And knowing him the way I do, he most definitely is making her relive that last horrible night in each and every life she lives.
Then my stomach drops.
It's the middle of September.
My angel's birthday is approaching.
If the legend is true, my grandfather will slaughter her again on the eve before her birthday.
If I cannot protect her, cannot get her to remember, cannot mate her and kill him first, my light will once again be snuffed out in less than a month's time and I may never find her again.
My legs work harder as I race through the trees, my lungs burning, body shaking.
I have to get to her, have to reach my light.
I must protect her with everything in me so that I don't lose her.
And I must find a way to make her remember, to make her trust me enough to remember our love and embrace it so that I can prevent all of that from happening.
At the very least, it will save her from another agonizing life in limbo if I don't kill Nero in time.
But that is not an option.
No, now that my light has come back to me there is no other option but to eliminate the threat that will tear us apart.
I will kill my grandfather and I will do it before he can ruin us all over again.
When her tiny house is finally in view, I slow my pace and come to a stop just along the tree line.
Still quiet, nothing disturbed.
So I drop to my ass and lean against a tree, taking guard once again, and keep watch over my love the way I did so many centuries ago. I smile a little at the thought, hoping that maybe it will be like before—the stolen moments and sweet exchanges. And that hope grows as I think about how we no longer need to hide, how maybe our love could be something for the whole world to see. Perhaps this time we will mate and live in the light together, spend eternity in each other's arms as we once planned.
A little noise comes from inside the house and when I sit up a bit, I see the curtain on the front door open just a tad.
Then my smile grows.
A black nose is pressed to the window between two paws, one almost black eye and one bright blue peer through the glass. A pink floppy tongue rolls out and licks the window, and I can't help but laugh because clearly Samson was reincarnated right along with my light.
I give him a nod, lift my hands to either side of my head and flick my fingers down—my light’s signal for sit. And when the Great Dane almost disappears from view briefly, nothing but the top of his head and one pointed ear visible, only to reappear in the window once again, I chuckle. Then I point to him, lay my head on folded hands, then point again to where I know my light is sleeping, her signal for go to sleep. And after a few more licks to the glass, Samson drops from sight to follow my command, just like he used to.
At least he remembers me.
Maybe it will help my light remember too.
Friends in Odd Places
Ichance another look toward the end of the bar and find that I'm still being stared at.
Well, let me correct myself.
I'm still being stared at by one man in particular, in addition to the busy bar goers who keep gawking, along with the dirty looks being shot my way by Joyce and Brie.
Casey keeps telling me to ignore them, Posey did too, but those petty girls aren't really even hitting my radar tonight.
It's the man at the end of the bar.
Like Posey warned, it's been busy as hell.
