Chasing Time

by Mia Downing

  “Yes.”

  “How long was I asleep?”

  “An hour.”

  I slugged him in the arm. “You’d said twenty-five minutes.”

  “Ow.” He fended me off with his big hands, pretending to cower. “You were tired. I’m not going to wake you if you’re tired. Besides, the paper is good. There isn’t a lot for you to do except check your citations.”

  “You said you could do those.” I leaned across his lap to grab the pages, ignoring the warmth of his strong thighs under my breasts.

  “I told you I was good at punctuation and the history aspect,” he reminded.

  “I can’t even with you.” I curled up on the opposite end of the couch and started reading his comments. He’d caught a few mistakes, his handwriting familiar and yet foreign in purple ink in the margins. My throat caught on a breath, and I closed my eyes for a long moment, unsure what was even wrong with me.

  “Hey, sweetness.” Sliding over, he gathered me against his chest and kissed my forehead. “You’re fine. The energy fiddles with the emotions at times.”

  “Yeah?” I wiped a stray tear from the back of my hand. “Because I don’t even know what my problem is.”

  “Did you have breakfast?”

  “No.”

  “Well, let’s remedy that.” He glanced at the clock. “It’s lunchtime, so we’ll have to have lunch. How much is there do to with the paper?”

  “Like you said, not much. Maybe a half hour to fix things, and I want to do one last read through before I submit.”

  Rising from the couch, he dug his car key out of his pocket and swung it on his index finger. “Okay, you do that. I’ll get you something to eat, and what do you say you take me out to that graveyard with the weird stone after? Maybe we can go out to the point.”

  How did I go from not wanting to see him, to giving him an after and spending an afternoon with him? But I needed a break, and some exercise would do me some good. I loved walking along the point in the fall, and the weather had cleared and warmed. If we were in public, I had less of a chance of screwing his brains out like a common whore. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” His brows flew up surprise as he headed to the door. “You’re not going to fight with me?”

  “I’ll save that for later.”

  Skye

  An hour later, Marek and I piled into his car and drove out to the other cemetery closer to the point. I loved this car, a fast roadster from the 1950s that took the backroad corners like a dream. He drove a little too fast but handled the car with skill that turned me on. I didn’t want that. I wanted to join him on this trip for a little relaxation and exercise—just not the carnal kind.

  Nosy, I asked, “Do you have cars?” At his confused look, I clarified, “In the future.”

  “Oh. No. They depleted the gas, and there’s no way to drill or refine more. We have trains run by wood or sometimes coal. There are horses and oxen. Bicycles. Ships. Exciting stuff.” He smiled as he shifted gears, and the car revved. “But this is so much more fun.”

  “Then how did you learn to drive?”

  “We laid over a lot in the 1950s and 60s on our way to the 1800s and taught ourselves then.”

  I blinked at the casual way he’d said that, like he’d taken a trip to Venice. “You’re allowed to do that?”

  “No, but what are they going to do? Come back and tell us no?” He smiled over at me, carefree and just as happy as his yellow energy would be if I unshielded to revel in it. “We have to avoid leaving a footprint that will change the course of history in some way. These cars are at the house in the future. They’re in really bad shape, but they survived.”

  “And what about the manor house? How is that not a footprint?”

  “Well, that’s a gray area. The house still exists in my future, too, and it’s always been in my family. So when I went back and they were threatening to demolish it after a fire, I bought it and refurbished it. It didn’t change the course of the ownership of the home.”

  That made some sort of sense, except I was a footprint in this time, and now, so was he. How much trouble would he get in if his superiors knew? “So how does your family end up with it?”

  He shrugged. “I have no clue, but I preserved it to exist, so I haven’t broken any true law. If I went and bought something big like a house we don’t own in the future, that could be an issue.”

  I thought about that for a moment. “And your book that’s coming out next month? Doesn’t that break the rules?”

  “Well, that’s a blatant footprint for a purpose. That’s how we communicate with the future, through books that we know will survive to our time.”

