Dark Flame (The Immortals #4)(47)
My eyes search his face, knowing he’s trying to send me an image, a message of some sort, but that strange foreign pulse is at full thrum—the dark flame burning bright—weakening my powers to where I can no longer grasp Damen’s thoughts, his energy, his tingle and heat—can’t grasp anything at all.
He moves toward me, gripping my shoulders long before I can blink, gazing into my eyes with determination and purpose, fully resolved to deal with this once and for all.
But as much as I want to, I can’t let him in, can’t let him see me like this. The revulsion he’ll see in my eyes isn’t coming from me, it’s the beast, but he won’t know the difference.
And even though it kills me to do it, even though it only proves that he’s right, that I really am dangerously and recklessly out of control, I still just shake my head and walk away, all the way to the curb where my car’s parked.
Calling over my shoulder to say, “Sorry, Damen, but you’re wrong. Dead wrong. I’m just overworked and overtired, just like I keep telling you. And if you ever feel like cutting me some slack—well, you know where to find me.”
twenty
I don’t even make it out of the gate before my car is gone, and my butt slams against the pavement so hard and fast it’s a moment before I realize it vanished right out from under me. I gaze around in a daze, trying to determine how that could’ve happened, when a speeding Mercedes comes barreling toward me, nearly running me over as its driver honks, flips me the bird, and yells a slew of obscenities my way.
Scrambling to the side, I shut my eyes tightly, determined to manifest a new car, something more powerful and quicker this time. Imagining a flaming red Lamborghini, and seeing it so clearly before me, I’m shocked to open my eyes and find its not there. And after taking a deep breath and trying again, first aiming for a Porsche, then a Miata like the one I have at home, it still doesn’t work so I try for a silver Prius like the one Munoz drives, followed by a Smart Car—but nothing comes. Nothing at all. And I’m so desperate for wheels by this point, I’ll happily settle for a scooter, but when I can’t even manifest that, I half jokingly try for a pair of Rollerblades instead. Discovering just how bad it’s gotten for me when all I end up with is a pair of white leather boots with two strips of metal where the wheels should be. And that’s when I decide to run instead. Happy to know that if nothing else, I still have my own strength and speed.
My feet pounding the asphalt, heels slamming easily, effortlessly, as I make my way along the curving, swooping hills of Coast Highway, fully intent on heading straight home only to run right past the turn and head elsewhere instead. Somewhere better. Somewhere that has everything I need—everything I could ever desire. So single-minded in my vision, so determined to reach my destination no matter the cost, I move faster, quicker, and in no time at all, I’m there.
Right outside Roman’s door.
My body shaking with longing, anticipation, as the dark flame inside me burns so brightly it threatens to incinerate my insides. Closing my eyes and sensing him, feeling him.
Roman’s inside.
And all I have to do is push the door open and he’s mine.
In one fluid movement, I’m in. The door slamming so hard against the wall, the entire house reverberates from the force, as I slink down the hall, quickly, silently, finding Roman in his den, lounging on the couch, arms spread wide, face expectant, as though he’s been waiting for me.
“Ever.” He nods, not the least bit surprised, not missing a beat. “You really have an issue with doors, don’t you? Is that another one I’ll have to replace?”
I move toward him without hesitation, his name a purr on my lips as my body anticipates the chill of his gaze.
He nods, slowly, steadily, as though listening to a rhythm heard only by him. Allowing his Ouroboros tattoo to flash in and out of view, his voice low and measured, when he says, “Nice of you to drop by darlin’, but truth be told, I liked you better the last time you came over. You know, when you stood outside my window in that fetching see-through nightie of yours?” His lips lift at the corner as he slips a cigarette between them, sparks the tip, and takes a long, thoughtful drag. Carefully blowing a succession of perfectly timed smoke rings my way when he adds, “As it stands now—well, you’re hardly at your finest. In fact, you’re looking rather—peckish, aren’t you?”
I rub my lips together, moistening them with my tongue as I attempt to comb my fingers through my sad snarl of hair. What used to be a glossy thick mane I was inordinately proud of is now reduced to a dull, ratted nest of split ends. I should’ve done more, should’ve made some sort of effort, worn some perfume, dabbed on a little concealer, taken the time to manifest some new clothes that actually fit my newly shrunken form. Cringing under the weight of his glare, the way it rakes over my emaciated body, clearly far from impressed with what I have to offer.
“Seriously, darlin’, if you’re gonna come crashin’ your way in ’ere like that, then you need to look a little more presentable. I’m not Damen, luv. I won’t go shaggin’ just any ol’ thing. I’ve got me standards, you know?”
I close my eyes, willing to do whatever it takes to please him, to be with him, and knowing I’ve succeeded when I see the glazed look that comes over his face.