The Immortals 3 - Shadowland (7 page)

“Ever?”

I close the window on my computer and switch it to the essay I’m supposed to be writing for English. Knowing Sabine would freak if she caught me running a Google search on ancient alchemical formulas, rather than the homework she’s expecting to see.

Because as nice as it is lying beside Damen, the beat of our hearts connecting as one, in the long run, it’s just not enough. It’ll never be enough. I want a normal relationship with my immortal boyfriend. One with no barriers. One where I can truly enjoy the feel of skin as opposed to the way I remember it in my head. And I’ll pretty much stop at nothing to get it.

“Did you eat?” She places her hand on my shoulder as she peers at the screen.

And since I didn’t prepare, didn’t guard myself from her touch, that’s all it takes to
see
her version of the infamous Starbucks meet and greet. Which, unfortunately, is not so different from Munoz’s version—the two of them acting all happy and giddy, smiling at each other with an abundance of hope. And even though she seems really happy, and no doubt
deserves
to be happy especially after all that I’ve put her through, I still comfort myself with the vision I had a few months back—the one where she clearly ends up with some cute guy who works in her building. Wondering if I should say or do something to temper her excitement since it’s not like this little flirtation is going anywhere. But knowing I’ve already taken too big of a risk by outing myself to Munoz, I don’t say a word. I can’t afford to tip her off too.

I swivel around in my chair, releasing myself from her grip. Wanting to avoid
seeing
anything more than I already have, waiting for her energy stream to fade.

“Damen made me dinner,” I say, voice steady and low despite the fact that it’s not exactly true. Unless you count the elixir I drank.

She looks at me, gaze suddenly troubled as it narrows on mine. “Damen?” She steps back. “Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.”

I cringe, wishing I hadn’t just put it out there like that. I should’ve broken her in slowly, gotten her used to the idea of seeing him again.

“Does this mean you’re back together?”

I shrug, allowing my hair to fall in my face so it’s partially hidden. Grasping a chunk and twisting it around, pretending to inspect for split ends even though I no longer get them. “Yeah, um, we’re still—friendly.” I shrug. “I mean, actually, we’re more than friends, we’re more like—”

Dating and doomed—destined to spend an eternity in the abyss—madly in love but unable to touch—

“Well, yeah, I mean, I guess you could say we’re back together again.” Forcing a smile so wide my lips practically split down the middle, but holding it anyway, hoping it’ll encourage her to join in.

“And you’re okay with that?” She runs her hand through her golden blond hair, a shade we used to share until I started drinking the elixir which turned mine even lighter, then perches on the edge of my bed, crosses her legs, and drops her briefcase onto the floor—four very bad signs that she’s settling in for one of her long, awkward talks.

Her gaze moves over me, taking in my faded jeans, my white tank top and blue tee, searching for symptoms, hints, clues, some kind of telltale sign of adolescent distress. Having only recently ruled out anorexia and/or bulimia when my elixir-fueled growth spurt added four inches to my height and bulked up my frame with a thin layer of muscle even though I
never
work out.

But this time it’s not my appearance that’s got her unnerved, it’s my
on again/off again
relationship with Damen that’s rung her code red. Having recently finished yet another parenting book claiming that a tumultuous relationship is major cause for concern. And even though that may be true, nothing about Damen and my relationship could ever be condensed into a chapter in a book.

“Don’t get me wrong, Ever. I like Damen, I do. He’s nice and polite, and he’s certainly very composed—and yet, there’s something about that cool self-assurance, something that seems rather odd for a young man his age. Like he’s somehow too old for you—or—” She shrugs, unable to place it.

I push my hair off my face so I can see her better. She’s the second person today who’s noticed something off about him—about
us
. First it was Haven with the whole telepathy thing, and now Sabine’s taking issue with his maturity and poise. And even though it’s easy enough to explain, the fact that they’re even noticing in the first place is what worries me.

“And while I know there’s only a few months between you, he somehow comes off as—more experienced. Too experienced.” She shrugs. “And I’d hate for you to feel pressured into doing something you’re not quite ready for.”

I press my lips together and try not to laugh, thinking how she couldn’t have gotten it more wrong. Assuming that I’m the innocent maiden being chased by the big bad wolf, never imagining that I’m actually the predator in this particular tale, dangerously pursuing my prey to the point of risking his life.

