Dark Flame (The Immortals #4)(25)
I’m rooted. Unable to flee. Overcome by this horrible need to find him—to see him—to be with him. This ugly invader taking over as though my evening of enchantment never happened. As though I was never at peace.
The beast now awakened, demanding to be fed. And despite my best efforts to get out of this place before it’s too late—it is too late. He’s come to find me.
“Well, fancy finding you here.”
Roman leans in the doorway, all golden haired and shiny teethed, his glinting blue eyes fixed right on me. “You’re looking rather—piqued. Everything all right?” His contrived British accent causing his voice to rise in a way that usually annoys me to no end, but now—now I find it so alluring it’s all I can do to stay where I am. Continuing to fight this epic battle now raging inside me—that strange, foreign pulse versus me.
He laughs, head tossed back in a way that clearly displays the Ouroboros tattoo on his neck—the snake coiling, slithering, its beady eyes seeking mine, as its long, skinny tongue beckons me near.
And despite everything I know about good and evil, right and wrong, immortals and rogues, I step forward. Taking one small step toward defeat, that’s quickly followed by another. And another. My gaze fixed on Roman—gorgeous, glorious Roman. He’s all I can see. All that I need. Only vaguely aware of that small glimmer of me, still in there somewhere—struggling, shouting, demanding to be heard—but it just can’t compete. And it’s not long before it’s silenced by the single-minded pulse now residing inside me—its sights set on only one thing.
His name swells on my lips, as I stand right before him, so close I can make out each individual violet fleck in his eyes, and feel the cool chill that emanates off his skin. The same chill I once found abhorrent, repulsive, but not anymore. Now it’s a welcome siren, calling me home.
“Always knew you’d come around.” He grins, his gaze slowly taking me in as he buries his fingers in my tangle of hair. “Welcome to the dark side, Ever, I think you’ll be quite happy here.” He laughs, the sound of it enveloping me in a delicious frostbitten hug. “Not surprised you shrugged off that old wanker Damen. Figured you’d grow tired of him eventually. All of the waiting—the angst—the gawd-awful soul searching—not to mention the do-gooding.” He shakes his head and grimaces as though the thought alone pains him. “I don’t know how you stood it for as long as you did. And for what, I might ask? Because I hate to break it to you, luv, but there are no future rewards up yonder when your future’s right here.” He stamps his foot on the ground. “A bloody waste of time, it is. No use delaying gratification when the instant kind works best. There are pleasures to be had, Ever. Pleasures of a magnitude you can’t even begin to understand. But, lucky for you, I’m the forgiving type. I’m more than willing to serve as your guide. So, tell me, where should we start, luv, your place or mine?”
His fingers trail along my cheek, my shoulder, working their way down to the loose neck of my dress. And even though the feel of it’s icy, bracing, in the strongest sense of the word, I can’t help but lean into it, can’t help but close my eyes and immerse myself in the feel of it, urging him to scoop lower, explore further, prepared to go wherever he takes me—
“Ever? Is that you? Are you fugging kidding me?”
I open my eyes to find Haven standing behind us. Her eyes narrowed, blazing with anger as they dart between Roman and me. Not letting up in the slightest when he laughs and pushes me away, discarding me quickly and easily, as though it meant nothing to him.
“Told you she’d be back, luv.” His gaze sails over my shaky, sweaty body, so overcome with unrequited yearning, it pains me to see him slide his arm around her. The two of them turning their backs on me and heading inside as he says, “You know Ever. She just can’t stay away.”
eleven
I run.
Covering the blocks in a matter of seconds, appearing as a fast-moving blur to all whom I pass. But I don’t care about that. Don’t care what they think—what they see. I care about only one thing—ridding myself of this horrible invader, this mystical trespasser—so the old me can return.
Bursting through the door just as Jude’s about to lock it, nearly knocking him over though he’s quick to jump out of my way.
“I need help.” I stand before him, gasping, wheezing, broken beyond repair. “I—I don’t know where else to go.”
He looks me over, eyes narrowed, brows knit with concern, leading me toward the back room where he pulls out a chair with his foot and motions for me to sit.
“Easy,” he coos. “Deep breaths. Seriously, Ever. Whatever it is, I’m sure it can be fixed.”
I shake my head and lean toward him, gripping the arms of my chair, fighting to stay rooted, to not go back there. “But what if you’re wrong?” I say, eyes wild, cheeks flushed, voice high-pitched and shaky. “What if it can’t be worked out? What if I’m—what if I’m broken for good?”
He moves around his desk and drops onto his chair, swiveling back and forth as he slowly takes me in, his face still, placid, impossible to read. But something about the movement, that gentle, constant pivoting, instantly calms me. Allowing me to settle back in my seat, slow my breath, and focus on the way his dreadlocks spill over the colorful picture of Ganesh that’s splashed across his tee.