Page 74 of His Fate
Most mornings when I wake, I find that my mate is in the shower, sitting on the stone floor crying as the scorching water rains down over her skin, the soft peach red from its heat. She is restless, if and when she sleeps, her nights broken up and plagued by dreams of the last ninety-three years. More often than not those dreams become nightmares, Posey's memories starting off pleasant and full of loving interactions with her mother and father but quickly turn to her mother's death, her murder.
My beloved mate found her mother slain in the backyard of the very house she just moved out of.
That is why Hank glamoured her, why she essentially glamoured herself and repressed all those memories for twenty years.
The trauma of discovering her mother, of having her father critically wounded and debilitated at the same time was too much for her mind to process so her brain protected itself the only way it could.
Her childhood became solely compiled of memories of her father, of the things they did together, altered them to fit modern timelines and scenarios while excluding her mother to prevent further pain.
Anna became her wicked stepmother, the only other person that held significance during those events and wound up abandoning them because the task of staying was too great.
And her dragon, Posey's dragon, went into hiding somehow, lay completely dormant and I'm unsure if it was to continue protecting my mate or something else entirely.
Josephine has been a bit of an emotional mess but mostly angry. Angry with her father, angry over the time she views as lost, angry over the memories she feels she was robbed of for so many years. Thankfully, my beloved has not shut me out. She shares her feelings with me, tells me of her dreams and her memories, allows me to comfort and console her, love her with everything I am but she has not left our level of the house since Henrich healed her in the basement that is gradually becoming a makeshift clinic and war room, complete with a Molnarva prisoner.
Posey won't allow anyone into our wing, not even her closest friends; will not leave, won't answer her phone and even went as far as to shut it off. She barely sleeps, hardly eats and I find it's a better day if Posey actually leaves our bed to sit with me in the living room. We don't speak much, which is unusual for my beloved and when we do it's because she has remembered something else and needs to talk through it, but she still craves physical affection.
There is hardly a moment throughout the day or night when my mate isn't touching me in some way, not in a sexual manner but in a more basic and primitive need to be close to someone. To be close to me. It fills me with joy that I can provide that for her, that even after all of the things I kept from her, after the way I allowed harm to come to her she has forgiven me—though Posey is very clear that the only thing that needed forgiving was all the secrecy—and still loves me, wants me with her always, and needs to find comfort in me and our life-bond.
Still, I am worried.
Worried that this depression, this anger and melancholy has their claws into my mate so deeply that she may never quite be the same. I worry that Posey will harden her heart against those she loves and eventually I may lose her as well. I worry that if this continues, if she regains all of her former life, her memories, she will also regain the ability to shift and since my beloved has yet to remember being or cannot seem to find her dragon, that is incredibly dangerous.
If Josephine's dragon comes forth before she is ready she could get stuck that way, frozen in her dragon form so to speak. And since we have no real knowledge of why she hasn't shifted in over twenty years or what my mate is truly capable of, well, my fear grows stronger each day that passes without answers.
Henrich has been searching our history, what he has already deciphered of it, for anything that has matched what Hank has described. Unfortunately, he hasn't been able to provide us with much information since he is having trouble recalling Posey in her other form prior to the 1960's.
It's strange but there seems to be some sort of blockage, some sort of wall in his mind and Hank hasn't been able to put words to his daughter as a dragon. We know very little but what we do know is rather bizarre.
Posey first shifted at eleven.
She is prone to prophetic dreams, has heightened intuition and favors both the healer and strategist side of being asensitivewhich should not have been evident until after she mated.
Posey's tattoo, what she thought was a tattoo she had done a few years ago, is actually her marking and is unique because female dragons are not marked and it is completely different from any I have ever seen in my three hundred and thirty-seven years of life. Hank says she was born with it, that her marking was clear the minute Claire delivered her, the beautiful and unique depiction of a silvery dragon intertwined with the crimson flames of a Phoenix. It covers the expanse of her back in place of wings, the flames stretching to her right shoulder, the dragon's tail ending in a razor sharp point over her left ass cheek. It is sexy as hell but I do not understand it.
We also know that Posey is able to scent other shifters, right down to the specific kind of animal, not just bear or tiger but grizzly or bengal.
She was able to see and do things she should not have been capable of until after we mated, like seeing my wings or the fact that she can also see my brothers as well as her father’s wings, or the fact that her intuition has indeed proven to be a touch more psychic. Like knowing Henrich and Milos were mated immediately on sight, not smell.
And finally, probably the most unusual piece in the puzzle that is my mate, her dragon, is on fire when she shifts. That is a first and something Henrich cannot find anywhere in our records thus far. He'll be moving to dragon and shifter folklore once he finishes the chronicles in hopes that maybe something has been recorded somewhere. If Hank could remember what her dragon looks like, more than the fact that it does not favor either of the clans that make up her genetics then perhaps that could help, but he can't. Just as he cannot remember if Posey exhibited any other unusual traits or powers that may have manifested in her, that may give us more information about her.
I have a theory though, one I need to speak with Hank about as soon as my beloved permits me to leave her side. Not that I'm complaining because there is nowhere else I'd rather be but she becomes incredibly anxious, panicked almost, if I leave our level of the house longer than it takes to retrieve food for us.
Gods, I miss her cooking.
Kady has been sending meals some nights but mostly everyone else in the house has attempted to cook, and so far the only one with any skill is Janet. Grace almost burned the house down when she was attempting to make macaroni and cheese. Casey turned pork chops into hockey pucks. Henrich is capable of making very adequate sandwiches but that's it—he follows an equation to balance the ingredients so that makes sense. Milos can burn water. Andrej is a grill master but his mind has been so occupied with Ivan and organizing the war room, planning and training with all the males on our land that he hasn't had time.
Hank and Karel? Their idea of a home cooked meal is pulling apart dead animals and roasting them over a fire in the backyard while cans of baked beans cook over the stones. Soldiers' habits die hard apparently, and those two, despite the three hundred and fifteen year age gap, act like they've known each other their entire lives.
I guess grumpy assholes are drawn to each other.
Thankfully Janet is a rather good cook and has a strong natural instinct to mother everyone. She and her previous mate were never able to conceive any children of their own, had grown so accustomed to taking care of at least one other person that having a house full of people for her to look after has become something she thoroughly enjoys.
And my brothers and I do not mind at all having a strong maternal presence around after the loss of our own mother. Not a replacement, never a replacement, but an addition that is much appreciated.
I sigh and roll to my back, then immediately squint when I find that the curtains are open and the mid-morning sun is blasting through the windows.
Huh.
