Tiny pokers stabbed my eyes.
Another body, warm and hard, spooned against my backside.
Ian always felt so good, comforting and real.
His hand wrapped around my waist, cupping the underside of my breast. A cool
sheet slid off my bare shoulder.
I was naked and in bed. A snippet of memory interrupted my appreciation of my
husband’s hand.
Wasn’t I running from something . . .?
Fingers trailed along my spine, heading south. The touch was wrong,
unfamiliar and rough.
Hold on. That wasn’t Ian. I shouldn’t feel the warmth of sun against my skin
either. We lived on Mars, where it was colder than a witch’s tit.
If not Ian, then who was touching my inner thigh?
My eyelids snapped open like a shade on a spring. Bolting upright, I bared my
fangs and grabbed the man’s wrist.
Oh, holy hell. I was in bed with another man. I rolled away and slammed into
a different body. Shit, make that two other men. Two eye-poppingly gorgeous men.
Hey, I might be dead, but I’m not dead dead.
“Mistress? Have I displeased you?” said the man whose wrist I was about to
shatter. Stunning blue-gray eyes. Dark stubble lined his chiseled jawline. His
dark hair was mussed and complimented his swarthy skin tone. Dried blood smeared
his neck. A red trail led to puncture marks.
The other man’s brown muscled chest rose and fell in rhythmic sleep. His body
was fully exposed on the white sheet. Puncture marks lined his neck, his groin
and his very erect penis.
My cheeks heated like a furnace. Clearly, we’d had a good time.
“No. Leave me. Both of you go to your rooms.” I dropped his wrist. The man
woke his drowsing companion, and they left as I’d commanded.
Damn. I wished I could get the other men in my life to be so compliant.
Other men? There were other people important to me. Why couldn’t I remember
them?
I’d kill Jonathan if he was messing with my mind again.
But yet... that idea didn’t feel right.
Somewhere in a dead corner of my memory, this moment seemed familiar.
Jonathan, sensing my unhappiness with our “arrangement,” had spent the early
years of our relationship attempting to please me.
This must have been my slut phase, where we’d bring home gorgeous men and I
would feast and fuck while he watched. I enjoyed knowing it bothered him that I
wouldn’t sleep with him. Only the mortals that we found in gaming dens,
brothels, even at society events. The only other thing I would take from
Jonathan besides his money was his blood, and only out of necessity.
Fucking hell. Ian’s go-to phrase—I remembered him now—helped resurface the
reason why I was reliving this not-so-proud moment in my past.
The plague. The Lost Ship. The time stream. My daughter.
Oh, dear God. I hoped she was safe.
“Good morning, my pet.” Jonathan read a page of the morning newspaper while
sipping tea from a dainty cup. He sat on the balcony situated outside my
bedroom. From his vantage point, he could view the bed and my doings in
Technicolor glory.
My heart lurched at the sight of his arrogant beauty. I had forgotten how
full of life he’d been, especially in this time period. And, oh, how handsome he
was. His raven hair glossy with blue highlights sparkled in the early morning
sunshine. The strong line of his jaw and perfect Roman nose coupled with full
lips made it hard not to stare at him. He hadn’t yet acquired the weariness that
having a Family would place on him.
In later years, after much bitterness between us, I no longer saw him
anymore. The beauty was tarnished, and we became as passionate as two coworkers
passing the time until their shift ended. He had become someone I had to endure
rather than enjoy. Not that I ever really “enjoyed” him because of the
circumstances surrounding our sham marriage.
The horrid image of his death, when he’d knelt, offering Thalia his head,
shattered the peaceful moment. With a plaintive look, he commanded that I accept
his fate and mine. We both knew that Thalia, the dead queen’s heir apparent, was
a vindictive bitch. She blamed me for her mother’s death and Jonathan refused to
bow down to her. So, he did what he always did. He protected his Family by
sacrificing himself so we could escape. In his last moments, regret had filled
his eyes. The wish that we could have been different together had been silenced
forever.
Seeing Jonathan again and remembering was worse than reopening a wound and
rubbing salt in it with a lemon juice chaser. If only I could apologize to him
for how awful I’d been. I hadn’t been blameless in wrecking our relationship. I
could have tried harder to accept my fate instead of punishing him at every
turn.
The temptation to blurt out the truth bubbled inside, until I had to force
myself to look away from him. Would this Jonathan be willing to help me? Or
would he use my current predicament to his advantage?
No. I couldn’t, wouldn’t chance it. Not with the entire colony’s lives
hanging in the balance.
Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve. Sew it on a patch and you’d have my life’s
motto.
Yup. Regrets sucked.
Jonathan placed the teacup down and smiled. “Did you enjoy yourself? You
seemed a bit surprised when you awoke.”
Surprise didn’t cover how I felt. That word was too puny, too inadequate.
After a few seconds, I found my voice again.
“Yes, we had a good time. Thank you.” It sure looked that way.
He acted like finding his wife in bed with other men was no big deal. It
wasn’t like I would keep them. To him they were more like pets or meals with
legs.
But now, with a century of wisdom tucked under my belt, instead of relishing
in his annoyance, I realized something. He was sad. With himself or me, I wasn’t
sure. And it didn’t matter. I had a mission to accomplish. A future to save.
