Page 81 of His Retribution

And get someone other than your left hand to play with your cock.

Bastard.

I sigh as I push open the door to the tunnel—the one that connects the main house and basement with my cabin—because I do not feel like risking a chance encounter with one of the females at seven o'clock in the morning.

As much as I hate to admit it, everyone is right.

I am unfocused, tired, and my mind is preoccupied.

Despite sleeping better than I ever have, it is only a few hours a day and that isn't nearly enough, not after so many years without. And since my poor sweet mate still has nightmares, neither of us have been sleeping much when we actually do.

The other day I asked Cora why she stayed on a backward schedule for all these years.

She explained that it was a combination of things that kept her up at night, things other than the nightmares.

She traveled during the day and slept during the day because she knew Nero wouldn't come for her then, due to his aversion to the sun. Her thought process wasn't clear prior to now, but she knew in her gut that she was safest during the day and that's why she'd stay up at night.

Cora also said most of the jobs she could get that would pay her under the table were in need of night help.

Bars. Diners. Gas stations.

All of her attained work was at night in each life so the pattern became natural.

She then told me now that she recalls everything, it is also because that was the way she lived during our life together. Up all night, whether waiting for us to meet or spending time together, sleeping during the day so she wasn't tired when we did see each other.

All of it makes perfect sense and I am so glad for it because it means I don't lose any time with Cora now.

And even though we both still struggle with the actual sleeping part of things, lying in bed with my love, being able to hold her in my arms while we kiss or drift off, that is something I already love so much.

I yawn as I slowly walk the tunnel, my mind a jumbled mess, my body a tad sore and definitely tired.

Perhaps my light will agree to turning in early.

Yes, that sounds divine.

A quick shower. Fresh shorts. Maybe even ajust becausecomfort feeding.

What would be absolutely perfect is a shower that perhaps my mate joins me in, a feeding with some fooling around, then slipping under the sheets completely naked with my light before we fall asleep for more than an hour or two.

Yes.

That would be ideal.

But unlikely because as soon as I push through the door into my closet I can tell that my light is already asleep.

I must have missed hearing her lie down while I was lost in thought—or possibly while I was punching my brothers—and once I take in the state of my closet, the cabin itself, I see why my beautiful mate must be exhausted.

All of her clothes are hanging in the space next to my meager ones, her jewelry box is on top of the dresser, her throw pillows and blankets are all over the furniture. In the bathroom, my light has lined up her few products on the counter, hung her various scarves and headbands on hooks I know she added and most likely made herself because they're spouts from teapots mounted on little squares of wood.

Once showered, I finish my very satisfied inspection to find a box on the coffee table that contains the lights and tapestries that hung throughout her tiny home, the various rugs all rolled up next to it waiting to be distributed no doubt, and another box by my trunk full of the pocket watches she's collected over the years.

Samson is sprawled in front of the fireplace, his ears twitch and his tail thumps against the floor as I approach but he doesn't get up, just acknowledges me happily in his sleep.

And then I see her.

My beautiful blue light, sprawled on her stomach, arms tucked under the pillow, long dark hair spread out behind her, face turned toward the nightstand where my pocket watch rests.

Naked as a fucking jaybird.