by Mia Downing
I ran down the hall and into her office, shuffling through the first pile of papers, then the second. I hadn’t touched anything on her desk, unable to bring myself to do more than just remember her head bent over these piles…
“Ah.” Relief flooded me as I located what I needed. Taking the pages with me, I raced back down the hall, my heart pounding as I entered to an empty chair. “Skye?”
“I’m getting more booze,” she said from my desk. “Something tells me I should get rip-roaring drunk for this.”
Relieved, I tossed the pages on the table and went to her side, taking the bottle from her hands. “You don’t need to be drunk.”
“Going to be a good husband and dictate what I need?” She glared and picked up another, reading the label. “Because you don’t know me.”
“I do.” I pointed to the sheets of loose-leaf paper. “Those are your lists. Pros and cons of what to do about sending her —you— to a family. It’s proof it wasn’t my decision.”
“And what was your decision?” She uncapped the bottle and shot me an arched brow in defiance as she took a long swig.
I wanted to grab the bottle, but instead, I let her have that victory. I needed her to look at what she’d written. “I thought if we went back, we could retrace our energy through time. There have been travelers who have fractured, and they were able to restructure the fractured pieces of their bond mate by doing that.”
Well, there had been one successful case. I had been willing to take the chance rather than leave her. I shoved the pages toward her. “Please look at these.”
Staring at the pages, she set the bottle down and wrapped her arms around her chest in a protective stance. As she stepped closer, she wobbled a little, and I reined myself in from grabbing her elbow. She wouldn’t want that. If she’d just drop the shield, I’d know what to do. I’d feel what to do to help her.
Taking a deep breath, she cautiously picked up the top page, her eyes widening in shock. She dropped the page as if it had caught fire. “This is my handwriting.”
“Yes.”
She stared at the page from a distance, her arms wrapped around her chest again. “And that’s…English.”
I nodded. “You could write it at that point. You couldn’t speak it for some reason. Memories fracture in weird ways sometimes.”
“I was two. It’s not possible.” She shook her head as she picked up the page again in trembling fingers. Taking a long, deep breath, her gaze scanned the page, her lips moving in silent words.
The pros list contained everything she’d said to convince me that going back wasn’t right. She’d get a new family, a new start to life. She’d wait for me. She’d get to go to a real school. She didn’t want me to go back to that time— at all.
“Cons— Marek dies.”
I shrugged. “That’s where her mind had gone. The thought of losing me forever was by far more daunting than the thought of losing me for a decade or two.” The other Skye had abandonment issues, too, but for different reasons. “And you were so angry at me to begin with… I was just shocked that didn’t want me to die anyway.”
“Why was she angry?”
Realizing my mistake, I gulped, unsure how to steer away from this topic. We didn’t need to discuss this. Not right now.
I had to be careful. I glanced at the list of pros. She’d written: More time to research the next procurement.
“I— I’d messed up the last procurement.” And while that was true, it wasn’t what had angered her the most.
Her light-blue eyes narrowed, and after a long moment that had my heart racing, she dropped her gaze to the table. “What does that mean….procurement?” She tapped the list. “It’s here. She’d written she would have more time to research the next one.”
“Our job was to procure items in time and take them home.”
Confused, she shook her head, unsure what that meant. I really didn’t want to tell her. “Procure what? What could you possibly need in the future?”
I drew in a deep breath, glad the conversation had turned away from my indiscretions. But I had no clue what she’d do with this new bit of information, because my Skye had some big issues with our occupation—hence all the rules.
“Our last job was to bring home the Rai necklace.”
Skye
“That makes no sense, that you’d bring home the Rai necklace.” I stared at Marek with morbid fascination as I sank into the chair opposite him at the library table. “Unless you’re a jewel thief?”
His dark brows furrowed as he winced, obviously not liking my choice of words. “Have a look at the notes. Maybe you’ll—”
“Remember? Yeah. Right.” He couldn’t be a thief. He had the whole sexy professor thing going on…except for the leather pants. I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing deep.
