Page 60 of Eternal Devotion

I have restrictions.

A spark of memory. Pale hands holding a wine glass. A New York strip. Steaming mugs of hot chocolate. Empty cupboards in an antique kitchen.

“Mordecai,” I said again, studying the text conversation while trying to decipher the image of a jigsaw puzzle with no picture when I hardly had any pieces.

Unnerved at the black hole in my memory, I left my phone on the high-top table and took a cold shower, figuring it would help clear the cobwebs, only to discover more mysteries once I was naked.

I’d been on PrEP for years. It took the pressure out of hookups. Some guys hated suiting up, and to be honest, it was a tiresome argument. As a vers who often found myself bottoming, I was familiar with the results of a morning after and discovering residual cum in my ass.

What had never happened was not remembering the guy who fucked me. I was not a heavy drinker. I’d never been blackout drunk. If I took a guy home or landed in his bed, I always remembered it the following day. Sometimes with a wash of regret, but that was my problem.

I showered mechanically, trying not to panic that I’d had sex the previous night and didn’t remember it. A date? Was this Mordecai a predator? Did he slip something into my wine at dinner?

A second date, Mom had said. That didn’t fit. If a guy was going to do something like that, he wouldn’t wait until a second date. He wouldn’t exchange phone numbers and leave a trail of texts.

But…

What happened on the first date, and why couldn’t I remember it, either?

Something wasn’t right.

I got out of the shower and dressed in joggers before finding my phone and calling Mars.

“Did I mention having a date with a guy named Mordecai?”

Mars laughed. “I knew you two would hook up. I told Zig it was only a matter of time.”

Unsure how to process that statement and more confused than ever, I hung up, paced, and gnawed a thumbnail. Mars called back, but I didn’t answer. He sent a few texts, but I ignored them.

I went through the motions, robotically making tea and a piece of toast.

When my phone rang and Ziggy’s name showed on the screen, I relented. “Ignore Mars. I’m talking nonsense. I’m not feeling well.”

“Rough night?”

“I… yeah.” It was the safer response. Cautiously, I added, “You’ve met Mordecai?”

“Dude, we all met Mordecai. You brought him to DnD last week. But seriously, are you okay?”

I stretched my brain, trying to recall Wednesday night. Yes. He was there. I had the vague impression of another person in my apartment aside from Ziggy, Mars, and Poet. Blond, pale, and stunningly gorgeous.

“Did you meet his ghosts?” Ziggy asked.

I snapped to attention and frowned. “Ghosts?”

“At the estate. Did you spend the night? Not sure I’d have the balls, even with a hottie in bed to distract me.”

“The estate?”

Ziggy’s playful banter vanished. “Ensley, what’s wrong with you?”

“Fever. I’m sick. I have to lie down.”

I hung up and stared at my phone and the name Mordecai in the list of contacts.

Without considering what I might say, I hit connect. It rang endlessly. No answering service.

Defeated, I tossed the phone on the coffee table and resumed pacing the apartment. Ghosts. The estate? The Branvilla estate had a reputation for being haunted, not that I believed in that shit. It was also on the market, and—