Page 58 of His Retribution

Then again, it could have just been a thank-you for making him food.

I mean, why would someone as beautiful, as kind and wonderful as Havok want to kiss someone like me anyway? Especially knowing that there's an expiration date on my time here in one way or another. It was probably stupid to think those sweet kisses really mean anything to him and this one shouldn't be any different.

"Where is your head right now, angel? I can see you trying to work through a problem in your mind as we stand here."

My eyes flick to his and I sigh. "Sorry. I get a little lost in thought at times. Just ignore me."

He shakes his head. "I could never do such a thing, but I have noticed you seem to get lost in your head quite often. Perhaps you'd like to ask those questions I'm sure you have had since I almost burst into flames?"

Well, he's not wrong about that.

So I nod and turn toward the dining area, tie back the curtain and drop the table.

"Oh my gods,” Havok whispers as he joins me.

He sets our plates down then turns, takes in my collection and for some reason I can't look at him. My pulse skyrockets, my whole body breaks out into hives and the level of worry that creeps into my bones is so disconcerting I feel sick. So I quickly move past him to grab cups and silverware, the orange juice and napkins.

"You collect..." Havok swallows hard as I place everything on the table. "You collect pocket watches."

I nod and don't meet his eyes, eyes that are now trained on me.

It's more than a collection, the hundreds of pocket watches hung along the walls. Most of them don't work, a few tick but barely keep time. I've been obsessed with pocket watches for as long as I can remember and it goes back to my nightmares. I always see one in my hand seconds before the man with the soulless eyes comes and I've searched for that watch everywhere. Each town I live in, most along the way, I always stop at the pawn shops or antique stores in search of that beautiful watch that haunts my dreams as if it were the key to everything I've always longed for. It's like, if I find that watch it'll somehow change my fate, as if those hands against the white face and Roman numerals will tick a little slower and save me.

I know it's ridiculous but I can't help it. Just like I know it's ridiculous to run from a nightmare, to believe a man in my dreams will kill me, but again, I can't help it. Collecting the pocket watches, searching for the one in my dreams has become as much of a compulsion as running away has and I can't seem to stop either if I tried.

I watch Havok spin slowly, take in each and every clock face. He touches a few, lingers on one that is the closest I've gotten to finding the one in my dreams. Then, to my total embarrassment, he sees the stack of love letters I found at one of the first antique shops I went into.

The paper is old, the words written in a beautiful script. The shop's owner told me they were maybe Russian or something like it, and when he had them appraised the dealer was able to confirm they were beautiful love letters from a man to his true love. The earliest is dated in the spring of 1743 and I have no idea what it says but what caught my attention was the name.

Moja krásna Cora.

All of the letters are addressed to a Cora.

All five hundred and forty three of them, one for every day between the spring of 1743 and the fall of 1745, the last dated the day before my birthday.

When I found them they were tied with a piece of twine that had the cogs from a pocket watch on it.

I was sixteen, on the run, and so desperately lonely, so terrified, but when I found that stack of letters and the small cogs I felt peace like I'd never known before, so I bought them. I bought someone's epic romance for three dollars and fifteen cents.

I've looked over the letters so many times, traced the faded ink, the age spots and worn edges in hopes that I'd be able to read them one day. I just know that this man clearly loved this woman so much that he wrote to her every single day for a year and a half and her name was Cora.

Cora, like me.

Maybe it's silly but I would pretend they were mine, pretend that whoever wrote them had been writing them to me and since I know I'm not going to have a chance at that kind of epic beautiful love, I lived vicariously through letters I can't read. And I've worn the cogs around my neck ever since.

Silly fantasies.

Stupid dreams.

"These letters..." Havok whispers, his gaze practically glued to the stack still wrapped in twine.

I clear my throat and wrap my arms around my waist. "It's silly, I know. I can't read them, have absolutely no idea what they say but... but I was told they're love letters from a man to his soulmate and, well I just had to have them."

"Why?"

"Because… well, because I found so much beauty in that, so much peace and hope in knowing that they were so in love that he wrote to her every day for such a long time and..." I really shouldn't share anything more than I have with him but I'm already in so deep with Havok I'll probably drown. "And my name... my name is Cora so I just… it's silly."

When Havok turns to me my heart drops.