Dark Flame (The Immortals #4)(11)
But keeping it a secret has been one of my greatest challenges, and that’s where the jogging comes in. I am now, officially (or at least where Sabine and Munoz are concerned), a person who slips into a T-shirt, sneakers, and shorts and goes for an evening run.
A nice healthy excuse for getting out of the house and away from Munoz, whom I can’t help but like as a person, even though I never wanted to get to know him as a person.
A nice healthy excuse for getting away from an aunt who’s so kind and considerate and helpful toward me that I can’t help but feel like the world’s worst niece for all of the trouble I’ve caused.
A nice healthy excuse to get away from two wonderful, kindhearted people so I can indulge in a much darker, not at all healthy, obsession.
One that’s got a hold on me.
One I’m determined to beat.
I make a swift left onto the next street, noticing how the cars, the pavement, the sidewalks, the windows are all dappled with that burnished gold that the tail end of magic hour brings—the result of the first and last hour of sunlight when everything appears softer, warmer, bathed in the sun’s reddish haze. My muscles pumping, feet moving faster, picking up speed, even though I know better, even though I try to slow down—it’s too dangerous, too risky, someone might see—and yet I keep going. Unable to stop it. No longer the one who controls me.
Aiming for my destination like an arrow on a compass, my entire being is focused on one single point. Cars, houses, people—everything around me is reduced to a single, orangey blur as I close street after street. My heart crashing hard against my chest—but not from the run or the exertion, because the truth is, I’ve barely broken a sweat.
This live wire inside me is all about the proximity.
The simple fact that I’m near—
Getting closer—
Almost there.
Like a siren song propelling me toward uncertain ruin, and I can’t seem to get there quickly enough.
The second I see it, I stop. My gaze narrows as everything around me ceases to exist. Staring at Roman’s door as I will the beast to retreat. Renewing my resolve to overcome this strange, foreign pulse now beating in me, wanting only to slip inside, casually, easily, and confront him once and for all so we can put an end to all this.
Forcing myself to take long, deep breaths as I summon the strength that I’ll need. Just about to take that very first step when I hear my name called from a voice I’d hoped never to hear again.
He saunters toward me, head cocked to the side, as cool and casual as a summer’s breeze. His left arm heavily bandaged and wrapped in a navy blue sling, stopping just shy of me, purposely positioning himself out of my reach, when he says, “What are you doing?”
I swallow hard, relieved to feel the pulse lessening, receding, and yet startled to realize my first instinct isn’t to run, isn’t to finish the job and put the rest of him in a sling too—but to lie. To make any excuse that I can to explain my heated, gaping, practically salivating presence, right outside Roman’s store.
“What’re you doing?” I squint, lids narrowed to slits as I harshly take him in. Knowing it’s hardly a coincidence to find him here too. After all, they’re good friends, members of the same immortal rogue tribe. “Oh, and nice prop, by the way.” I gesture toward his supposedly banged-up arm, which probably provides a pretty good cover for those who don’t know any better. Too bad I do.
He looks at me, shaking his head and rubbing his chin, voice steady, calm, almost convincing, when he says, “Ever, are you okay? You’re not looking so good—”
I shake my head and roll my eyes. “Nice try, Jude, I’ll give you that.” Fielding his what the heck are you talking about look with, “Seriously. Faking concern for me, faking an injury, you’re prepared to go all the way with this, aren’t you?”
He frowns, head tilted in a way that allows a few chunks of golden brown dreadlocks to fall over his shoulder and land just a few inches shy of his waist. His deceptively cute and friendly face all scrunched and serious when he says, “Trust me, I’m not faking. Wish I was. Remember when you picked me up like a Frisbee and tossed me across your yard?” He motions toward his arm. “This is the result. A crap load of contusions, a fractured radius, and some seriously messed-up phalanges—or at least that’s what the doctor said.”
I sigh and shake my head. I’ve no time for this charade. I need to get to Roman, show him that he can’t control me—means nothing to me—show him who’s boss around here. Sure that he’s somehow partly responsible for what’s happening to me, and needing to convince him to give me the antidote and put an end to this game.
“While I’m sure it all looks and sounds very believable to most people, unfortunately for you, I’m not most people. I know better. And the fact is, you know I know better. So let’s just cut to the chase, okay? Rogues don’t get hurt. Not for long anyway. They have instantaneous healing abilities, but then you already knew that, didn’t you?”
He looks at me, brows merged in confusion, as he takes a step back. And the truth is, he really does look perplexed, I’ll give him that.
“What’re you talking about?” He gazes all around, before focusing back on me. “Rogues? Are you serious?”
I sigh, fingers drumming hard against my hip when I say, “Um, hel-lo? Evil members of Roman’s tribe? Ring any bells?” I shake my head and roll my eyes. “Don’t pretend you’re not one of them—I saw your tattoo.”