Page 21 of Hunting the Warlord's Daughter

Strange that red earrings triggered a flashback. He didn’t even like the color red.

What if his lost love does?

She picked at the hem of the bedsheet. Bolivarr was convinced he was hers, heart and soul, but what if he suddenly remembered someone from his past who conflicted with his feelings? If only there was a how-to guide for dating a man with amnesia. Hells, for dating period!

“Hey.” He wrapped her hand in his strong fingers. “I love you. I want this to last forever, Hadley. I want us to last forever. You know that.” Then his amazing mouth found hers again, erasing all her doubts. Well, except for a few.

Pulling away slowly, he smoothed his hands up her arms and shoulders, over the layer of her uniform she wished wasn’t between those hands and her skin, and cradled her cheeks. “I felt nothing for that person, in case that’s what you’re worried about. Not even a hint of something. If in my soul I hate the warlord, wouldn’t I also know if I loved a partner? It was just some weird, random memory.”

“Weird random memories are great news. This is huge. A real breakthrough.” She infused her voice with brightness and cheer. “Just like Doctor Kell said the other day—every small piece remembered is one closer to finishing the puzzle.”

He ran a fingertip along her jaw. “Why don’t we plan something special for when I get out of here? Just us. We’ll celebrate your achievement. And our three-month anniversary—a little early.”

He’d been keeping track too? “I’d love that.”

“I’ll make sure of it.” His dark blue, nearly black eyes gave her tingles from head to toe.

“Mmm.” She leaned closer. He smelled so good. She wished they were in the privacy of his quarters—or hers. They’d agreed to take things slow, slow enough to give him a chance to recall more of his past, and their new relationship a chance to strengthen before anything physical happened. It was getting harder to do every day.

“But I’m stuck here for the night,” he said. “Doctor Kell wants me to stay under observation.”

“To rest.” She waved at the data-vis in his lap. “What are you working on so hard?”

“Another piece of the puzzle, I guess.” He turned the device so she could see: five small circles, with two on each side and one at the top. “It’s been in my head since the gift shop. This pattern.” He scrolled through the sketches. Each drawing was of the same five small round marks; some included borders with pentagons of various sizes, surrounded by symbols. He opened a blank page, drew five more dots, and connected them with a line, creating another obelisk. He stopped, stared, white-knuckling his light-pen. “It’s something from my life before.”

“Something bad?”

“Something I’m supposed to know.” He pressed the heel of his palm to his temple. “Every time I try to remember, the freepin’ thought suppression kicks in.” He hissed, grinding his hand against his forehead.

“I’ll get the medic—”

“No. Do not say anything.”

She frowned at his harsh tone. Rakkelle was right—the incident had really rattled him. “You’re in pain.”

“If they run more tests, I may go blank again. I need to know what this is first. This shape. The five dots. These runes. You’re so good with codes. Help me to figure this out.”

Unable to resist the challenge, she took a closer look. Where had she seen this shape before? “The pattern reminds me of a design my grandmother and her friends weave into their quilts and paint on pottery.”

His gaze sharpened as he seemed to hang on every word.

“It stands for fertility, I think,” she said.

“Fertility?” He sounded disappointed.

“It can also mean family. Each dot represents a loved one—and it’s not limited to five.” The tradition of folklore and fairy tales on Talo was as rich as its farmland. Family was the glue holding them all together. Her finger tapped each dot in turn. “One, two, three children… and a mama and papa.” Then it hit her. “What if it’s your family? Your wife. Your kids.”

His brows shot up. “What? No. I was a Wraith. They’re loners. Solo, dark operatives. Definitely not family types.” He held up his left hand, his fingers splayed wide. “No marriage tattoo, remember?”

True, no marriage tattoo encircled the base of his index finger in Drakken custom, but like the Wraith tattoos he wore, his body art—or lack thereof—told only part of a story. One his mind couldn’t validate.

“I got you something.” Suddenly, he was fishing in the pocket of his uniform jacket he’d draped over a bedside chair. “I was going to wait until after I’m discharged, but I want you to have it now.” He handed her a small golden box.

Her heart thumped faster than it had when she faced down the Drakken warship. As she lifted the lid, he watched her with a gentle smile. Seeing the cheerful yellow crystal sphere attached to a delicate chain, she gasped. “Bo. It’s beautiful.”

“It reminds me of you, sunshine girl,” he said.

A pet name?“You’ve never called me that before.”

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