Ricochet Through Time (Echo Trilogy Book 3) (10 page)

I stared at him, my heart thudding in my chest.
Isis
—it was the anglicized version of Aset’s name. It could just be a coincidence. Or not.

“Isis is an interesting name for a horse.” I licked my lips. “Who’s her master?”

Dorman eyed me. “Whyever do you ask?”

“I—” I hesitated. “I’m looking for someone.”

Dorman cocked his head to the side, still eyeing me curiously. “Pray tell, who are you looking for?”

I held my breath, hesitating. “Heru. I’m looking for Heru.”

With another whistle, Dorman let out a low chuckle. “Serendipitous, indeed.”

“Here,” Dorman said, stopping and shrugging out of his coat. “It’s a fair bit drier than your fur there . . .”

“Thanks.” I accepted the coat. It was just a touch ripe, but it mostly smelled of earth and horses and campfire. I handed him the soaked coyote fur before slipping my arms into the sleeves of the wool coat and hugging it closed over my chest. It wasn’t quite long enough to entirely conceal the purse hanging from my belt.

“I figure you’ll make less of a stir among the soldiers if you’re not quite so wild-looking.”

I flashed him a wide, grateful smile. “Such a gentleman.”

He handed me back the coyote fur. I wasn’t sure, but I thought his ears might have reddened.

Continuing on our way, we rounded one sharp bend in the road and the open gate to Fort Nisqually came into view a hundred yards or so away. Its wall of standing logs stretched out on either side of the entrance, spiked tips pointing skyward. Lookout towers with horizontal slats for rifles or arrows, possibly both, stood tall at either corner, and a uniformed watchman peered over the wall near the gateway, a rifle slung over his shoulder.

“What you got there, Dorman?” the rifleman called when we were nearly to the gate. “You finally find yourself a woman to clean your drawers and ride you like a little pony?”

I glanced sidelong at Dorman. His expression had darkened. “Best watch yourself, Turlow. You offend the lady’s honor any further and I might find myself in a position where I need to defend it. Now, you and I both know you don’t want that, don’t we?”

Turlow’s only response was to sneer and spit a long, dark globule over the wall. He wiped his chin as we passed through the open gate.

“Charming fellow,” I said under my breath.

Dorman’s lip curled. “Just a moron flapping his mouth, is all. Don’t you mind him.” He veered to the right, aiming for the largest building within the walls, which was situated in the center of the fort—a whitewashed, two-story house surrounded by a deep covered porch. He headed straight for the hitching post out front, standing between two shade trees. He tied Isis’s reins around the wooden pole, then met my eyes and nodded toward the front door. “After you.”

My heart was beating a steady, expectant rhythm against my sternum, and I suddenly felt parched despite the rainstorm. I stared at the door. “He—he’s in there?”

“Should be.” Dorman headed for the three steps leading up to the porch and scraped his muddy boots on the edge of the bottom stair. He eyed me over his shoulder. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

“I’m fine,” I said, taking a deep breath. I straightened my spine and followed him to the porch stairs, pausing at the foot of the steps and staring down at the clumps of mud from Dorman’s boots. I didn’t think any amount of scraping would get my own mud-caked boots clean at this point.

“Just take ’em off.”

“Won’t that be weird?” I asked, slowly ascending the three wooden stairs. “Me, walking around barefoot while you all have shoes on?”

Dorman frowned. “I can see how that might make one feel out of sorts.” And much to my surprise, he bent over and tugged off one of his boots.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to—”

“Nonsense.” He smirked at me. “I donned fresh socks this morning, so hopefully the smell won’t knock you dead.”

I laughed. The shrillness of it struck me.

“C’mon, little lady,” Dorman said, snapping his fingers. “Those boots ain’t going to take themselves off . . .”

“Oh, right.” I lifted first one foot, then the other, and pried the sodden leather off my feet. I placed the boots on the porch, just to the side of the front door, and tucked the mucky wool socks inside. Straightening, I brushed my hands off on my jeans.

Dorman opened the door. “Ladies first,” he said, standing to the side.

I took a deep breath, then another. My bare feet were cemented to the deck’s wooden boards.

