An instant mental visual of that sunny day, and there I am, standing at that cart, making floss, and looking like maybe the day wasnât as bad as I remembered.
I have a strappy dress in a delicate shade of mint green that brings out a golden color in my hair. My tousled waves blow free in the wind, and for a second, I look almost carefree, maybe even pretty.
I can see myself, so these arenât my memories. Theyâre his.
I watch myself at a distance, turn and spot the group of Santos heading my way, looking toward the person of the head Iâm inside, and instantly put my nose down and go into total submission.
You can almost taste the change in my disposition as I realize theyâre coming to my stall, and Iâm not happy about it.
I pull his fingers away sharply, cutting the visual and seeing enough, not wanting to watch any more of how feeble and unworthy I always was in their presence.
âDoesnât prove anything.â I shrug and turn my face away from him. I do not want to revisit memories of feeling like trash anytime those men talked to me.
âThe memory is from my eyes, not yours. It proves plenty. Do you want another?â
There is a hint of cockiness, and I can feel the smirk as his hand comes back to rest on the flat of my stomach, a little too comfortable for my liking.
It annoys me how easily he slides into a touchy-feely mode when heâs the one who severed our ties.
He has a woman somewhere in this house, pining for him, and yet here he is again, touching me like Iâm still his property.
For once, I actually feel like Carmen deserves better, that he may have lost his affection for her, but she didnât for him, and he should still care about her feelings.
This would hurt her if she saw us like this.
âOkay, so you remember me. Whatever. It doesnât mean much, except we interacted before. A few times, actually, so of course, Iâd be there, in the memory banks.
âThat wasnât the point of what I was saying. All that memory shows is you saw me and remember it, not that it served any importance to you.â
I roll away, pushing his hand off me fully, hinting to give me space, and I return to my previous position. I bristle internally with the war going off inside my head and return to irritation.
I hate the fact that all the usual little tells are starting to go off inside me at his proximity, and my body is yearning for him again.
âYou donât remember ~me~, do you?â Colton pushes me lightly in the back of my shoulder, almost teasingly, and I shrug him off.
Not impressed with him trying to turn this around, I roll my eyes. Heâs being a little too flippant for a guy who spent tonight ripping apart vampires.
His focus should be on our impending doom and our life from here on in, not on whatever this is.
I shouldnât be reminiscing the âgood old daysâ and adding weight to why he will never rebuild trust with his âchosenâ mate. Heâs not exactly acting like he cares about doing it, from what Iâve seen.
âDonât be stupid. How could I not remember the alpha son of Lord Santo? Iâve known who you were since birth,â I answer with dripping sarcasm.
Heâs grating on me now. I mean, we share every single memory each of us has, so itâs pretty dumb to tell me I wouldnât know something that he does or that I didnât remember him.
How could I forget the guy who walked around for ten of them like our lord and king? How could I not know the son of the man who ordered my kind into exile?
I donât get a chance to hit him with any kind of comeback as his hand comes at me from behind.
He feels out my temple once more, projecting from the many hours of mental movies, and a single one shoots to the forefront in the blink of an eye and renders me mute.
I inhale sharply as the vision of my mother comes into view, winding me instantly and pushing me to complete submission.
Itâs the place near where he asked me to meet him that day, in the forest.
My beautiful angelic mother is there, holding my hand as we walk around the edge of the lake near the cavern, and Iâm young, really young.
Iâm a kid, maybe seven or eight, but I recognize myself. Sheâs laughing, fixing the bow in the back of my hair thatâs keeping it all off my face, yet Iâm seeing it from the eyes of someone in the water.
I remember her too, my breathtaking mom and that dazzling smile, those blue eyes that are missing from my life, and it tears at my soul. The pain cuts into me and slices away some of my armor.
She walks me to the edge and lets me go so I can play and go swim. I run forward and splash into the water with no sign of hesitation.
I clumsily gallop, splash in cannonball style, and dive under as soon as I get waist-deep, her calling encouragement from the edge as she watches me.
Iâm a brave little girl who thought she was capable of anything when sheltered in the shadow of her family.
I canât pull my mental sight from my momâs face, her laugh, the way her voice echoes in the air around us, and it surrounds me with unique warmth like sheâs hugging me now.