“Because no matter what he may say, you’re in control of you, Ever. You’re the one who determines who, where, and when. And no matter how you may feel about him, or any boy for that matter, they have no right to push their agenda on—”

“It’s not like that,” I tell her, cutting in before this gets any more embarrassing than it already has. “
Damen’s
not like that. He’s a perfect gentleman, an ideal boyfriend. Seriously, Sabine, you’re way off course. Just trust me on this one, okay?”

She looks at me for a moment, crisp orange aura wavering, wanting to believe, unsure if she should. Then she picks up her briefcase and heads for the door, stopping just shy of it when she says, “I was thinking—”

I look at her, tempted to peek at her thoughts, despite my vow to never intentionally breach her privacy like that—unless it’s an emergency of course, which this clearly is not.

“Since school’s letting out soon, and since I haven’t heard you mention any summer plans, I thought it might be good for you to find a job, spend a few hours each day working at something. What do you think?”

What do I think?
I gape, eyes bugging, mouth dry, at a complete loss for words.
Well, I think I should’ve peered into your head after all, because clearly this does qualify as a major distress call!

“Nothing full time or anything like that. There’ll be plenty of time for the beach and your friends. I just thought it would be good for you to—”

“Is this about money?” My mind reeling, desperate to find a way out. If it’s a simple matter of pitching in for the mortgage and groceries, then I’ll gladly come up with whatever she needs. Heck, she can even take whatever’s left of my parent’s life insurance policy for all I care. But what she can’t have is my summer. Unh-uh. No way. Not even a day.

“Ever, of course it’s not about money.” She averts her gaze as her cheeks flush soft pink. Oddly averse to discussing all things financial for someone who makes a living as a corporate litigator. “I just thought it might be good for you to, you know, meet some new people, learn something new. Get out of your usual environment for a few hours each day, and—”

And get away from Damen.
Not needing to read her thoughts to know what this is really about. Now that she knows we’re back together she’s more determined than ever to break us apart. And while I get how concerned she was by all the moodiness and depression I subjected her to when we were apart, this time she’s got it all wrong. It’s not like she thinks. Though I’ve no idea how to explain that to her and still keep my secrets intact.

“—and as it so happens, a summer internship just opened up at the firm, and I’m sure it’s just a matter of speaking with the senior partners and the job will be yours.” She smiles, face radiant, eyes bright, expecting me to join the celebration as well.

“But aren’t those positions usually reserved for law students?” I ask, sure I’m pathetically underqualified to fill those particular shoes.

But she just shakes her head. “It’s not that type of internship. This is more of a filing and phone answering assignment. And there’s really no money in it either, though you will get school credit and a small end of the season bonus. I just thought it might do you some good. Not to mention how it will really beef up those college applications of yours.”

College.
Yet another thing I used to obsess about but not anymore. I mean, what possible use could I have for all of those classes and professors when all I have to do is place my hand on a book or peek inside my teacher’s head to know all the answers?

“I’d hate for anyone else to get in there when I know you’re just perfect for the job.”

I stare at her, unsure what to say.

“It’s good experience for a person your age,” she adds, her indignant tone a result of my silence. “It’s recommended in all the books. They say it builds character, commitment, and the discipline to show up on time and get the job done.”

Great
.
So I have Dr
.
Phil to thank for ruining my summer.
Completely annoyed with Sabine until I remember how she was when I first got here—calm, relaxed, and completely laid back, allowing me all the space and freedom I needed. It’s my fault she changed. My suspension, my refusal to ingest anything other than the red elixir, and all the drama with Damen is what sent her over the edge. And this is where it led—to the dreaded summer internship she’s bent on securing for me.

But no way can I spend the summer juggling a mountain of files and incessantly ringing phones when I’m going to need all the free time I can get to find an antidote for Damen. And working in Sabine’s office, with her and her colleagues snooping over my shoulder, just will not do.

Though it’s not like I can say that outright. It’ll set off her alarms. I need to play it cool, let her know that while I’ve nothing against discipline and character building, I prefer to tackle those things on my own.

“I’m totally cool with working,” I say, trying not to press my lips together, fidget, or break eye contact, three definite giveaways that I’m not being entirely honest. “But since you do so much for me already, I’d feel a lot better if I could find my own job. I mean, I’m just not sure I’m cut out for office work, so maybe I could look around a little. See what my options are. I’ll even pitch in with the mortgage and food. It’s the least I can do.”

“What food?” She laughs, shaking her head. “You barely eat! Besides, I don’t want your money, Ever. Though I will help you establish a line of credit if you’d like.”

