60. Chapter 60
Chapter 60
D evastated, I rush after him, determined to at least not let the collar stop him from doing whatever he needs to do.
It’s straight to his room that he goes, slamming the door behind him. My mind buzzing, I slow to a stop and remain standing in the hallway for a minute, considering knocking and trying to fix things.
It takes a whole lot of effort not to do it. Instead, I resign myself to going to my room and using the information he gave me to finish translating.
But when I get into bed with the book and my notes in my lap, it’s all I can do to stop myself from crying.
Up until this moment, I could at least console myself with the fact that he doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know my true intentions.
But now? How do I explain him resisting me even after he’s literally seen into my mind?
My eyes fixed on the unlocked door separating us, my mind fills with the images of his past that I’ve seen while kissing him.
He didn’t want me to see any of that, but I’ve seen it nevertheless. And it’s much bleaker than I imagined.
What I imagined was a life of rigorous training, sure, but of privilege as well. Turns out it was zero comfort and a lifetime of brutal training interspersed with traumatic events, everything from torturing to being tortured.
But possibly the saddest thing of all… So far, I haven’t entered many minds, but even de Groot’s memories were populated with people, and she’s the biggest lone wolf I’ve encountered.
Cain’s?
There was no one there except for enemies and subordinates. It was an absolute wasteland.
Just thinking about it makes me want to spend the night sobbing into my pillow. Tears start to run down my face.
But the more I do think about it, the clearer my path becomes. Sure, his worldview is still highly problematic and inexcusable, but my mate is not someone who’s had any semblance of a normal life. I shouldn’t be worrying about him resisting me, I should be focusing on exercising patience, to a greater extent than ever before.
Already worn out but slightly comforted by that conclusion, I wipe my tears away and open the book again.
They’re not logograms, they’re syllabic signs, he said, which would mean that the symbols don’t represent whole words, but sounds.
This shouldn’t be true, because it would mean the text is much older than the contents suggest, but it’s not like I have an abundance of options.
The first part could be reh .
The second yah .
Reh-yah, I mouth to myself. Reh-yah.
I frown.
That’s an actual place. The Reh-yah Temple.
But it can’t be. If I’m lucky and this really is referring to Baldur’s mother, what in the name of gods could she have to do with a place in Deep Egypt?
The very next moment, my eyes widen and my skin breaks out in goosebumps as a memory from a past life floods me.
Of what Baldur looked like when I knew him, before I dismembered him.
I push myself up in bed, straining not to lose the memory.
The first time I ever laid my eyes on Baldur was during a hunt in the forest near my birthplace. It was in the dead of winter and the world around me was so white, it was hurting the eyes.
There, in the midst of a snowstorm, I saw a man emerge from among the trees. He was unlike any man I’ve ever seen before. While the people I grew up with were all pale, blonde and bulky, this one was dark-skinned, black-haired and slender.
The Baldur from my past life, he never did look Norse at all.