Spellbound Fate: A Fantasy Shifter Romance, page 9
Back in the bedroom, she found Callan sitting on the side of the bed and stretching.
“Power’s out again,” she told him. “I was amazed this place had electricity, but now I’m starting to wonder if it’s worth the effort.”
Callan shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll fix it, but I think the bulb in here blew while we were—” He gestured to the bed.
“The lamp wasn’t even on. Honestly.” She opened the curtains for the light and gasped. White covered the forest. Callan came to stand behind her, and she leaned back into his warmth as he slid an arm around her. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“First snowfall,” he said, his thumb stroking her hip. “It’s always magical, how the forest transforms under her dress of white.”
She nodded, and they both stood still, looking out over the cottage’s side garden to where a heavy blanket of snow frosted the pine trees like icing. Emery might have spent the entire day gaping at how the white of the snow contrasted against the deep brown of the tree’s bark, or exactly how the sunlight broke apart and skipped over the ice crystals if Callan’s stomach hadn’t grumbled its need for breakfast.
She turned in his arms. “Clothing, and I’ll stoke up the fire and make us toast over it while you see if you can get the electricity working so I can make tea.”
Callan grabbed a shirt from a drawer and pulled it and his kilt on. Emery found herself captivated until he wandered down the hallway towards the living room.
Once he and his distracting body were out of sight, she made a hasty grab for her underthings, catching sight of herself with her bed mussed hair and wide smile in the mirror.
That had been even better than what she’d intended when she’d asked him to hold her, even if she did now need to change the sheets. She paired a white blouse and dark green jumper with a black skirt and tied her hair back with a ribbon that matched.
It wasn’t until she was pulling the bottom sheet off the bed, with its sticky wet spot, that she remembered that if Callan had gotten his cock inside her, then they would have been bound.
He hadn’t.
They weren’t.
She left the sheet in a crumpled ball in the corner of the bedroom and strode out of the door. Callan was in the living room, cursing under his breath as he studied a section of wire.
“I have a question,” she said from behind him.
“Aye?”
“Why didn’t you…you know?”
He turned to face her. “Why didn’t I what?”
“Put your, um…” She trailed off, feeling silly. He’d just had his tongue all over her pussy. It was somewhat late for her to have an attack of propriety. “Why didn’t you have regular sex with me? So I’d have the same mate-feeling you do.”
Callan’s face crumpled. “I’m sorry, love. I bloody well meant to, it’s just been a while, and your scent and the noises you make were so…I didn’t mean to, er, spend on the sheets.” His eyes dropped. “I’ll make it up to you soon. I promise. Can try now if you want.”
“It’s not because…do you not want me as your mate?”
Callan’s head snapped up, and his face became thunderous. “Of course I want you. Christ, Emery, I expected to live forever among the trees with little but the sky for company. I was alright with that. I didn’t give that up for no blasted reason.”
She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, feeling the knot twist inside her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry you're stuck with me. I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret.” Her breath hitched. She had always been the second choice in her life, always the afterthought—second choice to her parents, second choice to her friends. Even to her mate, it seemed. The thought of pulling Callan into this mess of uncertainty, of all the things she hadn’t yet figured out, felt like a betrayal. She wiped away the tears that were threatening to spill, but they came faster than she could control them.
Callan’s face went pale, the color draining from his skin as if her words had physically struck him. “No,” he said softly, but with an intensity that made her chest ache. “This isn’t… I’ll never regret anything to do with you.” His fingers twitched as though wanting to reach out, but unsure of the right way to do it. “Can I touch you?” His voice was small, almost vulnerable.
Emery nodded, her heart pounding. She didn’t hesitate as she fell into his arms when he opened them to her. The warmth of him, his steady heartbeat beneath her ear, made the world outside seem irrelevant. “I just hope you don’t regret me,” he murmured into her hair.
