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He was also extremely wet.

“Raining, hey?” I rose to make him a coffee as he headed into his bedroom.

“Pelting down.”

He came out in fresh clothing and rubbing his hair dry with a towel. I handed him the coffee, then moved around to sit down beside Eljin again. “I don’t suppose you remember me dating a Myrkálfar elf with red hair when I was a teenager?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Why the hell would you be asking me that? You dated them, not me.”

“And obviously they weren’t very good dates if you have no memory of them,” Eljin said.

I nudged him with my shoulder, and Eljin laughed. “Well, a good date is never forgotten, is that not true?”

“Don’t ask me,” Lugh said, “According to my sister, I rarely had dates let alone good ones back then.”

I rolled my eyes. “This particular date suggested you’d run him off.”

Lugh’s gaze sharpened. “You’re talking about our ruby-wielding terrorist, aren’t you?”

I nodded. “I spoke to him briefly when we were at Kaitlyn’s.”

“How did he escape if you were close enough to talk?” Eljin asked.

“He wasn’t alone, he had layers of magic protecting him, and I never got close enough to use my knives on anything more than his protecting shield.” I shrugged. “We did manage to stop his destruction, though, and that was the main thing.”

Lugh scratched his stubbly chin, his expression thoughtful. “You did go through a period where you dated anything Myrkálfar?—”

“Really?” So why had none of them made a lasting impression? Hell, I wasn’t ever likely to forget Cynwrig, no matter how senile I got. “How old was I?”

“Nineteen? Twenty? Something around there.”

“Were any of them red haired and green eyed?”

“I think there was one who had green eyes, but can’t remember his hair color. There’d always been something not quite right about him.”

“So you did run him off?”

“Yes, because you came home one night in tears and having obviously been beaten. I tracked the bastard down and bluntly told him if he ever touched you again—if he ever even saw you again—there would be no place on this earth he would be safe.”

Warmth tugged at my heart. “Love you too, brother mine.”

And I would do exactly the same—threaten the same—if anyone hurt him. In fact, him being injected with a deadly truth serum was the sole reason I’d gotten involved in the hunt for Agrona’s Claws.

But the truth of the matter was, I couldn’t remember the incident, and that was confusing, especially if I’d been beaten so badly.

“You didn’t report him? Sgott didn’t charge him?”

“You refused to press charges, so Sgott’s hands were legally tied. He did, however, use every resource possible into finding the bastard and passing that information on.”

My confusion deepened. “Why wouldn’t I press charges? That really doesn’t sound like me.”

“No, but you were damnably adamant about it and made me swear not to go after him.”

I scrubbed a hand across my eyes. “I don’t remember any of this.”

“It’s well known that victims of trauma can suffer a shutdown of episodic memory,” Eljin said softly. “It’s not unusual for the memories—or even just fragments of them—to resurface years, or even decades later.”

“That’s the trouble—they’re not resurfacing.” I blew out a frustrated breath and took a drink. And couldn’t help wishing it was something much, much stronger. “Don’t suppose you can remember his name?”