  Downshifting, he paused at a stop sign and glanced at me as if to gauge my reaction. “I wrote it as a warning. At that point, I knew I was dying, and I wanted to warn them. There will be special notes in a version put in the vault downstairs. Someone will find that, read about the issues, and know what happened.”

  Ah, so he had contemplated the consequences of the future knowing, and the footprint was the lesser of two evils. But I didn’t like being referred to as an issue. “And what if the issues are resolved?”

  “Well, they’re not going to be, but if so…I’ll take the book out of the vault and let nature take its course.”

  I glanced back out the window at the ancient colonials as rolling farmland passed by. He’d taken the long way instead of just cutting over the little stone bridge and heading straight to the point. I hadn’t been this way in ages, not since I’d gotten my tattoo six months ago from a guy Grace recommended who lived by the marsh.

  The tattoos…

  I sat taller and turned to him. “What do the tattoos mean?”

  “Excuse me?” Squinting, he glanced at me.

  “Your tattoo, on your shoulder.”

  His dark brows arched warily. “You have one as well. In fact, it looks fairly similar to mine.”

  I waved a hand to dismiss that fact. “We’re not going to dwell on that.”

  “Then what made you think of it?”

  “Just thinking of how I’ll never get to see you without your shirt off again, so I should ask.”

  He winced with his casual, good-natured humor. “Damn, you’re brutal.”

  “You have wife issues.”

  “And bringing this up will make that all better somehow?”

  He had a point, but I wasn’t backing down. I shrugged and glanced out the window again so I wouldn’t stare at his hands gripping the wheel, his thighs rippling under his faded denim as his feet worked the clutch and brake.

  “So when did you get yours,” he asked.

  “Six months ago, give or take. No, seven. In March.”

  “You remember the date?”

  “I don’t know. March fifteenth? Does it matter?”

  From the way he sucked in a ragged breath, I guessed it did, but I wasn’t going to ask. It was probably her “loss of virginity” day or something creepy that they celebrated in the future.

  I could feel him staring at me as much as he could while driving. “And what made you want that one?”

  “I saw a picture or something in a steampunk magazine.” If I unshielded, would he know I was lying? Just in case, I kept looking out the window. “What do they mean?”

  “Tattoos are special in our time. Most people have one or many, but the elite can only have one as a symbol of their bond ceremony. Most are on their shoulder or somewhere else where they can hide it. Not all times are accepting of tattoos.”

  “So how old were you when you got yours?”

  “Seventeen. We were bonded at sixteen, but she had wanted our mark to be perfect. The sun on mine is because she’d always said my energy was yellow like the sun.”

  I didn’t want to think about her designing that for him, even if it fit him to a tee. A sun peeked out of his watch gears while a storm cloud brewed in mine, complete with lightning bolt. My energy was just as dark as a storm cloud.

  “That I ha
ve a similar tattoo doesn’t mean I’m your wife,” I reminded as he pulled into the cemetery’s dirt driveway and parked in front of a broken, wrought iron gate.

  “I’m well aware.” He sighed. “Can we let the Twenty Questions go for a bit? Because I want to just…be friends. Can we be friends? Because before we ended up in bed…we had a good thing going. And I’m lonely, and sad, and I want a friend.”

  “I have a lot of questions,” I defended with a tilt of my chin. “That’s not my fault.”

  “No, it’s not. And you’re right. But even without the energy, I can sense your defenses up and hear the anger in your tone. I don’t want that.” He bit his lower lip for a moment as he contemplated me, his gaze darkening with desire. I swear, if I unblocked him, he’d be smoldering. “So from now on, if you get prickly, I’m going to kiss you.”

  My heart sprang to a gallop as my breath caught in my throat. “Don’t you have to ask my consent for that stuff?” He had asked every time we’d had sex or gotten an after.

  “Nope. I’m telling you now, so you know.”

  “Then what’s with the consent?”

