At least, that’s the odds on the favorite scenario.
“You’re quiet,” Carrick observes, pressing his lips into the back of my head. “Did I break you?”
“Never,” I assure him, although I will feel deliciously used in the morning. “But I sort of feel like we’re back on that patio just before Rune came and snatched you away, and you had just laid that bombshell on me. I haven’t been able to process it yet.”
Carrick shifts, putting space between us, then forces me to roll over so we can look at each other. “Let’s process it now. Because I’ve hardly thought of anything else in the last three weeks.”
Placing my hand on his naked chest, I stare at the hollow of his throat before lifting my gaze to his. “I read your journals. Not all of them, but I flipped through a lot since we first met. I couldn’t find any mentions of me.”
“To keep you safe,” Carrick replies.
I nod and smile. “Zaid told me the same. He’s tried to help me through this, as have Rainey and Myles, but… I just didn’t want to talk to them. I only wanted to talk to you.”
“I’m here,” he says quietly. “Let’s talk about anything you want.”
I should have written down all the questions that have been buzzing around my brain for the last three weeks and put them in an orderly fashion. But I didn’t, so my first question is completely random.
“How old was I when Rune killed me in front of you?” I ask.
“Twenty-five,” he says softly. “You were young when we met, fell in love, and married, but that’s the way it was back then. At eighteen, you were of an age where you should have been married off. It’s only because your father loved you so much that he didn’t want to force you into a loveless match and you apparently had plenty of suitors seeking your hand.”
“That’s just so archaic. It’s hard to imagine me living in that time.”
“You were a lot more progressive than the other females of your time,” Carrick says with a chuckle. “You were rebellious, rambunctious, fearless, didn’t listen to reason, and never asked for help. You definitely weren’t the type to swoon over a big hulking Viking trying to molest you.”
I laugh, squeezing in a little closer to him. I’m glad I was independent and strong in my first life.
“Was I always like that?” I ask.
“Always. Every single reincarnation.”
My hand comes to his jaw, and I rub it along the bristles making their appearance. He could use a shave, but I like him like this, too. “And when was the last time you and I were together?”
“1961 through 1964.” His voice is rough, and I imagine many of the memories are bittersweet.
“How did I die that time?” It’s a horrible question for me to ask, but I want to know how I died every single time. And I want to know how we fell in love each time, and I want to know just… everything.
“A brain aneurysm,” he replies softly, and I can see the pain fresh in his eyes. “At night while we slept. I found you dead the next morning.”
Okay, that’s enough of the morose stuff. I need to hear it, but it’s going to have to be in doses, not for me, but for Carrick. This is very fresh to him—the sixties not being that far away for an immortal.
I smile mischievously. “What was your favorite thing about our time together then?”
A wide smile breaks out on his face. His eyes glittering, he snakes his hand around my lower back and pulls me in so my pelvis is up against his. “It was the sexual revolution, baby. It was easy to get you into bed.”
I’m laughing even as I smack him on the chest, then he kisses me hard because it’s a good memory.
It’s such a great kiss I think we might forget about talking for a while, but Carrick releases my mouth and looks at me with all seriousness. “Hit me up with some more questions.”
“Did I have special abilities? Like the way I can see fae now?”
Carrick shakes his head. “No. You were perfectly ordinary, and I loved you that way. Just as I love you this way.”
I stiffen when I hear Carrick say he loves me for the first time since he returned. I know he does because I remember the emotion with which he said it three weeks ago.
He doesn’t expect me to say it back, and I’m not going to say it just because I’m afraid he needs to hear it. But I am going to tell him exactly how I feel about loving him.
I take a breath and let it out slowly, shifting slightly so our eyes can connect. “It bothers me that you have a deeper connection to me than I do to you. I love you, Carrick, but I don’t think it’s the same way I used to. It’s certainly not on the same level that you feel for me because you have the luxury of memories and time. I only have a gut instinct that I’m supposed to be yours.”
“I know.” His hand moves to brush some hair off my forehead before his eyes come back to me. “I’m just grateful you love me. That you know the truth and that whatever time we have left, we can do it together, with nothing between us.”
Smiling, I nod. It’s enough for him, but it’s not enough for me. “Zaid said there’s a place where our memories are held in crystals.”
Carrick frowns. “The Hall of Histories. Would you like me to take you there?”
“Would you?” I ask in excitement, leaning up on one elbow so I’m staring down at him. “Let me see some of our lives together?”
“Of course I will,” he says, his tone indicating it would be a given that he’d give me anything I ask for. “We’ll go this evening.”
“Why not now?” I ask, and I realize just how naive it was of me to do so.
Because I only get a flash of a sly grin from Carrick before his mouth is back on mine. He shifts me under his body, pushes his legs in between mine, and forces them to spread. He then kisses his way down my body, and I sigh when he stops to focus on that most intimate spot on my body.
This evening will be fine to visit the Hall of Histories.
CHAPTER 7
Finley
The Hall of Histories isn’t easy to explain. I have no clue where it’s located, other than Carrick took my hand and bent distance. We arrive in a small room with a shiny black floor and white walls. There’s no furniture, no art on the walls, and no doors except one at the other side of the room like a bank vault made of thick steel with a giant wheel on the front that must be spun to open it.
I’m jolted slightly when a man appears before us wearing clothing I don’t recognize as something humans would wear in any time period. Loose white pants and a white tunic that comes down past his hips with buttons up the middle. The collar has almost a Mandarin feel, but the entire ensemble looks futuristic.
I lean in toward Carrick and whisper, “Are we on a spaceship?”
Carrick smirks. “Let go of the alien thing, Finley. I promise you that they don’t play a part in your life.”
“Welcome to the Hall of Histories, Nuesh,” the man says with a slight bow. “What may I do for you today?”
I frown because I don’t understand why he’d call Carrick that, and then it hits me… that was his original name in Sumer when he was created. Perhaps he doesn’t know Carrick by any other name, or perhaps demi-gods are most often referred to by their original names.