Don’t cry, don’t cry. As she met him halfway, she gazed up at him, taking in his exhausted mien, his troubled gray eyes. He didn’t look like he’d eaten or slept since they’d been separated, and his wings had reverted to their gnarled and twisted state. She’d noticed him trying to conceal his limp in front of her.
Because she wasn’t his Lanthe anymore. She was a mysterious woman—his fated one—and he longed to impress her.
Yes, she would start over with him and tell him about their past, but how could she adequately put their journey into words?
Overcoming impossible odds. Defying death and learning to trust. Coming to love each other again.
Reminded of all they’d beaten, she set her jaw. I’m getting my Vrekener back. She would juice him with all the power in her body if she had to.
She’d done it for Sabine; she’d do it for him. When he stood before her, Lanthe said, “Thronos, if I tell you something crazy, could you try to believe me?”
“Sorceress, in these last few weeks, I’ve seen crazy. I’ve lived it.”
No kidding. “What if I told you that we were well acquainted with each other? But you were bespelled to forget me?”
She debated telling him upfront that they were married (oh, and having a kid!), but decided against it. She didn’t want him to believe she was a lock, didn’t want him complacent. For now, she needed him to ache for her—as badly as she did for him.
“I don’t see how I could ever forget you. Lanthe, I believe that you are my mate.” He eased even closer to her. “You don’t look surprised by this news?”
She shook her head. “Before Morgana destroyed your kingdom, she erased all your memories of me.” Voice going throaty, Lanthe said, “But, Thronos, we knew each other.”
He was in disbelief. “I’ve known you?” As if testing the waters, he tentatively smoothed her hair behind her ear, his hand trailing down to her face . . . to her neck . . . to her collarbone . . .
When she didn’t stop him, in fact arched to his touch, a shocked breath escaped him.
Puh.
“That’s right, Thronos. I want to make you remember that and everything else. Because our story is epic.”
“How is this possible? It would explain so much. . . .” He swallowed thickly, as if he were starting to believe—to hope. “How would you restore my memory? Understand me, sorceress: I can’t express how fiercely I covet these memories. How I covet you.”
She laid her palm on his chest; his heart thundered. “I’ll need to use my sorcery on you.” It radiated from her palms. “Can you trust me to make this right?”
Ever brave, he squared his shoulders. “Do as you will, Lanthe. I’ve nothing to lose.”
She shook away any thoughts about her on-the-fritz power or her sorcery limitations. Yes, Morgana was stronger. Yes, the queen had packed one hell of a persuasive punch.
But love would triumph.
Right?
Lanthe pressed her alight palm over his chest as she commanded, “Remember me, Thronos. Remember.” Her sorcery burned brighter, coiling around them, through them. “Remember.”
The air grew warmer. Subtle tremors rippled beneath their feet. Floating drops of water began to rocket in haphazard directions. “Remember me.” Her voice sounded altered, vibrating with power.
Sadness seeped into his expression. “I . . . don’t.”
“We’re only getting started, Vrekener. Just open your mind as much as you can.”
He got that determined look, the one she’d seen hundreds of times before, the one she couldn’t love more. “I will.”
“Remember me. Restore your memories. Shake off what Morgana did to you.” To us.
When he still evinced no recognition, she bit her lip, deciding to reveal more of their past. “Do you feel the need to enclose us in your wings?”
“Overwhelmingly. But I don’t want to scare you.”
“You don’t.”