  “If you didn’t have your shield up, I’d know what you wanted through our bond. But you’ve already informed me you don’t want sex or an after. So, I’m telling you now. If you get defensive, snide, bitchy, prickly…whatever. I’m kissing you. Probably with tongue. There could be groping. These are my rules.”

  I gaped at him. “Your rules suck. First, I’m not prickly or bitchy. Second—”

  His lips swooped to claim mine, his hand cupping my head. His tongue took advantage of my mouth being open, tangling with mine. All sane thoughts fled, and I fought the urge to climb into his lap and christen this little car.

  He broke the kiss, dropping one last lingering one on my nose. “Feeling less prickly?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you’ll pay.” He shot me a dirty grin as he grabbed the keys and got out of the car.

  Dazed, I followed, trying not to drool over his ass as he climbed the little hill to the gate.

  Chapter twelve

  Skye

  The cemetery sat at the top of a little hill in the woods, the clearing just big enough for the hundred or so old graves. Stone posts held a rusty chain as a barrier along the front side, the other three sides flanked with stone walls. Maples lined the road with their bright-red leaves, the bark knotted and scarred from being tapped for sugaring.

  I liked the feel of this cemetery—warm, serene, peaceful, though not as welcoming as the one next to my house.

  He’d waited for me at the top, holding the rusty gate so I could enter before him.

  “The stone is over there, to the back.” I pointed to the left. I wanted to ask him what he felt here, in this place, if his energy hummed with serenity or if he just felt…nothing.

  But before I could get the courage, he grabbed my hand and headed that way. I’d never had a guy just…hold my hand, his warm and protective while mine was cold. I’d joke with Grace that my hands were always cold like my heart. My step lightened as I pushed away the worry, skirting the smaller newer headstones as we headed to the corner.

  This stone wasn’t as ornate as M.S. Storm’s and lacked any decoration. However, the stone was the same excellent quality, a thick slate that wasn’t common in that generation. The dates were also wonky, and L.L. Winters would have been over one hundred at their death. The same epitaph had been engraved in the stone—May the light carry you forward. I’d always been intrigued as it felt churchy on some level, but…not.

  “L.L. Winters,” he said, his hand stroking his chin as he studied the site.

  “Is this one connected to M.S. Storm’s somehow?”

  “No, not directly. The epitaph is correct for this one as are the awkward dates. But there’s a baby’s stone, too.” He pointed to a tiny stone to the side with a date of 1880. “And that wouldn’t fit.”

  I shrugged as I looked, too. The baby’s burial spot didn’t have a name, just a date. “What does that have to do with it?”

  “This belongs to another time traveler. Time travelers use gravestones to jump great distances, because we know these cemeteries have survived and exist through time. So for example, jumping in a house could be dangerous, because that house may not have existed a hundred or two hundred years ago. Having your own stone embeds your energy and gives you a direct path to follow. It’s more accurate. I could jump small amounts of time in the house, but the stone is safer for more than a few decades.”

  As the enormity of what he just said settled in my mind, I let go of his hand. “Wait. So no one is buried here.”

  Oblivious to my growing level of anxiety, he walked the perimeter of the two graves, inspecting them for something I couldn’t see. “No.” Returning to my side, he titled his head at the infant stone. “But I do think a child might have been buried here, which is why I’m confused.”

  “You’re confused?” I gave a hysterical laugh. “You’re telling me this headstone is for a time traveler.”

  “Maybe.”

  “And if it’s like M.S. Storm’s stone…then they are time travelers, too?”

  “Yes. M.S. Storm’s stone is ours,” he said absentmindedly as he walked the other way around the headstone, oblivious that he’d just rocked the core of my world.

  “Whoa. Our stone? You mean you and prissy pants.”

  “She didn’t wear pants,” he corrected as he shot me a dangerous side-eye. “You’re sounding bitchy.”

  “You just—” Fear rolled inside me to the point that I shook. I’d always loved the cemetery. I’d always loved M.S. Storm’s stone, had always found it a comfort.