Emery’s breath caught. How could she ever regret him? How could she ever regret someone who had already made her life so much richer just by existing? She nestled against him, feeling the weight of his sincerity in every breath he took. He was here, with her. That was all that mattered.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his voice filled with regret. “I’m sorry.”
She didn’t even know what he was sorry for. Maybe it was for pulling her into this life of chaos. Maybe it was for everything that had already happened, or maybe for things that hadn’t even occurred yet. But she could feel his own pain, his own rawness, reflected in his touch. Her nerves felt exposed, like they were laid bare for him to see. Whatever barriers had once shielded her had been pulled away when he arrived, and after the events of that morning, it felt like there was nothing left to protect her. And yet, in a way, she realized he, too, was just as exposed. Everything in their world was shifting so quickly. There was no time to catch their breath, no time to pause and make sense of it all.
Callan held her as if he would never let go, his arms a fortress around her. Emery closed her eyes and let herself melt into him, feeling the strength of him, the certainty that he was here, and for now, that was enough.
After what felt like an eternity, Emery spoke, breaking the silence that had settled between them. “Did you find the problem?” she asked, her voice a little raspier than usual. “With the wire?”
Callan stiffened slightly but then relaxed. “Oh, yeah, this time. The entire system is rubbish,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Give me two minutes, and I can have everything running.”
Emery nodded, relief washing over her at the thought of things returning to normal, if only for a brief moment. Carefully, she stepped back from him, smoothing out the wrinkles in her clothes before heading over to stoke the fire. The cottage wasn’t as cold as she’d expected—perhaps the snow had insulated the roof, or maybe the fire was just working its magic. She busied herself folding and putting away the laundry from the day before, the rhythmic motion a welcome distraction from the emotions swirling inside her.
As she tucked away the last pair of socks, the lights in the hallway flicked on, a sudden illumination in the otherwise dim house.
Callan was already in the kitchen, his broad frame bent over the stove. The smell of eggs began to fill the air as he stirred them in a bowl. Emery felt a small smile tug at the corners of her lips. Despite everything, the ordinary moments were what she clung to the most.
She made them both strawberry smoothies to go with the eggs, setting the glasses on the table as they sat down to eat.
“What’s the plan for today?” Callan asked, his voice casual, but the tension still clung to the air between them.
“Bring in firewood. I’ll read more of Emily’s journal. That’s about it,” she replied, pushing the smoothie around her plate.
He nodded, but the silence that followed felt heavy. They had shared so much intimacy, so much vulnerability, but now there was this invisible wedge between them that neither knew how to bridge. It was as if the closeness had inadvertently created distance. Emery had no idea where to begin fixing it, or even if it could be fixed. But she had to try.
Mid-morning, Emery bundled up against the cold to carry firewood. She stepped from the back stoop and onto the blanket of snow that had transformed her back garden into a pristine white expanse. The snow crunched beneath her boots as she began to gather logs, the crisp air biting at her cheeks. She glanced back at Callan, who had insisted on helping. Yet, despite her offering him a scarf or hat, he waved her off, claiming he’d be fine.
She thought he might have forgotten how cold he could get without his wolf pelt.
After the first load of wood, Callan began to shiver. By the second load, his skin had turned a shade of blue. She bit her tongue, forcing herself not to say, “Told you so,” which certainly wouldn’t help the situation. But the sight of him looking so cold and uncomfortable tugged at her heart.
As she headed inside for the third load, arms full of firewood, she saw Callan pause, his entire body going rigid. His head snapped towards the trees, his stance alert, his nose twitching slightly.
“What is it?” she asked in a low voice, her eyes narrowing as she watched him.
“Squirrel,” Callan said, his voice laced with both amusement and longing. His eyes met hers, a silent pleading in them.
For a moment, part of her wanted to refuse, to demand he stay by her side. But then she reminded herself that she couldn’t keep him from being who he was. He was a wolf, a wild thing. The forest called to him as it always had. And if she didn’t let him answer, she risked losing him in a way that would be far worse.
