She shifts in her seat. “What is?”
“I see the past, Millicent. I can remember every lifetime that you and I have spent together, down to every single detail.”
She blinks and sits back but doesn’t recoil.
“Has it always been that way?”
“Meaning in every lifetime?” I ask.
She nods.
“Yes. I’ve always had this ability.”
She licks her lips and looks over my shoulder as if gathering her thoughts.
“And have I always had the same abilities?”
I smile. “Yes. And you’ve always been a hedgewitch.”
Her lips tip up in a smile. “I like that. But I don’t know that I like that you’re able to remember every detail of our past lives, Lucien. That must be horrible.”
“Not all of it is horrible. I remember each time we met and fell in love and got married. I remember our children, when they were born and how it felt to hold them. I remember making love to you. We’ve shared so much good over the millennia we’ve been linked, Millie. I’m glad I remember it.”
“But I saw you die just one time, in a dream, and I couldn’t bear it,” she says, her eyes filling with tears again.
“And I’ve watched you die over and over again,” I reply, running my hand over her soft hair. “And I’m going to be brutally honest here. I refuse to do it again, so we’re going to kick that bastard’s ass in this lifetime so I can finally grow old with you, Millicent.”
“It seems odd that we’re talking about growing old together and we haven’t even been on a first date.”
I laugh and then think back. “Our first date was in 998 A.D. in what is now Wales in the United Kingdom. You were sixteen, and your father arranged with my father to marry you off to my brother. The minute I saw you, I spoke to my father—who is still my dad in this lifetime, by the way—and told him you were meant for me. So, your sire permitted me to walk with you to the village where we bought some potatoes and wheat, and we talked the whole way. We were married a month later.”
“Wow, we moved fast.”
I snicker. “Most people back then didn’t exactly date.”
She chuckles. “No, I suppose not. But we haven’t had a first date in this lifetime, and I’m still a woman, no matter how many times I’ve been betrothed to you.”
“That’s true. I’ll take you on a date this weekend, if you’re free.”
She smiles triumphantly. “Isn’t it handy that I am free?”
I drag my finger down her soft cheek. “I’ve missed you, Millie.”
“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to wake to the truth. I was just afraid. I didn’t have anyone to explain things to me. Which only circles me back around to being angry at my mother.”
“Rather than being angry, why don’t we try this?”
I close the distance between us and brush my mouth over hers. There’s no hesitation in her lips as they move beneath mine, and her hands glide over my shoulders and into my hair as I lift her from the couch, sit in her spot, and plant her on my lap.
I’ve waited a hundred years to have her back with me, just like this.
I cradle her cheek in my hand and settle in to enjoy her, right here, for about a decade. The way she’s pressed against me, the little murmurs and moans in her throat, all of it stirs my blood. My hand drifts down from her cheek and moves over her neck to her firm breast, still covered by her purple dress.
She shifts, straddles my lap, and continues kissing me like her life depends on it.
The lights flicker.
I hear a car alarm going off outside.
But I can’t stop indulging in her after being away from her for so long.
She hitches up her skirt until it bunches around her waist and then presses her center against me. Suddenly, my living room window breaks.
No, it doesn’t break. It shatters.
We jump, and I pull Millie to me, shielding her from the glass and the horrible wind suddenly blowing through the room.
“What’s happening?” she yells.
“Seems we’ve pissed off a dead dark witch,” I reply.
Chapter Eight
"The words, 'I'm sorry' will never come out, for they would be a lie.”
-- Joe “The Cannibal” Metheny
How dare she?
Rage consumes him as he punches the wall in his little house of fun. He’s been trying to teach her a lesson, and that little slut just won’t listen. She’s too stubborn. She’s too attached to that man, and all of the visceral pleasure he brings her rather than listening to the lessons he’s trying to impart.
And Horace’s anger grows by the day.
“She thinks she can ignore me?” he yells as he stomps back to his new playroom and throws open the door. Three toys are shackled to the wall. The fourth, the newest one, is in the bathtub, being saved for later. Still, he stomps into the disgusting bathroom to make sure it hasn’t already died of hypothermia.
That wouldn’t do.
“Good,” he says, his chest heaving. “This space heater is doing the trick.”
“What’s wrong with you, you sick piece of shit?” the toy demands, snot running from his nose as he cries. “I’m cold, and I want to go home.”
“Oh, Lucien.” Horace clucks his tongue and shakes his head, almost feeling pity for the toy. “Surely, you’ve learned by now that I’m in charge. I’ve been proving that for a millennium. I run this show, and you’ll go home when I say it’s time.”
He tilts his head, watches the toy as he thrashes about. Horace tied his hands above his head so he couldn’t try to drown himself. So although sitting naked, he’s partially out of the water.
Which is why Horace brought in the space heater. He couldn’t have the toy dying before his time.
“You know, maybe it’s your turn today, after
