Dark Flame (The Immortals #4)(12)
He continues to stare, that same confused, gaping expression still stamped on his face. And all I can think is: Good thing he’s not an actor, he’s got really crummy range.
“Um, hel-lo! The Ouroboros? On your back?” I roll my eyes. “I saw it. You know I saw it. You probably wanted me to see it—or why else would you convince me to get into the Jacuzzi with—” I shake my head. “Whatever, let’s just say it pretty much told me everything I needed to know. Everything you apparently wanted me to know. So feel free to drop the game anytime now, I’m all clued in.”
He stands before me, good hand rubbing his chin as his eyes search the area as though looking for backup. Like that’s gonna help him. “Ever, I’ve had that tattoo for ages—in fact, I—”
“Oh, I’ll bet.” I nod, refusing to let him finish. “So tell me, how long ago did Roman turn you? Which century would it have been? Eighteenth, nineteenth? C’mon, you can tell me. Even though it was a long time ago, I’m sure you never forget a moment like that.”
He rubs his lips together, encouraging those matching dimples to spring into view, but it doesn’t distract me; that sort of thing no longer works. Not that it ever really did.
“Listen,” he says, struggling to keep his voice low, steady, though his aura tells all, taking a sudden turn toward murky and fragmented, revealing the full extent of his nervousness. “Honestly, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Seriously, Ever, in case you can’t hear it, this is coming off as pretty insane. And the truth is, despite all of that, despite all of this”—he tugs on his sling—“I’d really like to help you—but—well—you seem pretty much beyond all of that with the rogues and the turning and”—he shakes his head—“but let me just ask you this—if this Roman dude’s as bad as you say, then why are you lurking outside his store looking all charged and heated like a dog waiting for its owner?”
I glance between him and the door, cheeks flushing, pulse racing, well aware I’ve been caught in the act, but not about to admit it.
“I’m not lurking—I’m—” I press my lips together, wondering why on earth I’m defending myself when he’s clearly the one who’s up to no good. “Besides, it’s not like I can’t ask you the same question since, I hate to break it to ya, but you’re standing here too.” My eyes rake over him, taking in the bronzed skin, the slightly crooked front teeth—most likely kept that way on purpose, to throw people off—people like me. And those eyes—those amazing blue/green eyes—the same eyes I’ve gazed into for the last four hundred years. But no more. Not since I learned he’s one of them. Now we’re officially through.
He shrugs and rubs his sling protectively. “Nothing sinister, just headed home, that’s all. If you’ll remember, we close early on Saturdays.”
I narrow my gaze, not fooled for a second. It’s all very plausible. Almost believable. But not quite.
“I live up the street.” He motions toward some unknown place in the distance, a place that probably doesn’t even exist. But I don’t follow his hand. My gaze stays on his. I can’t afford to drop my guard. Not even for a second. He may have fooled me before, but now I know better. Now I know what he is.
He takes a step closer, slowly, cautiously, careful to maintain a safe distance still just outside of my reach. “Maybe we can go grab a coffee or something? Go someplace quiet, where we can sit down and talk? You look like you could use a break. What do you say?”
I continue to study him. He’s persistent, I’ll give him that. “Sure.” I smile, nodding in assent. “I’d just love to go someplace quiet, grab a seat, drink some java, and enjoy a nice, long chat—but first, I need you to prove something.”
His body goes tense and his aura—his fake aura—wavers, but I’m not buying it.
“I need you to prove you’re not one of them.”
He squints, face a cloud of concern. “Ever, I don’t know what you’re—”
His words cut short by the sight of the athame now clutched in my hand. Its jewel-encrusted handle an exact replica of the one I used just a few hours before, figuring I’ll need all the luck and protection the stones can provide, especially if this goes the way that I think.
“There’s only one way to prove it,” I say, voice low, gaze locked on his, taking one small step forward that’s soon followed by another. “And I’ll know if you cheat—so don’t even try. Oh, and I should probably warn ya—I can’t be responsible for what happens once I prove that you’re lying. But don’t worry, as you well know, this’ll only hurt for a second—”
He sees me moving, lunging straight for him, and even though he tries his best to dance out of my way, I’m too quick, and I’m on him before he even realizes it.
Seizing his good arm and slicing my athame right through his skin, knowing it’s just a matter of seconds before the blood stops gushing and the wound fuses together again.
Just a matter of time until—
“Oh God!” I whisper, eyes wide, throat dry, watching as he falters, stumbles, and nearly loses his balance.
His eyes darting between me and the gash on his arm, both of us watching as the blood seeps through his clothes and pools onto the street in a growing puddle of red. “Are you crazy?” he shrieks. “What the hell have you done?”