Until I heard
his
voice. “Do not be absurd,” Heru said. “He wouldn’t seek refuge with Set. Doing so would be risking death. He’s danced back and forth over the line for far too long. He must know his father would never forgive such unreliability.”

My feet started moving of their own accord, carrying me over the threshold and toward Heru.

“I suppose . . .” It was a woman’s voice, and one that I recognized instantly—Neffe.

Moving on silent feet, I followed the sound of their voices past a narrow staircase and up a hallway that led to the back of the house.

“Why would he come here, then?” A third voice, accented with French and all too familiar. Dominic was here, too.

All three of them were in the room at the end of the hallway. I sucked in a breath, my heart soaring even as my headache gave a renewed, enthusiastic throb. Dizzy, I placed my hand against the wall, steadying myself.

Dorman touched my shoulder. “Are you unwell?”

“I’m fine,” I breathed, resting my forehead against the back of my hand while I waited for the dizzy spell to abate. “I’ll
be
fine.” I was so close . . .

“If you say so.” Dorman moved past me to the doorway at the end of the hall. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths.

“Pardon the interruption,” Dorman said, “but I’ve got news. And, well . . .” He cleared his throat. “There’s someone here to see you, Heru.”

“The woman you were speaking with outside? For whom you felt the desperate need to remove your boots?”

“I’m surprised she survived the smell,” Neffe said.

“Perhaps he is lovestruck.” Dominic kept his voice was quieter than the others. “Torturing us, just so she would feel more comfortable?” Had I been human, I doubted I’d have been able to hear his words. The corner of my mouth lifted into a fond half smile; he was such a gentleman.

Dorman made a choking noise. “No. She’s, well . . . it’s not what you’re all thinking.”

The others snickered. “I’m sure,” Neffe said.

“Alexandra,” Dorman called down the hallway. “Come along.”

Inhaling deeply, I pushed off the wall. The worst of the withdrawal spell had passed, leaving only a tinge of dizziness and the hint of a throb at the back of my skull, though I knew from experience that I wouldn’t start to shake the withdrawals until I was in the same room as my bond-mate, breathing the same air. I made it to the end of the hallway, still hugging Dorman’s jacket around myself. My legs were shaking, but steady enough; it was more nerves than anything else.

When I reached the doorway, I paused behind Dorman and peered into the room over his shoulder. It was a long, narrow study, with a desk near the far end and bookshelves filling the wall space between windows. Neffe, Dominic, and Heru were seated around a pedestal table about four feet in diameter nearer to the doorway, several hand-drawn maps sprawled on the tabletop between them.

I stepped into the room, looking first at Neffe’s face, then Dominic’s. Finally, I forced myself to look straight at Heru. Those familiar golden eyes were opened wide, those strong, striking features locked in an impossible expression.

Heru stood, the abrupt motion rocking his chair backward. If Neffe hadn’t reached out to steady it, the chair would’ve tipped over completely. “You,” he said, recognition written all over his face.

And I thought my heart might explode. Somehow, against everything I’d been led to believe, Heru knew me.

He
knew
me.

Heru stood on the other side of the table, his face washed out and his eyes opened so wide that the whites were visible around the entirety of his golden irises. He wore an outfit very similar to Dorman’s—wool trousers and jacket, cotton shirt, and leather vest—minus the chaps and hat and entirely composed of gray tones. His obsidian hair was shoulder-length and smooth as glass, holding only a slight wave.

“Give us the room,” Heru said, not taking his haunted eyes off my face.

“Father . . .”

“Now.”

With the scratch of chair legs and a small parade of footsteps, we were alone. I was struck dumb. All I could do was stare.

How was it possible that he knew me—
remembered
me? According to Aset and Nik, whoever was nearest me when I jumped back in time would have their memories of me blocked. I didn’t just have to stick close to Heru to soak up his bonding pheromones; I needed to make sure he was near me when I jumped—to make sure he forgot me.

So, had I failed? Had we been apart during one of my upcoming time jumps, leaving his memories of me intact?

“You know me?” I said, voice as wispy as my understanding of the situation. “You
remember
me?”

