Page 3 of Crimson Mate

Memories I left buried inside the dark recesses of my soul are unleashed with Zachariah’s scent, his incredibly annoying good looks, the way he stares at me, panic-stricken and needy like he has therightto be.

Long, moonlit walks, his laughter filling the space between us.

Dancing at court, my heart racing when his fingers grazed the bare skin of my shoulder.

Dreams of a future when his mark appeared on my wrist?—

Zachariah falls into step beside me, partially leading the way since I have no real orientation of the king's residence.

He’s still…him, if not a little more modern looking. Still has that well of power radiating from his very bones, still has those broad shoulders and wise, cunning dark eyes. Still smells earthy like orchids and moss.

Pain lashes through me like a lightning strike at he both familiar and incredibly strange at the same time.

I don’t know him anymore and that…hurts.

I do my best to swallow the emotions threatening to choke me as Zachariah leads me into what’s clearly the king's study. The room is spacious with massive rows and rows of ancient tomes, the leather bindings well-worn. The king himself is now seated behind a desk in the middle of the room, glancing over some papers strewn there as if to give us some semi-privacy.

“How are you alive?” Zachariah asks before the king has even glanced up at us.

I glare up at him. “How are you awake?”

“What happened to you?” he counters.

“Why do you care?” I fire back.

“Why didn't you call out to me?” he growls.

“Why didn't you show up for our wedding?” The question rips from my lips as the adrenaline rises to a crescendo beneath my skin.

I can't even begin to process the relief I feel at seeing him alive and healthy as that emotion snuggles right up next to betrayal.

My heart breaks all over again.

I didn’t know he awoke from stasis.

He made no attempts to reach out to me through a bond that very well may be nonexistent now.

He clearly had other priorities.

Four hundred years of working on my self-worth and confidence dissolves withonelook into his dark eyes. I'm unraveling, feeling absolutely dispensable again because he knows our king—ourcurrentking—well enough to address him so informally as he did earlier. They have afamiliarrelationship.

So how long has he been awake?

A decade?

Two?

More?

It doesn't matter.

The female he knew centuries ago is gone.

And I do my best to remind myself of that as I reinforce the walls I've built around my heart.

“Do I need to be here for this?” the king asks.

“Yes!” Zachariah and I both snap, and I break his fiery stare to turn toward my king and bow low at the waist.

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