Page 3 of The Immortal’s Mark

It can’t be…

The woman studies a National Garden map, glancing between the paper and the nearby park sign. Her lips purse in frustration.

The ache within me grows.

Two centuries…two hundred years have passed since I last encountered my One.

Time should have dulled the infatuation.

Distance should have weakened the pain.

But all the memories and emotions flood back in the seconds it takes for me to catalog her familiar features. Her pert nose. Her expressive eyes. Her lush lips.

My blood heats, and realization settles heavily on my shoulders.

Today’s uneasiness suddenly makes sense.

This morning’s discomfort…the restlessness…

My soul knew she was near.

And now that I see her, it aches for me to go to her.

This moment is not a circumstance of chance.

Every time I have encountered my One across the centuries has been an orchestrated event, arranged by the Creator Himself.

Once, I was grateful for those second chances.

Each time I met my One, I fell in love with her. It is never a question. She is always extraordinary. Always kind. Always intelligent. Always mine.

Until I lose her.

The coffee mug cracks under my grip.

I release a pent-up breath and relax my fingers.

The tragedies of my Ones’ untimely deaths haunt me every night I close my eyes.

After two hundred years, I thought the Creator had finally taken pity on me and freed me from the agony of finding my One only to lose her.

Alas, it seems I was wrong.

My One navigates through the crowd, murmuring apologies when she bumps into someone, her voice soft and melodic.

She’s American.

The accent is unmistakable.

She smiles at a man who tips his hat in greeting, stealing the breath from my lungs.

She approaches the edge of the plaza, only a few steps from disappearing down the path toward the inner gardens, so close to leaving my sight.

My chair scrapes loudly as I stand.

I pull my wallet from my back pocket and toss a large bill onto the table without a second glance.

Then I am rushing after her.