“Go have fun,” she said, patting his chest lightly, the words leaving her lips with a trace of sadness. “I’ll call when dinner’s ready.”
Callan smiled, his energy infectious as he leaned down and kissed her quickly, his lips warm against hers. “You’re the best mate I could have ever asked for,” he said, his voice low and sincere.
In one smooth motion, he pulled his shirt over his head and draped it across the logs in her arms. She laughed, shaking her head at his impulsive energy. With a quick shake of his body, he sprinted toward the tree line, his form blurring as he shifted mid-stride. One second human, the next, a sleek, powerful wolf.
“Just don’t forget to bring it in later!” she called after him, her voice teasing.
Callan’s tail twitched in response as he looked back at her, his wolfish grin bright before he disappeared into the trees, disappearing silently into the wild.
Inside, Emery set down the firewood with a sigh. “Stop worrying,” she muttered to herself. “He’s not a child. He’ll come back.”
Still, a flicker of doubt lingered in her chest. She hoped he’d come back.
To distract herself, she turned on the radio in the kitchen, humming along with Dean Martin as she washed and dried the dishes.
Her eyes wandered to the window when movement caught her attention. She rubbed the condensation from the glass and couldn’t help but laugh aloud when she saw Callan. He was running in joyous circles across the yard, his powerful body bounding through the snow, leaping into the air with abandon. Snow churned around him, his joy evident in every leap.
Her heart swelled at the sight. A smile spread across her face, and she sang along with the music, her hips swaying in time. It had been so long—years, it felt like. A lifetime since she’d danced in such a carefree way. She hadn’t even realized she’d stopped. But seeing Callan so full of life, so full of joy, brought it all back.
When the kitchen was sparkling and clean, she sat down at the table with Emily’s journal, hoping to find something that would answer the questions gnawing at her. The entries were sparse toward the end, cutting off just a few days before Emily’s death. One of the last entries was for a spell, its list of ingredients long and intricate, the instructions a puzzle of cryptic symbols and phrases. Emery could make little sense of it. The ingredients seemed random—ones that represented all the elements, but they didn’t cohere in any logical way. And the incantations—gibberish, nonsensical, as if Emily had become lost in something she didn’t fully understand.
Had Emily gone mad?
The journal didn’t provide any answers, only more questions.
A scratch at the door broke her concentration. A soft whine followed, and Emery’s heart skipped in her chest.
She hurried to the door, her thoughts a whirlwind. She opened it to find Callan standing there, looking somewhat sheepish. He shook his body on the step before trotting inside, a kilt dangling from his mouth.
“Can you look at a spell?” Emery asked, her voice soft but laced with the frustration that had been gnawing at her for hours. She gestured toward the table where the journal lay open, its pages filled with cryptic symbols and words that seemed to taunt her with their complexity.
Callan bobbed his head in acknowledgment, his brow furrowing in curiosity as he glanced at the journal. Without a word, he disappeared into the bedroom, his footsteps echoing softly in the quiet room. A minute later, he returned in his human form, fully dressed, his eyes bright with an unmistakable energy.
“I shifted,” he said, his voice filled with a childlike enthusiasm. “Easily.” He grinned, his lips stretching into a wide, genuine smile. “It’s beautiful out there. The sun is shining, and the air is full of winter.”
Emery’s heart fluttered at the joy in his voice, at the way he seemed so utterly at peace. She smiled softly. “It sounds magical.”
“It is,” Callan responded, his eyes shining with excitement. “I want to share it with you, not this minute, but… all my favorite places, all the secrets I know. There’s so many. Oh, Emery, you’ll love it. It’s not just the forest, it’s everything—every hidden corner, every trail. I want you to see it all.”
