Page 24 of Bind Me

It’s been two days since Sasha, my fated mate, appeared on my property, and it’s been hell trying to stay away from her. I’m doing my best to be less of a psycho, as she called it, and give her the space she needs. She looked pretty shaken by the notion of being paired with me—though I prefer to think her shock was more about the surprise of finding a fated mate, not that it’s me specifically. That’s why I’m keeping my distance… but it’s been fucking killing me. I can still feel her touch on my skin, hear that singsong voice, and smell her honeyed scent that lingers in my memory.

That’s how I know this is the real thing—I even woke up with a smile on my face this morning. That rarely happens.

Right now, I’m heading into the city after having just hired a business for major restorations on the mansion’s exterior. Those hired to maintain the place had kept the interior fit for a king, but they let the outside decay. Evidently, the appearance did its job in keeping others away, but now that I’m back, I want a home. All while working on digging up as much information as I can about my grandfather.

Speaking of which, I’ve found a fae from my grandfather’s era who is still alive. All the family members are long gone, but this… this is a step forward. He said he’d meet me at a local bar, so let’s hope this isn’t a complete waste of my damn time.

I tug down the hood over my head to hide my face as I march up a street with grand homes on one side and a brilliant view of the ocean in the distance beyond the cliff.

The vast blue waters hold my attention. Back in Tartarus, the oceans where I lived were dark, an endless abyss. But here, the sea is a vibrant, inviting blue, sparkling with sunlight. I sense it calling to me as my skin ripples to slip into its embrace, to unleash the beast within, and explore this new world that promises freedom.

The sight of the ocean fills me with a heavy longing, but I push past the sensation and keep walking up the sloping road. The cool sea breeze mixes with the salty air, invigorating me.

I think about the last few interactions I had with my grandfather when I was a child, when he told me stories of his adventures. Most of the places he mentioned no longer exist, but I do recall that he spoke fondly of others. So, maybe this visit will give me the lead I need.

Up ahead at the corner of the road stands an old wooden building with a pointy roof and a dangling sign out front, swinging in the breeze.

The Drunken Kraken.

It has a painting of a tipsy kraken, eyes slightly crossed and smirking like a fool. Its tentacles are sprawled out lazily, with one casually clutching a pint of beer.

I chuckle to myself, remembering all the times my grandfather would be piss-drunk, reminding me very much of that image. At the building, I reach for the door handle, and a sudden surge of images floods my senses. In a heartbeat, I’m no longer standing on the threshold of a bar, but instead, I find myself on a deck at the rear of a house overlooking the ocean.

Ayounger version of my grandfather is there, no longer the weary old man I remember. His hair is dark and neatly cropped, muscles defined under the fabric of his sky-blue short-sleeved shirt. He’s seated at a rustic wooden table, a large glass jar of beer before him. Opposite him sits a woman radiating beauty and warmth. Blonde hair tumbles in soft curls down her back, a small beauty spot just above her lip adding to her pretty smile. Her eyes, bright and affectionate, are locked on my grandfather.

Despite her saying something, his attention often drifts back to his drink.

The woman leans forward. “Everything ready?” she asks.

He nods slowly, taking a gulp of his drink. “The new shipment’s coming in tomorrow. I’ve got it all lined up, and we’re going to finally grow our team.” His face beams as he talks about his work.

For a moment, he studies her, then he takes her hand. The gesture might look tender to anyone else, but his touch lacks sincerity—I know him well enough to see the tightness around his mouth, the tension in his muscles, the way he doesn’t lean forward.

“You think anyone will notice the shipment coming in?”

“It’ll be fine. Things are going to change for us. You’ll see,” he asserts, though his voice lacks conviction. “We’ll grow the business faster this way, to the point where no one can touch us.”

Her grip squeezes slightly as she smiles, leaning toward him more. “Then maybe we can finally make our fortune and let someone else run the business for us,” she murmurs, staring at him as if waiting for his affirmation. “I’ve had no sleep for days as we wait for the shipment, worried to hell we’ll get caught.”

“Lilia, you worry too much. It’s going to work out well. You’ll see.” He grins, but it’s a hollow gesture.

Lilia accepts it, though, her smile widening.

As fast as it came, the scene blurs around the edges, the focus intensely sharp, then instantly it fades into insignificance, leaving me standing in the cool breeze outside The Drunken Kraken bar, hand still on the door.

I shake off the dizziness, taking a deep breath.

Who’s Lilia? I haven’t seen her before in my visions.

I steady myself as the residue of the past clings to my thoughts.

Genetic memory my father had once called the ability—a gift that runs in his family line—where random snippets of my ancestors’ experiences are passed down to each new generation. Strangely enough, these memories only ever come from my grandfather, never my parents. I spent a lot of time with him as a child, often seeking refuge from my parents, and that closeness must have chosen me to imprint on. It’s said memories can only come from someone you’ve known in your life.

Not that anyone in my family had ever wanted to talk about the ability.

Why the fuck would they do that when they can pretend it doesn’t exist? A source of family secrets that were better off left undiscovered, unspoken about. I recall how my parents cut off all communications with my grandfather, though they never explained why. And even after he passed away, he was never to be spoken about in the family.

Yet I always found myself drawn back to him. He was never cruel to me. Instead, he became the person I escaped to.

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