Page 32 of His Retribution

And when she asked me to stay, asked for my assistance, my dead heart soared.

Then took a nose dive when I realized morning was upon us.

Oh but then, then my light invited me back to her humble home, asked me to come back to the warmth I crave and I'd have been a fool to say no. It may only be to assist with her hunk of junk vehicle but that's a start and I will happily take it.

Despite that though, I was a tad deflated when I returned home so I found myself wandering the underground tunnel that connects my cabin with the mansion, the underground path put in so that I may use it during the day, if needed.

I was relieved to see only Henrich and Posey in the kitchen when I came through the pantry, but they both knew immediately my mood was sour. And because I'm an emotional minefield, I spilled my guts over how much it hurt me that my light did not recognize me.

Henrich believes it's part of the legend, a flaw in it really, that the reincarnation prevents clear memories, if any at all, of past lives and one’s mate. He also believes there to be a way to trigger them, activate the original life shared between us and is eagerly trying to find supporting evidence.

Posey agreed but also took the opportunity to slam my appearance.

She claimed that of course my light wouldn't recognize me now because I most likely did not look like areclusive hobo that's been living in a cardboard box full of shitwhen I met her so many years ago. Then she told me if I wanted to help my light’s memory return even the slightest bit, I shouldquit impersonating Howard Hughesand show her the man she fell in love with.

The queen is not wrong, despite her less than tactful picking apart of my current style.

Or lack thereof.

I've been a complete recluse since my light was snuffed out.

Living in the woods, mountains, caves.

I let my hair grow to an ungodly length, my beard as well, and I wear the same clothes—generally without washing them too often—until they fall apart.

I've most definitely let myself go—soul crushing heartbreak will do that—and I tend to think the queen is right in her assessment of the situation.

Which is part of why I am currently pacing my cabin, sitting on pins and needles as I wait for her to arrive.

I gave Posey my measurements, about two thousand dollars in cash and asked her to attain new clothing for me. My light never cared about things like appearance or fashion, but if I'm to make her see me, remember me, I suppose I should wear more than rags covered in dirt.

This isn't about impressing her though, it's about allowing myself to actually be seen, my true self, for the first time in two hundred and seventy-five years.

Which confirms I must be completely insane.

"I hope you're ready to strut your stuff, big guy!" Posey throws open my secret door, the one through my closet, her arms full of bags and packages. "I spent every last penny you gave me and have enough clothes to make any girl jealous."

I roll my eyes as I empty her hands. "I just needed enough to replace what I had. I'm not looking to start a career in fashion."

Posey waves me off as she sets the rest on the bed. "Nonsense! You want Gypsy to remember who you are, fall in love with you all over again, you need to look the part."

Gypsy.

Ugh.

My lightisa gypsy, I'll give her that, but using the term as a name is a little ridiculous.

It has made me wonder though. Does she not use her name? Does she not care for the most beautiful word in all the world? Is she ashamed of the elegant simplicity that those four letters hold? Or is her true name not the same as my light’s?

If that is the case, I worry it could mean she is not truly my mate come back to me.

Which is also ridiculous because I feel the same tingles, the same pull of our bond when in her presence. Hell, everything else, right down to the fact that she has a Harlequin Great Dane named Samson, is identical.

It's just her name that doesn't quite match.

Gypsy Stone.

Ugh.