The liquor chose then to hit me with a haze of warmth that laced the cold numbness. I hated his gorgeous face as much as I wanted to kiss it, and I didn’t understand that. I didn’t know him. I shouldn’t feel anything except disgust at myself as I walked out that door on this nonsense.
Yet I stayed.
Opening my eyes, I shook my head to clear it and glanced down at the notes in my handwriting, notes I’d never written. With a finger, I pushed each page aside, revealing the next underneath. My notes on the Rai necklace, pages on other treasures our infamous pirate had owned. Well. Owned was a generous term since he was a pirate and had taken it all from someone else.
“Possession is nine-tenths of the law,” I muttered, repeating Marek’s words when he’d shown me the necklace.
It now lay nestled in the box on the table, the velvet bag concealing all that emerald beauty from me. I stroked the velvet, the emerald a warm bump under my fingertips. Marek had been so sure of the origin, that it was authentic, yet the necklace had been lost right around Lofton Burke’s death in the late 1700s. How could he be sure?
Unless he’d been to Burke’s time to take it.
“Oh, God. You are a jewel thief. You went back in time and stole this? I stole this? Please tell me that’s not true.” No, not me. Her.
He raised his hands in placation, his dark-blue eyes pleading with me to understand. “It’s not theft. We have rules.”
“Oh, sure. Robin Hood and Maid Marion strike again, but only the government benefits?” I barked out a sharp laugh that held no joy. “This just gets better and better.”
“You and I—”
“You and her,” I corrected. “Let’s get one thing straight. I am not your wife. Even if everything you said is true, I grew up here. This is my time, and I am not her, whoever she is.”
“Okay.” He took a deep breath, baffled as he raked his hand through his hair. “How do you want that aspect to be addressed?”
I sat back, confused. I hadn’t expected him to offer compliance. “I don’t want to be labeled in your misadventures. You can call her whatever. I don’t care. But I want it clear that I am not her, and anything that happened before the memory of you dumping me here is not mine.”
“That’s not—" He sighed and tossed up his hands. “Okay. Yes, we —she and I— went back in time to procure items as our job. But we had rules. We didn’t take things that were owned. So no museum pieces, private collections—anything like that. We did the research, and if we could trace an item to where it went underground and it was never found, then we went back and found it.”
“But why? Why would your government risk your life for a rare emerald? That’s a piss-poor use of an excellent gift.” I glanced at him with narrow eyes. “If it’s true.”
“Of course it’s true, but it’s not perfect, living in our time,” he said slowly. “There are different levels of gifted. There are gifted who can work independently, like healers or seekers. There are others who work in bonded pairs, but their bond is weak. They can have a life outside of the bond, marry outside of the bond. Then, there’s the elite gifted.” He swallowed and took another breath. “That’s us. A small group who only time t
ravel, and they are trained for different aspects. Some get information, technology, medicine. And those who are the elite of the elite… They retrieve antiquities and other items that can be kept or bartered with other nations or even the rebel forces.”
“And she was… You are the elite of the elite.” Damn. I couldn’t help but feel awed. He’d said that I’d be a celebrity where he came from because of the power of my energy, and people would treat me differently… He’d meant it. It wasn’t just some cheap praise and admiration to get him laid.
“Yes, ranked first of our class. But we have paid over and over for that status. In so many ways, and it nearly destroyed us.” He rubbed his temple as if easing the ache behind his sad eyes. “If we’d been lesser gifted, we’d be at home in a factory or some other type of work, and we’d be safe,” he said, his voice defeated, the slump of his shoulders dejected. “And now, I’m stuck here.”
I had no clue what to say to that. I tried to be a bigger person and see it from his side. He’d been forced to do a job and lost everything. He couldn’t even go home if he wanted. That had to suck.