Heru stared at me. Color returned to his face, but the look in his eyes—it was still as though he was looking at a ghost. He shook his head. “No, but . . . I dreamt of you. So often . . .”

I drew in a breath and opened my mouth to speak, but no words came forth.

Heru took a step, then another, slowly making his way around the table. He stopped in front of me, well within arm’s reach, and raised his hand. His fingertips trailed down the side of my face, from temple to jawline. “You’re really here.”

I nodded, eyes drifting closed as I leaned into his touch. Remotely, I noticed that the ache at the base of my skull had faded and the world had returned to its usual, steady state.

“But who are you? I’ve thought you were a fantasy for so long . . . just a figment of my imagination.”

“I’m not.” I opened my eyes, turning my head to press my lips against his palm. “I’m real.”

Heru’s breath hissed in through his teeth, his eyes blazing.

“There’s so much to tell you.” I shot a quick glance over my shoulder. Nobody had left the house through the front door, so I figured Dorman, Neffe, and Dominic had to be in one of the front rooms, being quiet as mice while they listened to us. I couldn’t risk them overhearing my story. It was going to be hard enough making sure I was near Heru for the next jump back in time, let alone three other people. And Nejerets had
long
memories.

“Just you,” I added.

Heru’s eyes searched mine, back and forth. After a long moment, he nodded. “Neffe,” he said, raising his voice just a hint as he addressed his daughter on the other side of the house, “go look after Isis . . . and take Dorman and Dom with you.” His hawklike gaze never left mine.

We stood in silence, staring at one another while we listened to the others leave the house. The silent staring continued long after they’d gone.

Finally, Heru spoke. “You look as though you’ve been through the wringer.” He pinched a dripping tendril of hair between his thumb and forefinger, the corner of his mouth twitching.

I exhaled a laugh. “If you knew what my last day and a half was like, you’d understand.”

His expression returned to its usual, commanding state. “Tell me.”

“I—” My eyes wandered to the chair behind him, and the weakness in my legs seemed to multiply threefold.

“Sit, yes, of course.” Heru took a step back and held his arm out to the chair. “Would you like to change into dry clothes? Are you hungry? Thirsty? Surely some whiskey would dull your discomfort . . .”

“No whiskey,” I said too quickly. At the slight narrowing of his eyes, I explained, “I’m pregnant. Alcohol would be bad for . . .” I trailed off, realizing what I’d just told him.

“You’re with child?” He stared at me, his expression unchanged and his eyes unblinking. “Is it mine?” He frowned and shook his head as soon as the words were out of his mouth. “Apologies. I have no right or reason to ask such a thing. I don’t even know your name.” His frown deepened. “Tell me, mistress: how is it possible that you are with child when you are clearly a fully manifested Nejerette?” It was a valid question; the females of our kind were notoriously infertile, a byproduct of our superhuman regenerative abilities.

“Well . . .” I moved forward and more or less collapsed into the proffered chair. “It’s a long story.” My eyes drifted to the chair he’d abandoned. It was an invitation. I wouldn’t force my story—
our
story, really—on him. But if he wanted to know, I would tell him. Ancient Heru had reacted poorly to learning we were fated to bond, but this Heru was different . . . older. This Heru remembered me, just a little.

Eyes trained on me, he nodded and eased into the chair. “You have my ear, Miss . . . ?”

“Alexandra.” I held his gaze, preparing to drop my first bomb. “Ivanov,” I said, using my Nejeret family name. I took a deep breath. “Alexandra Ivanov.”

Heru leaned back in his chair, his fingertips running over the stubble growing along the line of his jaw. “You’re of Ivan’s line . . . via Alexander?”

I nodded. “He’s my namesake. I’m his granddaughter. You can call me Lex.”

“If you’re Alexander’s granddaughter, how is it I’ve never heard him speak of you?” Another valid question, considering they’d been close friends for many centuries.

Well, it just so happened I had one hell of a valid answer. “Because I haven’t been born yet,” I said.

Heru leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I beg your pardon?”

My stomach knotted. It was time for the second bomb. “I’m from the future.”