Page 45 of His Retribution

My light acted exactly as she did centuries ago at a small pub in the Old Country. A barmaid had been rather forward with me while my light was playing wingman to Milos. When they returned and she saw the woman proposition me, touch my shoulder, my angel flipped her shit, broke the woman's fingers and probably would have done more damage had I not thrown her over my shoulder and escorted her from the building.

It gave me hope, filled me with pride and immense satisfaction when my light claimed me as hers, though no one understood her words but my brothers and I. She even made the same threat about using the woman's flesh as treats for Sammy.

And hearing her speak our native tongue just before she pulled her shirt from her body and stormed out the back door?

I thought my cock would unzip my jeans and run across the bar to follow her all on his own.

But I knew immediately something was wrong because the entire time she acted as she used to, my light’s eyes were slightly vacant, the brightness dimmed a bit, the battle between past and present clear.

Which is why I followed her.

I watched her go through the door and hesitated but only for a moment before I joined her out back. And when I saw her against the wall, her eyes even more vacant than before, then they rolled back into her head while she was slumped over, I nearly had a heart attack. I surely would have if it was a possibility for me.

Henrich believes this is what happens when the past wins out momentarily, that she is in some sort of trance while her memories battle for space in her conscious mind. I agree and I feel I may have figured out what triggers it most of the time.

Physical touch.

When she passed out in Bill's office, Kai had touched her.

When she almost went down behind the bar, she had shaken Andrej's hand.

When my light blacked out while her hair was tangled in her engine, I had caught her, prevented her from falling, my hands on her warm skin.

I've seen flickers of the same over the two weeks I assisted with her truck.

A graze of our fingers.

A playful shove.

A gentle caress while pushing her hair out of her eyes.

All of it created that same vacant look, if only for a few seconds, and I had intended to test that theory a little further the last night we were together.

I planned to kiss my light.

I know she feels our bond, I know she does.

I could see it in the way I'd catch her staring at me, the smile that barely left her face while we were together.

My blue light is attracted to me, not just physically, but she feels the pull and I know my blood sings to her the same way hers does to me.

So I was going to take a chance and kiss her, see if that helped things along.

Then she told me she didn't want to see me again and oh, how my poor dead heart cracked.

Her words crushed me, split me wide open, and I was within seconds of begging before all of what she said sank in.

It wasn't until I really heard her words did I grasp what exactly life has been like for my mate.

My light is a wanderer, a nomad, because she is running scared. She never plants roots, never settles down or allows herself human companionship because she lives in a constant state of fear. She has been dreaming of her death most likely her entire life and because theman with the soulless eyescomes to her in those dreams so frequently, my love has accepted that this must be her fate.

And she somehow knows that she will die the night before her twenty-seventh birthday based on her two week deadline and has adapted to fit that.

So she tries to protect herself.

She continues to run, to change her location, never stay in one place too long as if it will help her outrun her perceived fate.

My light avoids making personal connections, avoids relationships and friends because that makes things harder. Not only is it more difficult to leave once you have reason to stay, but I suspect my love also believes that anyone she becomes close to is put at risk or can be used as collateral against her.