Five Years Dead, Still his mate

I rode through the storm like it owed me something. Rain hit the visor in sheets and the road disappeared under the front tire every few seconds. Five years to the day. I did not check the date on my phone. My bones already knew. The neon sign of the club flickered half dead when I pulled in. I killed the engine and sat there a second longer than I needed to. The hollow place in my chest had not gotten quieter with time. It had just learned how to wait. Inside smelled like old beer and wet jackets. I spotted Rourke at the far end of the bar, nursing something cheap. He was the contact. Low level. Useful when he stayed scared. I walked over and dropped onto the stool beside him. “You’re late,” he said without looking up. “Traffic.” “In this weather? Nobody else is dumb enough to be out.” “Then I guess I’m the dumb one.” I signaled the bartender. “Whiskey. Leave the bottle.” Rourke finally turned his head. His eyes flicked over the mud on my boots and the water still running off my jacket. “You look like hell, Vex.” “Good. Matches the rest of me.” He pushed a folded paper across the sticky wood. “Names you asked for. Two runners moving product through the east docks. They’re not ours.” I took the paper but did not open it. “Anyone else know you pulled this?” “No.” “You certain?” “I like breathing.” The bartender set the bottle down. I poured two fingers and left them sitting. My hands wanted something to do that was not reaching for a gun. Rourke cleared his throat. “You didn’t ride all this way just for a couple of names. What’s really eating you?” “Anniversary.” He went quiet. Everyone in the northern territory knew what day it was. Most of them had the sense not to ask. “s**t,” he muttered. “Sorry.” “Don’t be. Sorry doesn’t dig anyone up.” A tray clattered somewhere behind me. I almost ignored it. Then the air changed. Pine. Ozone. Rain that had never touched city streets. My spine locked. The wolf inside me shoved hard against my ribs, sudden and violent. I turned on the stool. She was three tables away, wiping down a surface that did not need wiping. Soft in the middle, hips filling out the cheap black uniform, hair falling half out of a messy knot. Nothing like the sharp little thing I remembered. Nothing like the body I put in the ground. But the scent did not lie. She reached up to push hair out of her face and her sleeve slipped. There it was. The crescent mark, dark against the inside of her wrist. Exact shape. Exact place. I stood up so fast the stool scraped loud enough to turn heads. Rourke grabbed my arm. “Vex. Easy.” I shook him off. “Who is she?” “Who?” “The waitress. Curvy one. Dark hair.” He glanced over. “Odessa something. Works most nights. Why?” I was already moving. She looked up when I stopped at the edge of her table. Her eyes were the same. Gray with that thin ring of gold that only showed under certain lights. She did not know me. The blankness in her face was real. “Can I get you something?” she asked. Voice soft, tired, human. “Your name.” She blinked. “Odessa. Do I know you?” “Not yet.” She shifted her weight, tray held like a shield. “Look, if you’re going to order, order. I’ve got three other tables.” “How long have you worked here?” “Eight months. Why does that matter?” “Where did you live before?” Her mouth tightened. “That’s none of your business.” I stepped closer. The scent rolled over me again, thicker now. My wolf was clawing at the inside of my skin. I kept my hands at my sides so I would not grab her. “Show me your wrist.” She laughed once, short and nervous. “Yeah, no. I’m not doing that.” “Please.” The word felt foreign in my mouth. I never said it. She must have heard the crack in it because she hesitated. Then she tugged the sleeve higher, almost defiant. The birthmark sat there like it had been waiting. I reached out. She jerked back and the tray tilted. Glasses slid. One hit the floor and shattered. “Hey!” The bartender’s voice cut across the room. “You okay, Dess?” She kept her eyes on me. “I’m fine. This guy’s just being weird.” Rourke appeared at my shoulder. “Cassian. Whatever this is, not here.” I ignored him. “You don’t remember me.” “I don’t know you,” she said. “And you’re starting to scare me.” The fear in her voice was clean. No recognition underneath it. No mate pull answering mine. Just a woman who wanted the large, wet stranger to back the hell off. I forced air into my lungs. “My name is Cassian Vex.” Nothing moved in her face. “Five years ago I buried a girl with that exact mark on her wrist. Same eyes. Same scent. She died in a fire after a rogue attack. I put her in the ground myself.” Odessa took another step back. “Okay. You’re either drunk or crazy. Either way, I’m calling the bouncer.” “Don’t.” She raised her voice. “Marcus! A little help?” A thick guy started across the floor. I did not look at him. I could not look away from her. “You were dead,” I said. Quieter now. “I watched the dirt cover your face. I have not taken another woman since. I have not slept through a night since. And you are standing here wiping tables like none of it happened.” Her throat worked. For half a second something flickered behind her eyes. Then it was gone. “I don’t know what kind of grief trip you’re on,” she said, “but I am not your dead girlfriend. My parents died when I was a kid. Car wreck. I’ve been on my own since. No fires. No wolves. No whatever the hell you’re talking about.” Marcus reached us. “Problem here?” I finally turned my head. “No problem. We’re leaving.” “I’m not going anywhere with you,” Odessa snapped. Rourke put a hand on my chest. “Cassian. Stand down. You’re drawing every eye in the place.” I looked at her one more time. The birthmark. The eyes. The scent that had lived in my lungs for five straight years of empty beds and colder mornings. The dead did not come back. Except she had. I leaned in just enough that only she could hear me. “I am going to find out what they did to you. And when I do, someone is going to bleed for every year I spent talking to a headstone.” Her face went pale. Marcus put a hand on my shoulder. I shrugged it off and walked out into the rain without looking back. The storm hit me full in the face. I swung a leg over the bike and sat there with the engine off, hands locked around the grips hard enough to hurt. Behind the club doors she was still breathing. Still real. My pulse hammered against my throat like it was trying to get out. She was alive. And she had no idea who I was.