  I stared at that new, traitorous stone so like the one near my house, hating the soft hum of energy that beckoned to me on a new level. I couldn’t be a time traveler. I didn’t want to be one. I wanted to be me.

  “Skye.”

  My gaze snapped from the stone to his as I fought to breathe around the growing panic.

  “Unshield for me.”

  His sharp tone struck home, and I lowered the veil, allowing him to feel the confusion and fear, grateful for once that I didn’t have to explain myself. I should have been intrigued, joyful, excited to find this connection, to understand why these stones might have offered me comfort through difficult times. If I chose to believe him, then they were a connection to home, to my past life…to Marek.

  And that scared the shit out of me.

  With quick strides, he crossed the grave to wrap his arms around me, burying his face in my hair. That vibrant energy of his dulled like a sun trying its damnedest to warm a winter sky from behind a cloud. But mine brightened and stabilized. The trembling stopped, and I drew in a calmer breath as his hands rubbed my back, coursing over my shoulder and the tattoo I had thought was an original work of art when I’d gotten it.

  Maybe I could get used to this connection, this way of communicating without words.

  “Darat nan,” he whispered. “I’m not going to steal you away to another time. Is that why you’re afraid?”

  “I don’t know.” Something told me that wasn’t it.

  “It takes a lot more energy than I have to go anywhere, even with a sidekick as powerful as you.” He kissed my head.

  “Okay.” I breathed a little easier, inhaling the floral scent of his fabric softener in his shirt.

  “You’re not being prickly, but that level of fear deserves a kiss, too.” He dropped a soft kiss to my lips, sweet and poignant, as if he wanted to erase my terror with that gentle caress.

  I leaned into him and basked in that kiss, his yellow warming me, brightening my blue, mixing slightly to emerald green in a way that had only happened with the after effect. The way shocks of electricity darted across my skin, the joy fluttering in my belly in a totally different way that had nothing to do with an orgasm.

  Oh no. I couldn’t like him. Warning bells went off. I laughed nervously as I stepped out of his arms, a little shaky still. I bl
ocked him again, raising of my shield with a mix of reluctance and relief.

  I glanced away, not wanting to see his face fall at the loss of my energy. “So…why wouldn’t that be a time traveler’s gravestone?”

  “People can’t travel with children.”

  “Ah, that’s right. That’s why you left me here.” That was bitchy, but I needed to put him at a distance again. Wait. He’d said he would kiss me if I got bitchy. This wasn’t going to work.

  “Yes.” But he didn’t sound right as he said that, and he certainly didn’t move in to kiss me.

  I glanced back at him, narrowing my eyes. “What are you hiding from me?”

  He shrugged and narrowed his back. “I could ask the same.”

  “I don’t like you feeling my every emotion.” That wasn’t quite true, but that was the issue.

  “Okay, so let’s be truthful. Admit that you might actually like me.”

  “That’s—”

  “Isn’t it? I felt that. You felt that, and then you shoved up the mental barricade.”

  I swallowed. “I felt lust. That’s it.”

  “Okay.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed. “Let’s get going.”

  “You owe me a truth.”

  He blew out a breath and glanced at his black, worn boots. “It’s just unsettling to find another traveler and not understand where they went or what happened. I don’t know the team name Winters. It’s like…losing family.” He raised his head and smiled sadly. “Okay?”

  “Okay.” But I still thought he was leaving something out.

  Marek

  We made our way to the point, the drive quiet as Skye took in the scenery, lost in thought. I didn’t know what to say to her. I’d spent a year and a half planning for these moments, anticipating what she would do or say and praying to the Fates that she’d regain some of her memories to make this easier for her.

  I hadn’t planned for this. Any of this. Not her fear, not the fact that I’d just encountered another time traveler’s stone. When she’d unshielded for me, the turbulence of her fear and confusion sliced me to the bone. I’d spent my whole life learning what my job meant, and I didn’t know how to help her through this.