“Sure.” I shrug, forcing an enthusiasm I don’t really feel since I’ve absolutely no need for such conventional things. “That would be great!” I add, knowing that the longer I can keep her mind off this internship, the better for me.

“Okay then.” She drums her fingers against the doorjamb as she finalizes her plan. “You’ve got one week to find something on your own.”

I gulp, trying to keep the eye bugging to a minimum.
One week? What kind of a head start is that when I don’t even know where to begin? I’ve never had a job before. Is it possible to just manifest one?

“I know it’s not much time,” she says, reading my face. “But I’d hate for them to fill the position when I know you’d be perfect.”

She heads into the hall and closes the door between us, leaving me sideswiped, dumbstruck, staring at the flickering remnants of her orangey aura, her magnetic energy field, hovering insistently in the space where she stood. Thinking how ironic it is that I was just making fun of Damen for assuming he could land a job without any experience only to find myself facing the same exact fate.

I toss and turn all night. Bed a tangled mess of sweat-dampened pillows and blankets, body and mind exhausted by dreams. Waking briefly, gasping for air, only to be pulled under again, returning to the very same place I fought to escape.

And the only reason I want it to stop is because Riley is there. Laughing happily as she grabs hold of my hand, taking me on a tour of a very strange land. But even though I skip right alongside her, pretending to enjoy the trip too, the moment she turns her back, I scramble for the surface, eager to remove myself from this scene.

Because the truth is, it’s not really Riley. Riley is gone. Having crossed the bridge at my urging, moving on to some unknown place. And even though she keeps yanking me back, yelling at me to pay attention, to just trust her and stop running—I refuse to obey. Sure that it’s some kind of punishment for harming Damen, sending Drina to the Shadowland, and putting everything I care about at risk—allowing my subconscious to produce these guilt-induced images, so sugar-coated with happiness, there’s no way they’re real.

But this last time, just as I’m about to run, Riley appears right before me, blocking my exit, and yelling at me to stay put. Standing before a large stage and slowly drawing the drapes, revealing a tall, narrow, rectangular cube—like a prison of glass—containing a desperate and struggling Damen inside.

I rush to his aid as Riley looks on, pleading with him to hang in there while I help him break free. But he can’t even hear me. Can’t even see me. Just continues to fight until so overcome with exhaustion, with the absolute futility, he closes his eyes and fades straight into the abyss.

The Shadowland.

The home for lost souls.

I bolt from my bed, body shaking, chilled, drenched with sweat, standing in the center of my room with a pillow clutched to my chest. Overcome not only by the feeling of utter defeat, but by the horrible message my imagined sister has sent—telling me that no matter how hard I try, I can’t save my soul mate from me.

I run for my closet, changing into some clothes before grabbing some sneakers and heading for the garage. Knowing it’s too early to go to school, too early to go anywhere. But I refuse to give up. Refuse to believe in nightmares. I have to start somewhere. Have to use what I got.

But just as I’m about to climb into my car, I think better. Realizing the whole process of opening the garage door and starting the engine will risk waking Sabine. And even though I can easily step outside and manifest another car, bike, Vespa, or whatever else I might want, I decide to try running instead.

I’ve never been much of a runner. Far more used to dragging my feet through every forced lap in P.E. than striving for any sort of personal best. But that was before I became immortal. Before I was gifted with incredible speed. A speed I haven’t even begun to test the limits of, since the last time I ran was the first time I realized I even had the potential. But now that I’m faced with the perfect opportunity to see just how far and fast I can go before stopping, dropping, or crumbling to the ground with a debilitating case of side cramps, I can’t wait to try it out.

I slip out the side door and head for the street. At first thinking I should warm up, start off in a nice slow jog before hitting the asphalt at full throttle. But no sooner have I started than a major surge of adrenaline kicks in, coursing through my body like the highest-grade rocket fuel. And the next thing I know, it’s full speed ahead. Running so fast my neighbor’s houses are reduced to a visual blur of stucco and stone. Jumping fallen trash cans and dodging poorly parked cars, as I race from street to street with the grace and agility of a jungle cat. Having virtually no awareness of my legs or my feet, just trusting they won’t fail me. That they’ll get me to my destination in miraculous time.

And no more than a few seconds have passed when I’m standing before it, the one place I swore I’d never return to, prepared to do the one thing I promised Damen I wouldn’t—approaching Roman’s door, hoping to broker some kind of deal.

