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share the misery. Especially with Mia, who would only blame herself for what was to become of me. King would only know what he stole from my head—bits and pieces of memories I’d shoved away in a dark corner of my mind.
    “Mack? Exactly how old do you think you are?”
    I was wondering when you’d ask that, sweetheart.
     
    ~~~
     
    TEDDI
     
    “Have you ever heard of the Minoans?” Mack asked with a dead-serious tone, that deep delicious voice bouncing off the sterile walls.
    I uncrossed my legs and thought it over for a moment. I’d been out of school for a very long time, but I had an excellent memory. “Ancient Crete. Pre-Christ. I don’t remember much else.”
    Please, don’t tell me you think you’re over three thousand years old. Because that would make him even crazier than I’d thought.
    “You know more than most,” he said, seeming pleased.
    Yeah, well, I could’ve graduated high school at fourteen if I’d wanted, but I convinced my parents to let me stay one more year. Not that I’d been afraid—impossible for me—but I had been debating on career paths—a coin toss between anthropology and psychology. I would’ve double majored, but the best programs were at different universities.
    “I should know more,” I said, “but it’s been a while since I cracked open a history book. But let’s get back to—”
    “You wouldn’t find much on the Minoans. They disappeared after I beheaded their beloved king and was forced to flee the island. Civil war devastated them, and any survivors were overrun by mainlanders.”
    Oh no. This was what I was afraid of. “So you’re saying you’re…?”
    “I was born in 1430 B.C. Give or take a few decades.”
    Cough, cough. Did the guy think he was a vampire? I had one of those once—obsessed with the Twilight series. He’d even insisted everyone call him Edward and wore plastic teeth. Now that I thought about it, it was goddamned funny.
    “You do realize how old this would make you?” I said.
    “Over three thousand years.”
    He had to be testing me. Because Mack seemed far too rational and lucid to believe such a fantasy.
    That or he’s psychotic. Something I hadn’t ruled out.
    “You wouldn’t mind if I turned on the lights, would you?” I asked. “I’ve never seen a three-thousand-year-old man.”
    “You’re mocking me.”
    “No.” I shook my head, realizing that I actually was. My emotions were out of control. “I mean, yes. I’m sorry. That wasn’t very professional, but I’m not feeling myself lately.”
    “I can relate.”
    “So you’re over three thousand years old. Obviously this far exceeds the lifespan of a normal human being, so I assume there’s a reason you’ve managed to defy nature.”
    “There is,” he replied, a curtness in his voice. “But I haven’t gotten to that part of the story yet.”
    “Okay, then. Please continue.”
    “If you don’t believe my age, I assure you that you won’t believe the rest of my story.”
    He had a point, and I had the impression this man was very skilled at reading people. Patronizing him in any way wasn’t a wise choice.
    “Then convince me,” I said candidly. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”
    He laughed. “If only you understood how true that actually is.”
     

CHAPTER SEVEN
    MACK
    1395 B.C.
     
    Where the hell are we going? I thought as I sat chained to the wet wooden rowing bench of the small sailing vessel, my stomach so empty I could feel my body turning on itself, consuming my muscle tissue and less important organs to keep me alive.
    Waste of time. I was definitely going to die.
    No longer able to feel my raw, bleeding hands, I stopped rowing—something that would normally earn my back several lashes from the bastards who held me and fifteen other men captive. Tonight, however, there would be no lashes. Only death.
    It was pitch black out, the stars and moon masked by the storm clouds that rained havoc on the rickety boat. A boat that was no