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She remembered that had been the name of the Derricksons’ ancestral home.

“On their return home, there was an attack. During the skirmish, his older brother Alec was killed.”

She gasped. Even though Alessandra hadn’t seen much of Lawrence as of late, she did like him. Now that she knew he wasn’t trying to kill her, of course. His loss had happened lifetimes ago, yet she could not help but imagine how much it would hurt to lose her own brother.

“That’s awful.”

Kenton refrained from commenting. His expression was stoic.

“His father, the chief, demanded bloodwite . . . to pay the debt for his son’s death, one supposedly caused by my kin. We were not responsible, so we refused, which only strengthened a feud that had already been ongoing since before my birth.”

His expression had grown hard. This was the less amiable side to Kenton Morley. The one who’d commanded her to leave his home immediately. The one who’d admitted to committing murder. She sensed danger from him now, but not toward herself.

“And then Lawrence’s sister-in-law—”

“Lady Isobel’s curse. I was not there, of course, but by Derrickson’s own admission, in her grief, she uttered aloud a curse upon my father and those responsible for the feud that led to her husband’s death, as I told you before.”

“She cursed you to an eternity of grief—”

“In an irony for the ages, since her own family was as responsible for the fighting as ours. Her father-in-law had refused to agree upon a peace between our families. Their hatred of us ran too deep.”

She looked at him, wondering if Lawrence would tell the same story. Alessandra had a feeling some of the details may be a bit different coming from the Scot. Such was the way of history—something that had always fascinated her—there were always two sides to a conflict, and only by combining them could you get a full picture.

It was clear the conflict between the two families ran deep, and yet . . . it was almost as if Kenton only hated them out of habit. His words lacked the kind of heat she would have expected.

“Has it truly been a curse, then?”

Kenton appeared thoughtful. “At first, no. But as the years drag on . . .” His shrug explained the void she’d sensed in him all along.

“Tell me again how the Cheld fits into all of this.”

He tensed beside her.

“When Lady Isobel realized what her words had wrought, she tried to reverse the curse. But she was no witch, just a powerful healer who had channeled her grief in a way she’d never intended. But nevertheless, she tried. And you are the result.”

The hairs on her arms stood straight. He’d said as much once before, but with this new knowledge . . .

“The curse remained intact, but a balance was created. Lawrence’s family had the luxury of knowing what was happening. Over the years, we’ve pieced together most of the details, but Clan Karyn still keeps many of Lady Isobel’s secrets from us.”

“You call them Clan Karyn. Were Lawrence’s other relatives turned too?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Just his mother and siblings. Out of habit, I suppose, after we learned to control our bloodlust, and after my father died, I ruled as earl, and Lawrence, clan chief. In some ways, it was like nothing had changed. For a time.”

So many thoughts swirled around in Alessandra’s brain that she didn’t know what to ask first. So she remained silent until their path finally led them back to the town square. The weekend visitors had gone home, leaving mostly locals behind. They all went about their business as if it were a normal day in Stone Haven.

But her days would never be normal again. If such a thing actually existed.

Acutely aware that Kenton was looking at her, she glanced his way.

It struck her that she wasn’t afraid of him. Not one bit. Didn’t matter that he’d shown her his fangs, or that she’d seen him actually use them on someone. She wanted him. And when she looked at those sexy lips, she didn’t think about his fangs—she thought about the way they’d parted as he brought her to climax.

Alessandra had lost her damn mind.

Or maybe, as Kenton had suggested, it was easier for her to accept their strange situation because she’d been born into the legacy that had started all those years ago.

She wanted to relent, to ask him if he would walk her to The Witch’s Brew. She wanted to learn more from him and to extend this fascinating discussion of theirs well into the day—and then the night.

And yet . . .