But before I can even raise my hand to knock, Roman is there. Clad in a deep purple robe over blue silk pajamas, his matching velvet slippers with embroidered golden foxes peeking out from the hem. His gaze sleek, narrowed, looking me over without a trace of surprise.

“Ever.” He cocks his head to the side, allowing for an unobstructed view of his flashing Ouroboros tattoo. “What brings you to the neighborhood?”

My fingers play at the amulet just under my shirt, heart racing beneath it, hoping Damen’s right, that it’ll provide the necessary protection—should it come to that.

“We need to talk,” I say, trying not to cringe as his eyes sail over me, enjoying a nice, long, leisurely cruise.

He squints into the night, then back at me. “Do we?” He lifts his brow. “And here I had no idea.”

I start to roll my eyes, but remembering my purpose for coming here, I settle for pressing my lips together instead.

“Recognize the door?” He raps his knuckles hard against the wood, eliciting a nice solid thump, as I wonder what he could possibly be up to. “Of course you don’t,” he says, lips quirking at the sides. “That’s because it’s new. I was forced to replace the old one after your last visit. You remember? When you busted your way in so you could toss my supply of elixir down the drain?” He laughs and shakes his head. “Very naughty of you, Ever. And quite a mess I must say. I hope you’ll manage to behave better today.” He leans against the door frame and waves me in, gazing at me in a way so deep, so intimate, it’s all I can do not to squirm.

I head down the hall and into the den, noticing how the door isn’t the only thing that’s changed since I was last here. Gone are the framed Botticelli prints and abundance of chintz, all of it replaced by marble and stone, dark heavy fabrics, rough plastered walls, and black iron things shaped into scrolls.

“Tuscan?” I turn, startled to find him standing so near I can see the individual dark purple flecks in his eyes.

He shrugs, refusing to back up and give me some space. “Sometimes I get a little hankering for the old country.” He smiles, a slow widening of his cheeks, displaying shiny white teeth. “As you well know, Ever, there’s no place like home.”

I swallow hard and turn away, trying to determine my quickest escape since I can’t afford to make even the slightest mistake.

“So tell me, to what do I owe this magnificent honor?” He glances over his shoulder as he heads for the bar. Removing a bottle of elixir from the wine refrigerator and pouring it into a cut crystal glass, before offering it to me. But I just shake my head and wave it away, watching as he carries it over to the couch where he plops himself down, spreads his legs wide, and rests the glass on his knee. “I’m assuming you didn’t drop by in the dead of night to admire my latest decorating scheme. So tell me, what’s the purpose of this?”

I clear my throat, forcing myself to look him square in the eye without flinching, wavering, fidgeting, or exhibiting any other sign of weakness. Aware of how this whole situation can change in an instant—how easily I can turn from mild curiosity to irresistible prey.

“I’m here to call a truce,” I say, alert for some kind of reaction but getting only his penetrating gaze. “You know, a cease-fire, a proclamation of peace, a—”

“Please.” He waves his hand. “Spare me the definition, luv. I can say it in twenty languages and forty dialects. You?”

I shrug, knowing I’m lucky to have said it in the one. Watching as he swirls his drink, the iridescent red liquid flashing and sparking as it runs up the sides and splashes back down.

“And just what sort of truce are you after? You of all people should know how it works. I’ve no intention of giving you anything, unless you’re willing to give up something of your own.” He pats the narrow space just beside him, smiling as though I’d actually consider joining him there.

“Why do you do this?” I ask, unable to contain my frustration. “I mean, you’re more or less decent looking, you’re immortal, you’ve got all the gifts that go with it—you can pretty much have anyone you want, so why do you insist on bothering
me
?”

He throws his head back and laughs, a giant roar that fills up the room. Finally calming down enough to level his gaze, looking at me as he says, “
Decent looking?
” He shakes his head and laughs again, placing his glass on the table and retrieving a pair of golden nail clippers from a jewel-encrusted case. “
Decent looking
,” he mutters, shaking his head, taking a moment to check out his nails, before returning his focus to me. “But you see, luv, that’s just it. I
can
have anything I want.
Anything
or
anyone
. It all comes so easy. Too easy.” He sighs, getting to work on his nails, so absorbed by the task, I’m wondering if he’ll continue when he says, “It all gets a little tedious after the first—oh—hundred or so years. And while you’re far too new to understand any of this, someday you’ll realize just how big of a favor I’ve done you.”