His words were so sincere, and they caused a warm flutter to bloom in Emery’s chest. There was no hesitation in his voice, no doubt. He wanted her with him. He wanted her to be a part of the life he had lived for so long, not just a passive observer, but a companion, someone to share in the beauty of the world he had known so intimately.
Hope bubbled up inside her, pushing away the remnants of the worry that had crept into her heart earlier. He wasn’t going to split himself between the forest and her. He was offering her all of it. He wanted her there, beside him, as his equal in both the human and wild worlds.
If the puzzle of the spell hadn’t been occupying her thoughts, if the mystery of Emily’s last journal entry hadn’t been gnawing at her mind, Emery might have pulled him into her arms then and there. She might have kissed him until the world around them disappeared into a haze of warmth and desire.
But the journal, the cryptic words, and the chilling feeling that something was wrong tugged at her, forcing her to focus. She sighed heavily and nodded toward the table. “I… I can’t figure it out,” she admitted, her voice a little weary.
Callan’s expression softened as he stepped closer to the table. He dropped into the chair across from her and reached for the journal, his hands gentle as he ran his fingers over the worn pages. His eyes scanned the text quickly—once, twice, and then a third time.
“This makes no sense,” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. His fingers brushed over the page as if searching for something hidden, some clue that might make the words click into place. “This would be difficult to perform. It’d take a lot of energy, but why? Why would anyone want to do this, and for what reason?” His voice was thick with confusion.
“No clue,” Emery sighed, her shoulders sagging in defeat. “I need the coven for this, don’t I?”
“It would help,” Callan agreed, his voice thoughtful.
Emery’s brow furrowed, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. “How do I contact them? Post a letter when the snow’s gone?”
Callan looked at her, stunned. “I keep forgetting how new you are to all of this,” he said, his voice laced with affection. He reached for her hand and gently pulled her to her feet. “Come on, let me show you something.”
He led her to the mantle, where a small silver bowl sat, its surface smooth and polished. The soft glow of the firelight caught its edges, making it seem almost alive. “Can you sense it now?” he asked, his voice a mix of encouragement and patience.
Emery furrowed her brow, not quite understanding. “Sense what?”
Callan smiled, guiding her hand over the bowl with a gentle touch. “Just try it,” he urged.
Emery hesitated for a moment, then slowly raised her palm above the bowl. She closed her eyes, focusing on the space between her hand and the metal. At first, nothing happened, but then—almost imperceptibly—she felt a spark, a faint hum of magic, like static electricity that pricked at her skin. Her heart skipped a beat.
“I feel it,” she murmured, her voice full of surprise.
“Good,” Callan said, his eyes lighting up. “It’ll get easier to sense things, I promise. It just takes time.” He gave her a reassuring smile, one that grounded her in the moment, even as the rest of her thoughts swirled with uncertainty.
“I still don’t know what to do,” she admitted, lowering her hand and letting it fall to her side.
Callan scratched his cheek, his gaze flicking between the bowl and her face. “Well, you’d probably write out a note and burn it in the bowl while you focus on who you want it to go to. Most likely only other coven members, though. It’s not like the King would have one.”
“Queen,” she corrected automatically. She couldn’t help herself. It was a reflex, a piece of knowledge ingrained in her from the world she had once known.
Callan’s brows drew together in confusion. “Queen?”
Emery smiled softly at his confusion. “George the Sixth died last year,” she explained quietly. “And Elizabeth the Second was crowned.”
“That must have been quite a to-do,” Callan murmured, his gaze turning distant as he looked out the front window. She wondered what memories those words stirred in him—memories of a time when things were simpler, perhaps. When the world was different, and a new monarch had been a change felt by everyone, even those who had seen centuries come and go.
“Mostly, I remember the ninny’s that got themselves drunk, hurt, and ended up in my ward,” she said with a snort, recalling the foolishness of it all. “Silly fools.”
Callan’s hand gently brushed against her cheek. “They should have been honored to have you caring for them,” he said softly, his voice sincere.
