His gentle explanation had no effect for she repeated, “Oh my God.”
Before he could move to comfort her, she tore violently away from his hands and stepped to the side.
“Who’s this?” she demanded to know, turning the paper and pointing at the name beside Waring’s.
Cautiously, Callum answered, “That’s his mother.”
“Right,” Sonia snapped and walked stiffly to his desk, sat herself in his chair and rolled herself forward.
Callum watched as she grabbed a piece of paper embossed with his crest at the top and started writing.
Silently, he walked to stand beside her and looked down to watch as she wrote:
Dear Michaela,
By now, you’ve likely heard of me. I’m Sonia, queen to Callum and I knew your son.
In the few weeks I’d known him, he did several kindnesses for me, two very important. One of those saved the life of my mate.
He also made me laugh.
There is nothing I can write in this letter which will help you during this time of sorrow. But I hope it gives you some small measure of comfort to know that there are two beings very grateful for the fact that they shared this glorious planet with your son, even if it was for a short time.
Please know you and your family are in my and Callum’s thoughts.
Forever indebted to your handsome, brave, fun-loving son, Waring,
-Sonia
Once she’d finished writing her extraordinary letter, writing it without hesitation or difficulty, she folded it, dug through his desk until she found an envelope, inserted the letter, sealed it and handwrote the address.
Then her head tipped back to look up at him. Callum saw the trail of wetness on her cheeks and the tears still shining in her eyes.
All right, it was abundantly clear she didn’t write it without difficulty.
“Okay, Callum,” she said in a trembling voice, picking up the report filled with names of dead soldiers and shaking it at him. “Who’s next?”
At first, Callum didn’t move.
There weren’t many times in his long life that Callum, king of the wolves, was uncertain what to do but in the face of his queen’s profound but poised compassion, that was one of them.
So he did what his instincts told him to do. He leaned down to his mate, curled his fingers around her neck and he marked her hair with his temple. Then he kissed her softly on her lips.
Then he pulled her out of his chair, sat in it, tugged her gently into his lap and, together, they wrote letters to the kin of the fallen. Callum writing the letters, Sonia, sitting in his lap, addressing them, ticking off the names and writing personal notes to the next of kin of the few wolves she knew, however briefly.
Her assistance made it a less difficult task, if not a less wretched one.
And, in that day and age of phones and e-mail, news of her notes, especially those received quickly by the kin of his Royal Guard who lived in the village (including Waring’s mother), spread widely and it spread rapidly.
Just like he expected but much more swiftly, in fact, before most of his people even met their queen, they fell in love with her.
* * * * *
The new Sonia continued to emerge when, three nights later in their bedroom, the firelight dancing on her skin, her face tucked into his neck, her body straddling his, their physical connection still held but their breath having recovered from their orgasms, she lifted up with her forearms on his chest.
Her eyes moved over his face before they caught his and she asked, somewhat timidly and even with a hint of embarrassment, “What’s your last name?”
He was surprised at her question but he shouldn’t have been. Most immortals, including vampires (although Gregor and Yuri had adopted one and they did it for her) didn’t have surnames. But humans, of course, did.