Dark Flame (The Immortals #4)(10)
Back to where it originated.
Back to where it belongs.
Eyes widening in excitement as it arcs straight toward the center of my wounded hand, the cord around his neck lightening, whitening, until it’s as clean and pure as the day it began.
But just as I’m ready to banish him for good, free myself of this unholy bind, that strange foreign pulse, that hideous intruder, snakes through my insides with such force, such determination, overtaking me so quickly, I can’t stop it.
The monster inside me now fully awakened, rising, stretching, with its insistent, throbbing hunger demanding to be met. Causing my heart to crash violently, my body to shake—and no matter how hard I struggle against it—it’s no use. I’m a hostage to its longing—captive to its desires—I’m of no consequence whatsoever. My only purpose is to meet all its needs—to see that it’s done.
Watching helplessly as the cycle repeats once again. My blood surging forth, soaking the cord at Roman’s neck ’til it sags, red and heavy, dripping a thick trail of me down his chest. And no matter what I do—no matter how hard I try—there’s no stopping it.
No stopping the undeniable lure of his gaze.
No stopping my limbs from yielding toward his.
No stopping this spell that binds me to him.
His body like a magnet that seeks only me, closing the small space between us in less than a second. And now, with our knees pressed tightly together, our foreheads flush—I’m defenseless—powerless—unable to curb this unbearable yearning for him.
He’s all I can see.
All that I need.
My entire world now whittled down to the space between his gaze and mine. His moist, inviting lips just a razor’s width away, as this bold, insistent intruder, this strange, foreign pulse, urges me forward, willing us to mesh, unite, join as one.
My lips push toward his, moving closer, ever closer, when from somewhere down deep, somewhere I can’t quite reach, the memory of Damen, his scent, his image, flickers inside. No more than a brief flash of light in the midst of all this dark—but still enough to remind me of who I am, what I am—my real reason for being here.
Just enough to allow me to break free of this horrible dreamscape and shout, “No!”
I leap back, removing myself from him—from this. Moving so quickly and violently the web collapses around me as the candles extinguish and Roman dissolves from my sight.
The only trace of what just occurred is my crashing heart, bloodstained robe, and the words still reverberating in my throat.
“No, no, no, no, no, oh, God, please, no!”
“Ever?”
I gaze around the closet, fingers frantically clutching at my white silk robe now stained beyond repair, hoping she’ll just go away—give me some space—or at least enough time to figure this out—
“Ever—you okay in there? Dinner’s just about ready, you might want to make your way down!”
“Okay—I’ll . . .” I close my eyes, quickly banishing my robe and manifesting a simple blue dress in its place. Having no idea what to do now, where to go from here. Though one thing is clear—I can’t tell Romy and Rayne—they already witnessed my last flubbed attempt, and I’ll never live this one down. Besides, they’re too close to Damen, and they’ll never forgive me.
“I’ll be there in a sec, really!” I say, sensing her energy from the other side of the door debating whether or not to bust in.
“Five minutes!” she warns, voice resigned. “Then I’m coming in to get you myself!”
I close my eyes and shake my head, shoving my feet into some flip-flops while combing my hands through my hair. Taking great care to ensure everything appears clean and pristine on the outside, because inside, there’s no doubt that things just took a major turn for the worse.
five
I slip out the side gate and onto the street, the soft lilting sounds of Sabine and Munoz laughing and enjoying the last of their wine by the pool drifting behind me as I break into a run. Careful to temper the pace, going neither too fast nor too slow, reluctant to attract any undue attention from anyone who might see.
It was bad enough having to explain it to Sabine. Especially after having just gulped down three-quarters of a barbecued chicken breast, a lump of potato salad, an entire corn on the cob, and a glass and a half of soda—none of which I was the slightest bit interested in, and which, in the end, only seemed to raise a whole new suspicion.
Her voice all raised and squeaky, gone completely high alert when she said, “Now? But it’ll be dark soon—and you just ate!” Her ever-watchful gaze sweeping over me, as a new possibility formed in her brain—exercise bulimia!
Having ruled out anorexia and just plain old bulimia to explain my odd behavior and even odder eating habits—she’s now onto something new, leaving no doubt that a trip to our local bookstore’s self-help aisles will be squeezed into her weekend’s agenda.
And I wish I could explain it to her, sit her right down and say, “Relax. It’s not at all what you think. I’m immortal. The juice is all I need to get by. But right now, I’ve got a little spell-casting problem to fix so—don’t wait up!”
But that’s never gonna happen. It can’t happen. Damen was clear about keeping our immortality a secret. And after seeing what’s happened when it’s gotten into the wrong hands, I have to say I agree with him one hundred percent.