane of thirteenth-century Scotland in yer reality.” He paused and rolled his shoulders as if trying to rid himself of something that pained him. “But the Realm possesses so much more than the Scotland ye know. So much more.” He cleared his throat, sucked in a deep breath, then groaned it free of his lungs. “The blessed Highland Veil keeps all realities separated for their own good. Occasionally, a few beings slip through the portals, but the Highland Veil always knows and guards itself as best it can against those who would do evil. Or it tries to. The Weavers and Defenders try to aid it in maintaining the balance of the universe’s tapestry.” He gave a regal nod. “The Weavers reunite fated mates and bring them safely through the portals. Ye know the origin of fated mates, aye?”
“Maybe. I don’t know the origins since our worlds are so different.” She was still trying to wrap her head around thethirteenth-century Scotland parallel. Thethirteenthcentury? Seriously? As in: no modern conveniences or medicine? She squirmed in place and crossed her legs, her bladder nudging her with a not-so-gentle reminder that she needed to pee. Badly. “Why don’t you tell me the origin of the fated mates so I can be sure we’re on the same page?”
“At the beginning of creation, when humankind came into being, our souls, our spirits, were so mighty, so awe-inspiring that it drew the attention of some of the more jealous gods and goddesses. They feared us, feared our ultimate power. So before our awareness sharpened, before we realized all we could become, they split our souls in two and cast them to the winds, hoping to weaken us by separating us from ourselves forever.” He tilted his head and leaned forward just enough to make her heart pound harder. “Their act doomed us to search for the other half of our spirits through each and every lifetime. The lives where we dinna find and join with our fated mates find little happiness—if any at all. But the lives where we discover the other half our soul and reunite to make ourselves whole, those lives know the blissfulness of completeness, of true contentment, of unimaginable love. And each time we reunite, it strengthens us for the next lifetime and makes it easier for us to find one another.”
The cynic in her wanted to snort, but the little girl who used to make up songs about fairy tales and happily ever afters longed to believe what he said was true. Lyla blinked back the tears. She didn’t need to cry. It would make her throat hurt. “And it’s the Weaver’s job to help the fated mates reunite?” That seemed an impossible task to her, considering how many souls could be out there.
“Aye, and each time fated mates reunite, especially a particularly powerful pair separated by centuries and planes of existence, it strengthens the weave of the blessed Highland Veil,repairing any damage done by the evil ones seeking to control the worlds.” His scowl hardened, the muscles in his jaw flexing. “The only Weavers left to tend to the Veil are those of Seven Cairns. Those who would undo the universe’s order destroyed the other Weavers and took over those portals in an attempt to open them against the will of the Veil.”
She hugged her knees to her chest, not wanting to believe anything he said, but finding it more and more difficult not to. “And you and I are a particularly powerful pair?”
“Aye.”
“What happens if I…accept? Will I ever get to go back to my world? See the people I care about?” She’d always been choosy about who she allowed into her inner circle, especially during the glory days of her fame. Sadly, she had quickly discovered who she could and couldn’t trust when those glory days crashed and burned with the loss of her voice. She’d become an introverted loner. But she still cared about a select few people. Jake and his mom came to mind. The tenants in her building who couldn’t always make their rent. They were her people now. Her real friends. Who would make sure those forgotten folks got the opportunities they deserved if she never went back? “Will I have to give up everything?”
“As far as I know, ’tis a rare few who are ever allowed to visit their time and place of origin, and when they do, it is only permitted on the sanctified grounds of Seven Cairns—where the Weavers can protect them.” He lifted his chin higher as though bracing himself for her reaction. “Ye possess the right to choose. The only right I possess in this is the right of fourteen days and nights to convince ye to choose me, convince ye to make us whole again.”
“And once I choose?”