If Iâm Colton in this memory, he watches me, the child, for a minute. It drags my eyes back to me, and Mom fades off from the scene.
I have no control over where he looks because this is his memory. He follows my progress as I swim across the lake, and then heâs pulled sideways, and I suddenly see water.
Iâm submerged in bubbles and have blurry sight, hands in front, waving as I swim back to the surface, coughing and spluttering as another boy blocks my view.
I recognize him as one of his closest Santo pack, a boy called Mateo, whoâs usually in Coltonâs shadow wherever he goes. He was in the study earlier today.
âDo you like her or something? Why are you always staring at her, Cole? Is she why you made me come here? I feel like sheâs wherever we go nowadays,â he teases, pushing me back, and all I hear in response isâ¦
âShut up. She has a name. Get out of my face and stop being dumb.â Itâs Coltonâs voice. Undeniable, even at such a young age, that smooth undertone of immaturity grew into how he sounds now.
The entirely defensive edge and embarrassment hint that his friend is right, and I know from learning so much about him lately that he gets bristly and hostile when he gets caught out.
It dawns on me what heâs showing me as he lets go and breaks the projection.
I turn on him at top speed, eyes wide and gawking, not sure I just interpreted that the right way, but what other way could I?
âYou liked me?â I blurt out accusingly. I donât understand. That memory was long before the wars catapulted into our lives and changed everything, a time I can barely remember.
And I donât recall that day either, of us having any kind of memorable interaction.
He stayed with his friends, and I stayed with mine, and then I went home with my mom before the sun went down.
I would have to claw through the memories to be sure, but there was nothing to suggest he even noticed me.
âI had a crush on you like you wouldnât believe. I donât know how many times I tried to talk to you and got completely blanked or lost my nerve.
âI used to hang out where I knew you would be, but then the war happened, and you becameâ¦â His voice trails off, eyes averting, shame washing over his expression, and I know what he means without him finishing.
I became a black sheep. One of the shamed.
My family died, and our people scraped up the remains and shunned my kind to the darkest corner. I was one of the rejects, and much like everyone else.
He would have been told we were cursed and to keep his distance. Colton was a kid, and I guess his father drummed it into his head that I was unworthy.
His crush died, he forgot me, and he moved on with his lifeâonto Carmen.
âWhy are you telling me this? I donât remember you ever trying to talk to me. I donât recall times when you were there in my childhood.â
Not that it means anything. Now itâs just hurting me all over again, knowing that, even then, he bowed to his fatherâs will and rejected me long before that day in the woods.
If we were destined, then he failed me twice.
Colton sighs, pulls me close by the waist, and brings my face back to his so that he can move in and rest his forehead on mine.
I donât relax into his touch but stay like cardboard and refuse to melt into him or succumb to his power over me.
Itâs the kind of intimacy you would expect from a mate, and I have to remind myself that weâre not anything close.
âI was shy, and you were this fearless, confident girl who walked around with her friends, oblivious to any of us.
âBoys were dumb, and you all liked to make a point of avoiding us at all costs,â he points out with a smile.
It reminds me a little of memories gone by, so well buried to save my heart from the pain of losing my family that I almost blocked them out completely.
It was a time when the packs lived in proximity but kept to their own, a time when the Santo boys were just âthat bunch of idiots from the south sideâ and had no authority over the rest of us.
It feels like a million years ago when life was normal, and I had a real home, my warm bed in my little pink room on our farm.
I had parents, a brother, and grandparents. I was happy and carefree and had no idea a storm was coming that was big enough to take it all away from me.
There was a time when I was just another wolf child, and Colton and his friends were not our superiors but a rival pack, and we had no real animosity. Not between kids, anyway.
The fights were for the grown-ups.
I smile at the possibility that Colton was once shy.
I mean, I donât believe it now with who and how he is.
But raking through memories stored in my brain that belong to him, daring to push back to the before, where all my visions pain me still, I can pinpoint a few that show a much quieter boy.
He turned young, and at first, he wasnât the fearless, aggressive wolf we all know now.
He was sweet at some point in his life until, I guess, the responsibilities his father laid on his head hardened him.
He was nine when the wars happened, and as a boy who already ran with the pack, he would have lost so many years of childhood in taking over in his fatherâs absence while protecting his family.