Dark Flame (The Immortals #4)(57)

I tear off the paper as fast as I can, dropping the shredded bits to the floor and lifting the lid to reveal a slim, purple leather photo album containing all the photos Riley took on that fateful trip to the lake—including the one I saw in Summerland. And as I flip through them, I can’t help but wonder if she somehow arranged this—if she can see this—see me? But I don’t call out to her again, that never leads anywhere anymore. I just wipe my face of tears and whisper a quiet Thanks. Placing it on my nightstand, knowing I’ll want to keep it someplace close where I can look at it again and again. Then I reach for the envelope with my name inscribed on its front in an overly formal scrawl—sucking in my breath as it shimmers and glows in my hand, and knowing from the way my whole body chills it’s from him.

Tipping my nail under the flap, determined to get this over with fast, I glance at its pink, glittery cover before flipping it open and skimming the usual, preprinted message before my gaze drops to the lower left corner, where Roman’s written a note in his loopy, cursive scrawl, reads:




It’s time to claim that which you most desire

Today on your birthday I’ll grant a cease-fire

Be at my house before midnight tonight

A second too late and this offer expires

Hope to see you soon!

Roman

xoxo





twenty-five


By the time I get to Roman’s I have only minutes to spare. Two to be exact, and I’m hoping his clock is reflecting that too. But this time, instead of charging the door like I usually do, I rap my knuckles against it and wait. Because if we truly are calling a truce like he says, then a show of manners can’t hurt.

I wait, adding up the seconds as I glance at my watch, the soft sound of his approaching feet signaling that my moment has come—the result of magick done right.

The door swings open and he stands there before me, all sparkly blue eyes, glistening white teeth, and suntanned skin. A black silky robe kind of thing, what was once called a smoking jacket, hanging loose off his shoulders, exposing an ample expanse of bare chest, abs that are remarkably defined, and a pair of old faded jeans that hang low on his hips.

And that’s all it takes. One passing glance at the bounty before me and my body begins to tremble, my knees start to sag, and my pulse quickens in a way so horrible, so dreadfully familiar, a new understanding slowly creeps over me:

The monster isn’t slain! Isn’t banished at all! It merely retreated, hunkered down somewhere deep, biding its time, and rebuilding its strength until it could rise up again . . .

I swallow hard, forcing a nod as though everything’s fine. Aware of his gaze sweeping over me, not missing a thing, knowing I need to get through this no matter what, there’s no way I can fail when everything I need is so well within my reach.

He motions me in, head cocked to the side. “Glad to see you’re on time,” he says, studying me carefully.

I turn, not even halfway down the hall before I stop and reconsider. Seeing the look of amusement that crosses his face as the color drains from mine. “Just in time for what, exactly? What’s this about?” I narrow my gaze, pressing up against the wall as he slinks past and urges me to follow.

“Why it’s about your birthday, of course!” He laughs, glancing over his shoulder and shaking his head. “That Damen’s such a sentimental wanker—I’m sure he did his best to make your day special. Though, I daresay not nearly as special as I’m about to make it.”

I stand my ground, refusing to budge. But despite the fact that my hands and legs are so shaky it feels as though the sockets are coming loose, my voice stays controlled, measured, giving nothing away. “Fulfilling your promise and giving me what I want will make it special enough. No need to offer me a seat I won’t take, and a drink I’ll refuse. Why don’t we just fast-forward from here and get to it, okay?”

He looks at me, eyes creasing with laughter as a smile tugs at his lips. “Wow, that Damen’s one lucky bloke.” He shakes his head and rakes his fingers through his golden tousle of curls. “None of that time-wasting foreplay for you. Seems our little Ever here would rather skip right past the appetizers and get to the main course—and, luv, I can’t applaud you loudly enough for that.”

I force my face to remain blank, impassive, despite how much his words may disturb me. Painfully aware of this dark flame burning hotter inside me, now fanned by his presence.

“And while you may not desire a drink or a seat, as it just so happens I do. And since I’m the host of this little soiree, I’m afraid you’ll just have to humor me.”

He swoops toward the den in a swirl of black silk, sidling behind the bar and filling a heavy crystal goblet with a generous splash of red. Wiggling the glass before me, encouraging the opalescent liquid to spark and shine as it runs up and down the sides, reminding me of what Haven once said about it being more potent than Damen’s and wondering if it’s true. If it gives them some sort of advantage—if it would work that way for me too or end up making me as crazy and dangerous as them.

I rub my lips together and struggle to steady myself. My fingers growing fidgety, twitchy, knowing it’s not much longer before I lose it completely.

“So sorry about your little problem with Haven.” Roman nods, raising his glass and taking a long, steady sip. “But people change, you know? Not all friendships are built to last.”