Uncomfortable as we sat in silence, I peered into the box of treasures. Under the velvet bag, the down-turned miniature frame peeked out, beckoning to me.
“May I?” I gestured to the frame.
He shrugged.
I picked the frame up, turned it…and gasped at the old-time photo of Marek and…me. Well, me with jet-black hair with natural curls instead of my current copper color and straightened. This couldn’t be real.
When I looked up at Marek for verification, he said, “We had it taken in 1891 for our anniversary. We weren’t allowed to do things like that…leave a piece of ourselves in the past. But we broke the rules.”
Shocked, I glanced back down. Marek looked dapper in a suit with a waistcoat and the chain of a pocket watch dangling in that fascinating loop as his hand held her elbow. She stood next to him in a stylish dress with a bustle and ruffles to her neck, her gloved hands folded in front of her. She gazed off in the direction she’d been told, but Marek stared down at her with love and devotion, so unusual for photos of that era since they took so long to take.
“You loved her.” I don’t know why it shocked me so much. Maybe because it was like he was looking at me…but he wasn’t.
“I love you,” he corrected. “You’re still her, deep inside.”
My gaze snapped from the picture to glare at him. No one had ever said they loved me except my best friend. Those three words seared through my chest and straight to my heart like a dagger. Sadly, he didn’t mean them for me.
“Again, I am not your Skye. I’m not this person.” I waved at the miniature with a strangled laugh. “I’m me. And you don’t know me.”
“I do know you. I know you like blueberry muffins, and how you take your coffee, and you become aroused during storms.”
A hot blush crept to my cheeks, and I shifted my shoulders in a defensive shrug. “Anyone could like those things.”
“You make pro/con lists. I knew that before you left one in my book.”
I shook my head, unable to take much more. The emotions that had been bottled up bubbled under the pressure, threatening to blow. Raising my hands in supplication, I asked, “What’s your endgame, Marek? Besides the energy, what do you want from me?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he contemplated what to say. “I want you.”
“You’ve had me. You seem like a guy with big plans, one who has everything worked out. So exactly where do I fit in your plan?” Because I was not inclined to comply.
He winced as if his headache had grown worse. Good. “Can we not discuss this now? We have plenty of time to work out the logistics—”
“So you have a plan.”
“Skye—”
“Don’t you even, Marek. Spit it out.” I crossed my hands over my chest, defensive.
“I don’t think—”
“You have a plan. It started with seducing me for a boost of energy. What exactly do you want to use that energy for? Because I don’t see you, a time traveling thief, just settling down and being happy as a…whatever you are, writing books.” With me.
Whatever he wanted, I was going to be a pathetic, lookalike choice.
He drew in a deep breath. “I was dying.”
“And you’re not anymore, so what’s the plan?”
“Okay.” He sighed as he rubbed his forehead again, leaning into his elbow as he worked up the courage, or maybe the lie, to tell me. “I want to go back in time. I want to take that damned, cursed necklace back to 1892 and put it back so I can heal you.” He stood and took a few anxious steps around the table, pacing in a flash of black leather and white linen. “That necklace is the reason why all this happened. I…I just want you back.”
He didn’t want me back. He wanted her.
I shook my head as he paced the length of the table. “I don’t believe in curses, but don’t let me stop you. There’s the door. You can jump two hundred years alone, right? You don’t need me.”
His brows furrowed. “We’re a team. We work together. Taking the necklace back together could mend the fracture. You’d get your memories back. You’d remember me.”
I blinked as I took that in. Did he think taking me back would merge her and I into one person? What would happen to me? My mouth went dry as I managed to ask, “You want to erase me?”
“No, no, no.” He knelt at my side, his eyes pleading as he fumbled for my hand. “It wouldn’t erase you. You’d still be you, but you’d…remember.”
I snatched my hand away in disgust. He would never want plain me as I was— simple, boring. He wanted her more. And fair enough, since he’d been married to her, and he didn’t know me. But I wasn’t giving up who I was to become someone else.
