Page 21 of Revenge of the Forgotten

“There has to be a reason behind it all, huh?” If only Vega knew she was always the one trying to get to the bottom of everything, the one to ask the question, Why?

“Sometimes things just don’t have a reason, Vega. They just are. I think this is one of those situations. Maybe Remus saw that. Maybe he knew something was coming and wanted us to have a fighting chance. There are so many reasons I’ve settled on over the years, but nothing with solid proof. I’ve given up worrying about how it happened, deciding to accept that it simply did.”

There was so much she wanted to know—needed to know—but how could she in one night? Vega didn’t even know where to begin with the torrent of questions floating around inside her head. “This is insane sounding, you know that, right?”

“Absolutely.” The answer was honest and quick.

“You’ve been doing this for fifty years?”

“Fifty-five, almost. Minus a few weeks,” Arlet corrected.

“How old are you?” Vega fired back.

“We are seventy-five. You’re nearly three months older than me.” Arlet winked.

She didn’t let her mind rest too long on the age thing, because what the fuck…“Why?” Why would someone risk their life for me? Especially after being defeated continuously.

Arlet didn’t ask what she meant—she knew. “Because you never would have given up on me if it were the other way around.”

Vega’s skin warmed, tingling with the honesty in her answer.

“What would happen if I said I didn’t believe you and wanted to stay here?” Vega asked.

“You won’t. You never have. If this weren’t true, then how would you choose to explain the dreams, the tug at your heart that led you here?” Arlet’s eyebrow raised.

That tug in Vega’s chest made her get off the desk and abandon her cup of wine. She sat next to Arlet, their legs touching when the mattress shifted under the new weight.

Vega reached out and grabbed Arlet’s right wrist, pushing up the sleeve of her sweater to inspect the raised brand on her wrist. Vega’s fingers grazed over the skin gently. “Who are the others?” Vega was nervous to ask.

“Khort Fera and Bridger Dimico.”

Bridger Dimico. “Bridger.” Vega hadn’t realized she’d said the name out loud until she watched Arlet’s eyebrows draw together.

“You’ve dreamed of him.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, tonight before I came here when I got stuck in an elevator. I think I’ve seen him in dreams before—before meeting you. He just never had a name.”

Arlet choked on her wine, coughing through a laugh. “You got stuck in an elevator?”

“I also slapped my husband across the face in front of a bunch of firemen, but I don’t want to talk about it,” Vega deadpanned.

“Oh honey, you poor thing. You’re really going through it, huh?”

“Who is Bridger?” she asked, ignoring the pity in Arlet’s eyes. “Please.” I have to know.

“He’s one of the bonded.” Her reply was thought out, precise without giving too much away.

“Yes, I’m aware of that, but who is he to me?” Vega’s throat tightened, her voice cracking.

Arlet drew a deep breath from her nose. “You and Bridger were together for seventeen years.”

Were. Vega went pale. I was taken away from not only a life with friends who have never given up on me but also a relationship—a seventeen-year relationship—with a man I can’t remember.

That realization hit her like a tidal wave. She wanted to ask more, but she was afraid of what Arlet might say.

“Vega?” Arlet broke through her haze.

“I’m fine.” Vega let go of Arlet’s hand, letting it fall gently back to her lap—but she didn’t move from her spot next to her. Vega could count the freckles on Arlet’s cheeks, see the green flecks in her eyes. This close, she noticed the two scars that ran from her collarbone to underneath her right ear. “I want to believe you.”

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