Messenger (Guardian Trilogy Prequel 1) by Laury Falter

noticed how he did not mention that he had lost someone he had loved and wondered if that were ever the case.
    Sighing through his nose, he pressed his lips together in a frown, and I sensed he wasn’t reacting the way he wanted. I knew I was correct when he began again with an edgy, impatient tone. “I’m not in disagreement with you, Friedricha. I’m amazed.”
    “Amazed?” I hadn’t expected that to come from him.
    “I thought you delivered your messages in the way you do out of impertinence or some sort of ignorance to the real danger that exists out here. I was wrong. You do it with blind servitude and an unreserved sacrifice to your own safety.”
    Taken aback by his unsolicited praise, I uttered quietly, “I appreciate that you acknowledged it.”
    He nodded, respectfully, and I realized that he was in awe of me, this seasoned warrior. Even if he couldn’t recall who he was before he came here, I knew, and despite our combative relationship, the fact that I earned a bit of his admiration was antagonizing and exhilarating. I wanted to dislike Eran but I couldn’t. I was beginning to respect him and I wanted him to respect me.
    “It’s insightful of you, seeing my reasoning for continuing on despite the threats.”
    “Yes, I’ve been told that I’m mature beyond my years,” he replied bluntly.
    I saw an opportunity to learn if he was an Alterum or reborn and took it. “You do express yourself intelligently. It’s almost as if you’ve been alive for centuries.”
    He didn’t flinch at my hint to his past. In fact, he used it to his advantage. “Yes, and I would say the same for you.”
    I had to force back an amused smile. If he had fallen, he didn’t give up that information easily.
    Of course, his next statement could have been uttered whether he recalled his past or not, because he would have said it regardless.
    “But that does not,” he grumbled, “excuse you for delivering your messages alone.”
    My head fell forward in indignation until I was staring at the small pebbles that had found their way onto the road. “I’m used to being alone, Thomas,” I countered, flatly.
    That again caught him off guard and he paused before awkwardly divulging, “Yes, I’ve seen that.” He exhaled loudly before declaring, “I’m here now, whether you like it or not.”
    I strode beside him, appreciating the sound of his feet pressing against the gravel as he walked. It was comforting, not for the sake of protection but companionship, and I realized that I did like that he was with me, more than I wanted to.
    From that night on we developed a routine. A few hours after dark, I would leave, he would find me on the road and we would spend the night together, delivering messages and returning home in the morning to work the farm until night came again. Conversations were combative while I perpetually tried to convince him that he wasn’t needed, but he ignored it by talking mostly about himself. I learned about his family, how he had a talent with metal, and how he’d like to build a cabin in the woods. He avoided questions about his past, about where he had been and what he had done, shrewdly dodging them by asking about me. He wanted to know about my childhood, delved into my favorite memories, and asked if I wanted to do anything else besides deliver messages. I told him no.
    What I didn’t know was that my love for helping others would become a problem and end up placing my family in danger. The reality of what I had done only sunk in when I opened the door to my home several early mornings later and found my family missing.
    They should have been lying in bed, catching the last bit of sleep until the sun had begun to lighten the sky. Instead, I found only dying embers in the hearth and empty beds.
    I marched to the fire and stoked it. The flames stirred. I tossed a log on them. The hearth ignited. I turned and found the devastation.
    A chair was overturned.
    A drape was torn.
    A smear of blood ran