I squint, having no idea what he could possibly mean.
A favor? Is he serious?

“You sure you won’t have a seat?” He wags his nail clipper toward the overstuffed chair just to my right, urging me to take it. “You’re making me out to be a very bad host, insisting on standing there like that. Besides, do you have any idea how fetching you look? A little—
bedridden
—sure, but in the sexiest way.”

He narrows his eyes until they’re sleek as a cat’s, lips parting just enough for his tongue to escape. But I just stay put and pretend not to notice. Everything with Roman is a game, and taking a seat would be conceding defeat. Though remaining like this, watching his tongue wet his lips as his gaze lingers in all the wrong places, doesn’t feel like much of a win.

“You’re even more delusional than I thought if you think you’ve done me a
favor
,” I say, voice hoarse, scratchy, a long way from strong. “You’re crazy!” I add, regretting it the instant it’s out.

But Roman just shrugs, unfazed by my outburst as he returns to his nails. “Trust me, it’s more than just a favor, luv. I’ve given you a
purpose
. A
raison d’être
as they say.” He glances at me, brow raised. “Tell me, Ever, are you not completely fixated on finding a way to—
consummate
—with Damen? Are you not so desperate for a solution you actually convinced yourself it was a good idea to come
here
?”

I swallow hard and stare at him. I should’ve known better, should’ve heeded Damen’s advice.

“You’re too impatient.” He nods, smoothing the edges of his freshly clipped nails. “What’s the rush when you have all of infinity laid out before you? Think about it, Ever, how exactly would you spend your eternity if it weren’t for me? Showering each other with huge bouquets of bloody red tulips? Having at each other so often it couldn’t help but grow boring?”

“This is ridiculous.” I glare. “And the fact that you see it like this—like it’s some chivalrous deed that you’ve done—” I shake my head, knowing there’s no need to continue. He’s delusional, insane, determined to see things in his own selfish way.

“Six hundred years I yearned for her,” he says, tossing his nail clippers aside, gaze never once leaving mine. “And
why
, you ask?
Why
would I bother with the
same
woman for so long when I can have anyone?” He looks at me as though waiting for the answer, but we both know I’ve no intention of going there. “It wasn’t just her beauty like you think—though I will admit, it did spur things at the start.” He smiles, eyes reminiscent. “No, it was the simple fact that I
couldn’t
have her. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how long I pined, I was never allowed”—he looks at me, gaze heavy, intense—“
admittance—
if you will.”

I roll my eyes. I can’t help it. The fact that he wasted centuries pining for that monster is of no interest to me.

But he just continues, ignoring my pained expression when he says, “Make no mistake, Ever, I’m about to share something very important, something you really should keep in mind.” He leans forward, arms on knees, voice steady and low, filled with new urgency. “We
always
want what we can’t have.” He leans back, nodding as though he just shared the key to enlightenment. “It’s human nature. We’re hardwired that way. And as much as you’d prefer not to believe it, it’s the only reason Damen’s spent the last four hundred years longing for
you
.”

I look at him, face placid, body still, aware that he’s trying to hurt me, prodding the usual spots, knowing this has been one of my fears from the moment I first learned of our history.

“Face it, Ever, even Drina’s incredible beauty wasn’t enough to keep his interest. I’m sure you’re aware of just how quickly he tired of her?”

I swallow hard, stomach like a hard bitter marble.
Since when is two hundred years considered quickly?
But I guess when you’re dealing with eternity everything is relative.

“It’s not a beauty contest,” I say, cringing when I hear the words spoken aloud. I mean, seriously, is that the best I could do?

“Of course it’s not, luv.” Roman shakes his head, pity in his gaze. “If it was, Drina would win.” He settles back, arms spread across the cushions, glass resting on top, daring me to respond. “Let me guess, you’ve convinced yourself it’s about two souls meeting as one, destined for each other, and all of that—
puppy love
?” He laughs, nodding when he adds, “That
is
what you’re thinking, right?”

“You don’t
want
to know what I’m thinking.” I narrow my gaze, determined to get to the point now that my patience’s dissolved. “I didn’t come here to be bored by your philosophical litanies, I came here because—”

“Because you want something from
me
.” He nods, setting down his drink, glass meeting wood with a solid, wet
thwomp
. “In which case, I’m in the driver’s seat, which means you’re in no position to set the pace.”