Let's say, for starters, the Arkhevari were all-knowing entities, the gods of the universe—something I wasn't willing to believe—and they hadpopulatedDarlam. Created little Darlams in their image… if you wanted to get biblical here… Which I also wasn't inclined to do. But fine, let's assume that, just for argument's sake. So they decided Allisaahn mated Xyrek—over and over again. Through every life, they ensured we would meet. Fine, if that happened ononeplanet….
But it wasn't just Xyrek and me; no, there were thousands of millions of others they watched over. Why? Like I said, wouldn't it have been easier to tell Mom and Dad your baby's name is Allisaahn, and she is the mate of Xyrek?
Fine, let's assume free will and all that crap come into play…
I still didn't see why, for thousands of years, this worked perfectly fine on Darlam, but suddenly—drumroll please—the fated mates were strewn all throughout the universe. From what I understood, Earth had been undiscovered by outsiders until the Cryons came. So were they, too, some tool the Arkhevari had used? That only made me hate them because so many people had died. And for what?
No, I shook my head. None of this made any sense. There was no logical explanation for it, not even a highly doubtful illogical explanation.
"Remember when you invented the brilliant flour mill?" Xyrek grinned at me.
I hated when he did that. No, I didn't remember. I didn't remember ever having lived anywhere else but on Earth. It creeped me out when he did that. No, more than that, it confused me, and it hurt me. Worst of all, I hated how his face fell when I shook my head like I did now. "I'm sorry. No."
"It's okay." He turned, but I felt his sadness coming off in waves.
So, like the times before, I sighed quietly to myself and requested, "Tell me, please."
He turned back to me, his eyes alight, and I couldn't take this joy away from him. I wasn't sure if his memories were really memories or something else, but he did enjoy these moments—a lot more than I did. I steeled myself to listen for his sake.
"You created a town-wide flour explosion. Everybody was covered in white." He smirked.
My lips twitched. I loved this man so much—more than I had ever thought possible, and despite myself, I found myself intrigued. "Now you’re making things up," I accused.
He smirked. "You think so?"
"There’s no way I caused a town-wide flour explosion in my past life."
He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You did. It was even worse than it sounds."
I groaned, torn between laughing and calling him out, but strangely drawn to the story now, kind of like when someone told you something you did as a kid but didn't remember.
"You were always trying to fix things," he said, "even when the people around you weren’t ready for it. Even when it went boom." He raised his hands in the air, imitating an explosion, making me laugh.
"The people of Darlam ground their flour manually. You hated it—said it was inefficient, outdated, and thatif we are going to live like primitives, at least we should be efficient primitives.” He smirked. "So you built a wind-powered mill that would grind the flour."
I could actually picture myself doing that. Only wind-powered mills had already been invented on Earth. "Okay, that doesn’t sound that bad?—"
He let out a sharp laugh. "It worked. At first. Then the wind picked up. The millstone spun too fast, the friction built up, and then—" he spread his hands wide, mimicking another explosion. "Boom. Flour shot into the air. The wind-powered system was still going. So instead of the flour coming down over the mill, the wind blew it all across town."
My lips twitched. That sounded… funny.
Xyrek was chuckling, too. He stepped closer to me until he nearly caged me in. "Most of the town was covered in white dust. Streets, houses, animals. We found flour everywhere, even months later."
I looked up at him. He was so close now. "I should hate you for telling me this."
"You were always like this, you know. Stubborn. Brilliant. Absolutely infuriating." He smiled, his head moving down, his lips brushing mine, sending electrical fires through me.
"Well," I whispered against his mouth, "at least I was ambitious."
"You still are." He said, then claimed my lips with his. I melted into him.
His lips were warm, insistent, consuming, moving against mine with an urgency that stole my breath.
His hands slid down my waist. Calloused fingertips ignited a fire up and down my skin. He pulled me closer until there was nothing between us but heat and breath. His weight and solid strength pressing against me made my knees weak. I clutched at his shoulders, feeling the raw power coiled underneath his skin, the tension thrumming through him like he was holding back.
Like he always was.
"Xyrek," I whispered, not a question, not a demand—just his name. Just me giving in to him.
