Isla Matheson gripped the stone windowsill of the briefing room as the dawn’s rising sun sent a blaze of yellow and pink shimmering across the treetops and the glassy stillness of the loch. The forest stretched for miles either side of Matheson Castle, providing their shifter-fae skilled clan descended from Kenneth’s line with the perfect level of isolation they needed from the rest of the world. That isolation though would never keep her bear shifter mate, a man born to the other clan—Ivan’s line—from finding her, not when his senses reared to life when the full moon rose. This was the one night she both feared and desired. For five long years, she’d run, attempting to keep one step ahead of her mate’s relentless pursuit. He was strong, but then again so was she.
“I thought I’d find you in here.” The door to the briefing room shut with a soft snick and her father walked in with a laptop wedged under one arm. Murdock Matheson was both a seer and the chief of their clan, her only parent and one she loved dearly.
“I just needed a quiet place to gather my thoughts. The full moon looms.”
“Speaking of the full moon. I have some new information about your shifter mate.” He laid one hand on her shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. “Are you prepared to listen?”
“Always. Did you have a vision?”
“I did, and from that vision I was able to discover exactly who he is.”
“I already know who he is.”
“You only know he’s from Ivan’s line.”
“That’s all I need to know. He’s not from our clan and I’m worried about being the one who sets the prophecy in motion, as well as anxious about losing you.” At least the other Matheson clan kept their location as tightly a guarded secret as they did theirs. Even during those times of the month when the desperate need to join with him rode her hard, she couldn’t.
“You’re in pain and I can see it. Running from your chosen one is difficult. This is a bond that runs to the depths of one’s soul, whether you’ve met him or not.” He set his laptop down on the large mahogany table in the center of the room and wrapped one arm around her shoulders. “Gilleoin’s sons will separate when they come of age and rule their own clans, yet there will come a time far in the future when a mated bond forms between the two clans. Only then must Gilleoin’s descendants once again merge, and the ‘power of three’ be unveiled.” He breathed slowly out. “Yours is the first mated bond to form between the two clans in over eight-hundred years and whether you wish it or not, Gilleoin’s lines must once again merge.”
“I can’t leave you, no matter if I want him.” Damn the strength of the mated bond and its unearthly pull on her. She didn’t want to leave her father. She was all he had. He needed her.
“Yet your future has been set, and I can’t continue keeping you all to myself, even as much as I would love to.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Let me show you what I’ve uncovered. This is footage taken by a city surveillance camera I was able to download.”
“If you believe I need to see it then please, show me.” With her heart torn in two, she walked to the table, prepared to face her future even as she ran from it.
“I’ll hook this up to the big wall screen.” In his navy trousers and tan button-down shirt, Dad powered up his laptop, keyed in a sequence and moments later, the high definition floor-to-ceiling TV screen on the far wall, lit up a solid blue then flashed to the first image.
A city street. The glass front doors of a bank opened and a tall man with shoulder-length locks of midnight-black strode out. A tattooed mark, in the shape of a bear’s claw on the side of his neck, gave evidence of exactly who he was. Only the chief’s eldest son within Ivan’s line—the second-born son—held that mark.
She palmed her dual claw-and-star tattoo hidden low on her hip under her jeans. As her father’s only daughter, his only child, he’d marked her with the firstborn’s mark. She lifted her gaze. The man on the screen strode along the pavement, his black pants hugging his muscled legs and his white collared shirt stretching tight across his broad shoulders. His bearing and imposing height ensured those walking toward him veered out of his way, then he slowed and stopped next to a sleek red convertible. He opened the door, his long sleeves lifting and exposing the tip of a sheathed wrist dagger.
A slow heat invaded her limbs and spread in a rippling wave through her body. This kind of reaction to her chosen one, she didn’t need. “What’s his name?”
“Iain, the eldest son of Michael Matheson, the chief of his clan.”