“Those are all Marek-oriented goals. What do I get out of going back in time?” I asked it as if we could actually do that, like he wasn’t crazy and delusional.
“You’ll be whole again.” It came out as a strangled croak, his face crinkling with desperation.
Sadness gurgled up, clogging my throat, tears stinging at my eyes. All the emotions I’d bottled up my whole life seemed to surge forward—the anger, the hatred, the shame. I’d never felt whole. And I’d always thought finding my people would complete me, show me who I was.
But I didn’t want to be erased or changed in exchange for being whole. I liked my life. My job. For once, I wanted someone to join me, to see what I had to offer and to rejoice in that.
I’d thought I’d seen a glimmer of that with Marek, that he’d seen the real me and had liked what he saw. I didn’t believe in fairytale endings, but I’d thought maybe this thing with Marek could go somewhere good, and I’d be happy for a change.
I’d been wrong.
Without looking at him, I turned and headed to the kitchen to find my laptop bag, shoes, and coat.
Marek jumped from his knees to follow. As he touched my elbow, his energy swirled against mine in a mess of anxiety and sadness. “Skye, wait. I’m sorry. We can talk—”
Shrugging out of his grasp, I held up a hand to stop him. “I’m done. Give me my coat.”
“Skye.”
“There’s nothing to discuss. You want to change me. And that’s the last thing I want.”
“I don’t—”
I put my finger to his lips, silencing him. “When you can see me as my own entity, separate from your dead wife, you give me a call. But I am not” —I tapped his mouth with my finger— “her. I will never be her.”
I turned, shrugged on my coat, and walked out, hurrying so I could burst into tears in the privacy of my car.
I’d gotten what I had wanted— to know about my origin, to experience an after effect…to find someone compatible with my energy.
I wiped a tear from my eyes as I got into my car, letting my head fall to the steering wheel. People like me never got what they wished for. Next time, I’d be more careful.
Chapter eleven
Skye
Tuesday morning, I rolled over, groaning as I held my head. Marek’s headache had infected me. My whole body ached from our romp Sunday night, and either I’d had too much to drink or the after had something to do with the pain throbbing in my head.
When I’d gotten home yesterday morning, I made sure Grace had known I was safe and that I was turning off my phone. I’d practically collapsed in bed and slept until almost ten at night. I’d gotten up to eat quick and texted Mr. Dexter and Grace to remind them that I wouldn’t be into work in the morning as I wanted to proof my paper. Then I’d gone back to bed and slept without a single dream.
Marek had called and texted several times, but I ignored those. No way could he be over his wife issues already.
My phone rang, and I looked at the display. Grace.
I groaned and picked up. “I’m fine. You don’t need to call.”
“You sure? Because I would have expected glowing, happy texts about your sleepover with Mr. Darcy, and instead, I get radio silence. That’s not fine.”
“But I’m not like you.” I dug around on my nightstand for something for the headache. I opened the bottle, popped three, and followed with a swig of water. “I don’t feel the need to share my sex life.”
“You don’t have a sex life.” She paused a beat. “Well, until Sunday you didn’t.”
I groaned again and rolled over on the bed. “Mr. Darcy has skeletons.”
“Who doesn’t?” Grace asked, the bookstore cash register closing in the background. “So…the sex.”
“Phenomenal.” I hated to admit it. Memories of Sunday had left me with a sweet ache that wanted more of that wild ride. “But before this leads into a lecture about how a good orgasm or twenty overcomes most evil in the world, he has past wife issues. I’m not willing to go there.”
“Oh.” She blew out a defeated sigh. “Sure, head off a good lecture.”
“I saw it coming a mile away.” I smiled and grimaced from the pain. Grace meant well, but I couldn’t get into the details with her. Not when I barely understood what was going on. I should be looking for therapy. “So I’m not pursuing that until he’s ready to move on.” There. That sounded good.
