Dark Flame (The Immortals #4)(53)
We kiss in a field of tulips so red, they’re a nearly perfect match for my blaze of thick, wavy hair. He in a filmy white shirt and loose trousers, I in a blush-colored slip of silk, strategically knotted and tied. Taking the occasional break so he can continue to paint me, adding a stroke here, a dab there, only to throw down his brush, pull me back to him, and kiss me again.
All of my lives so different, and yet somehow playing out almost exactly the same—the two of us finding each other and falling quickly, only to have Damen, determined to not act rashly, to gain my full trust before feeding me the elixir, hesitate for so long it gave Drina enough time to catch on and eliminate me.
And that’s why you wasted no time when you found me after the accident, I think. Cradled in the warmth of his arms, my cheek pressed tightly to his chest, seeing the moment from his perspective—how he’d found me when I was ten (thanks to a little help from Romy and Rayne and Summerland)—and how he spent the next several years biding his time until enough years had passed and he moved to Eugene, Oregon. Having just enrolled in my high school when the accident happened and destroyed all his plans.
I watch him at the scene—see how he hesitates—nervously fretting—begging for guidance. Panicking when the silver cord that attaches the body to the soul became so tense, so stretched, it snapped yet again, instantly forming his decision to press the bottle to my lips and force me to drink, forced me back to life, to become immortal like him.
Any regrets? He gazes at me, urging me to be honest, no matter what.
But I just shake my head. Smiling as I pull him back to me, back to that blazing red field of that long-ago day.
twenty-three
“You ready?”
Damen’s fingers graze over my lips, the almost feel of them infusing me with the memory of a kiss so real, so tangible, I’m tempted to drag him right back to Summerland and start up all over again.
Only I can’t. We can’t. We already committed to this. And though it can never compare to the birthday celebration Damen just gave me, everyone’s waiting and there’s no turning back.
I take a deep breath and gaze at the house just before us. Its fa?ade simple, attractive, in that cozy, welcoming way, despite that fact that it’s hosted some of the very worst scenes of my not-so-long-ago past.
“Let’s go back to Paris,” I murmur, only half joking. “You don’t even have to edit out the nasty parts. Seriously. I’d much rather put on the crunchy brown dress and scrub the latrines—or whatever they called them back then—than face this.”
“Latrines?” He looks at me and shakes his head, the sweet tinkle of his laugh flowing over me as his dark eyes glint. “Sorry, Ever, but there were no latrines back then. No restrooms, or bathrooms, or water closets even. That was the time of chamber pots. A sort of, well, ceramic pot, kept under one’s bed. And trust me, that is one memory you do not want to relive.”
I grimace, unable to imagine how completely gross that must’ve been to use such a device, much less to have to empty it. Visibly wincing when I say, “See? If I could only explain to Munoz that the real reason I’m just not that into his class is because history tends to lose its appeal for those who were actually forced to live it.”
Damen laughs, head thrown back in a way that makes his neck so inviting, so enticing, it’s all I can do not to press my lips hard against it. “Trust me, we’ve all lived it. Most of us just don’t get the chance to remember it, much less relive it.” He looks at me, his face gone serious when he says, “So, are you ready? I know it’s awkward, and I know you’re still a long way from ever trusting her again, but they’re waiting, so at the very least, let’s just stop in and allow them the pleasure of shouting Happy Birthday, okay?”
He looks at me, gaze warm, open, and I know if I said no, showed the slightest bit of resistance, he’d go with it. But I won’t. Because the truth is, he’s right. I have to face her again eventually. Not to mention how I’d really like her to look me in the eye as she tries to convince me of her highly unlikely story.
I nod slowly, reluctantly, moving toward the door when he says, “Now remember—act surprised.” Rapping his knuckles once, twice, then merging his brows when no one bothers to answer it in a well-rehearsed chorus of “Surprise!”
He pushes the door open, leading me past the entry, down the hall, and into the sunny yellow kitchen beyond, only to find Ava, dressed in a brown strapless dress and gold sandals, casually helping herself to a drink that’s suspiciously red.
“Sangria,” she says, shaking her head and laughing when she adds, “Really, Ever, just how long will it take for you to trust me again?”
I press my lips together and shrug, doubting I’ll ever be able to trust her again, despite what Damen’s told me. I need to hear it from her, then I’ll decide.
“Everyone’s out back.” She nods, looking at me when she adds, “So tell me, were you surprised?”
“Only by the lack of surprise.” I grant her a half smile, that’s the best I can manage, and she’s lucky to even get that. And that has far less to do with how I may feel about her personally, and more to do with the fact that she’s gladly taken over the care and feeding of the twins, allowing Damen and me our privacy again.
“So it did work!” She laughs, ushering Damen and me out back where everyone’s gathered. “We figured the only way to throw you off the scent was to do the opposite of what you expect.”