Page 113 of Fated Mates

“Callaghan Enterprises helps fund the museum here,” he explained. “Apologies, I thought she mentioned that.”

I studied the man harder. Turned to the photo, then back to him, blinking hard. He cracked an embarrassed smile and lifted a shoulder.

“Yes, somewhat of a likeness to the man in the photograph, or so Ms. DeVine mentioned,” he said. “Personally, I don’t see it.”

“Yes,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “You do look very similar. So similar, in fact, that you could actually be this man.”

“Which is impossible,” he added. “Since Michael Bryant was shot and killed more than a hundred years ago. Or so I’m told.”

“Less, actually, but who’s counting?”

“So you’re with child, are you?” he remarked with lifted chin. “Congratulations. On another matter, I have a new opportunity I’d like to discuss with you, if you’ve a moment. In private.”

“Lead the way, Santa Fe.”

Callaghan checked behind him, giving a polite nod to two elderly ladies meandering the sector, then gestured for me to follow him into a nearby empty office, closing and locking the door after us.

“This room is secure,” he said. “I’ve had my people sweep it for bugs. It’s safe to talk now.”

“Thank you,Mr. Callaghan. Or should I call you Luka?”

“Luke will be fine,” he said. “God, it’s great to see you again, Callista. So great.”

I vibrated with a myriad of emotions ranging from confusion, fury and delirious relief and happiness.

“So you don’t deny that you’re really Mike Bryant. Another five minutes, and I was about to check myself into the local loony bin.”

Bryant started to reach for me, then lowered his arms seeing my fierce expression. No, his momentary deception wasn’t getting him off the hook that easily.

“You were shot with that Arcan’s silver bullet,” I accused. “You died. I saw it myself.”

“Almost,” he explained. “A minute later, and I would have been. Fortunately, Black Crow and his brothers found me, and they always carry the herbs I need in their pouches.”

“You survived then.”

Bryant frowned. “No, I died. I had to, Callista. Wilkens and his Arcans knew of you and your abilities to travel through time. They would follow me and watch me until you finally emerged in the future, and we reconnected. That’s why Mike Bryant had to die in order to throw them off your trail.”

They found me anyhow due to my name, and my own centuries old photograph taken by Henry Bautista.

Still, it had taken them a hundred years to do so. Bryant had sacrificed his heir position with his wolf pack and the wealth and comfortable life he could have had with the Bryant dynasty in order to keep the Arcans from discovering me.

“Thank you,” I said. “You remembered my story then about Hilly’s museum then. She said that your company was instrumental in funding and opening this place.”

“We are. A good investment, in my opinion. The best I’ve made in an entire century, and I’ve made several very lucrative ones. Plastics, telephones, commercial aircraft, television, personal computers. I once listened to some very wise financial advice that has been very successful for me. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Hey, did you hire all those people to herd me into the Native American sector that first day?”

His eyes fixed with mine, not answering.

I started to reach for him, then my trembling hand dropped. It was like Bryant still wasn’t really real. Maybe this was still just a dream. A wonderful dream, but one that I might horribly wake from if I tried to touch it.

As if reading my worry, Bryant took my hand in his, raising my fingers to kiss each one, before pressing my palm to his steadily beating heart.

“I’m alive and I am real, Callista,” he said. “And I’ve been waiting a hundred years for you, but I’ll be damned if I wait one more day.”

I swallowed hard, my mouth opening and closing.

“I’m afraid your life can’t remain as it was though,” he went on. “Your identity has now been compromised, and the Arcans are waiting for the opportune moment to pick you off and use you for their own means.”

---