Dark Flame (The Immortals #4)(6)
Today I’d prefer to look just about anywhere else.
“So, you told her?” His fingers trail along the side of my cheek, the curve of my ear, his touch filling me with tingle and heat despite the ever-present energy veil that hovers between us. “Did the cupcake provide the distraction you hoped it would?” His lips nip at my lobe before working their way down my neck.
I lean back against the cushions, closing my eyes in a feigned bout of fatigue. But the truth is, I don’t want him to see me, to observe me too closely. Don’t want him to sense my thoughts, my essence, my energy—that strange, foreign pulse that’s been stirring inside me for the last several days.
“Hardly.” I sigh. “She pretty much ignored it—guess she’s like us now—in more ways than one.” Feeling the weight of his gaze as he studies me intensely.
“Care to elaborate?”
I scrunch down even lower and toss my leg over his, my breath slowing as I settle into the warmth of his energy. “She’s just—so far advanced. I mean, she has the whole look, you know? That eerie, flawless, immortal look. She even heard my thoughts—until I blocked them.” I frown and shake my head.
“Eerie? Is that how you see it—see us?” Clearly distressed by my words.
“Well—not really eerie.” I pause, wondering why I phrased it like that. “More like—not normal. I mean, I doubt even supermodels look that perfect all the time. Not to mention, what are we gonna do if she grows four inches practically overnight like I did? How do we possibly explain that?”
“Same way we did with you,” he says, eyes narrowed, cautious, more interested in the words I’m not saying than the ones that I am. “We’ll call it a growth spurt. They’re not that uncommon among mortals, you know.” His voice lifts in a weak attempt at levity that doesn’t quite work.
I avert my gaze, taking in the crowded bookshelves filled with leather-bound first editions, the abstract oil paintings, most of them priceless originals, knowing he’s onto me. He knows something’s up, but I’m hoping he can’t sense just how far it goes. That I’m just saying the words, going through the motions, not really invested in any of this.
“And so—does she hate you like you feared?” he asks, voice steady, deep, the slightest bit probing.
I peer at him, this wonderful glorious creature who’s loved me for the last four hundred years and continues to do so no matter how many blunders I make, no matter how many lives I mess up. Sighing as I close my eyes and manifest a single red tulip that I promptly hand over. Serving not just as the symbol of our undying love, but also the winning wager in the bet that we made.
“You were right—you win.” I shake my head, remembering how she reacted just like he said. “She’s thrilled beyond belief. Can’t thank me enough. Feels just like a rock star. No—scratch that, better than a rock star. She feels like a vampire rock star. But you know, the new and improved kind—without all that nasty bloodsucking and coffin sleeping.” I shake my head and smile in spite of myself.
“A member of the mythical undead?” Damen cringes, not liking the analogy one bit. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s just a side effect of her recent goth phase. The thrill will die down eventually. You know, once the reality sinks in.”
“Is that how it is for you?” he asks, finger just under my chin, making me look at him again. “Is the thrill dying down—or perhaps even—gone?” His gaze deep, knowing, attuned to every shift of my mood. “Is that why you find it so hard to look at me now?”
“No!” I shake my head, fully aware that I’ve been caught and desperate to refute it. “I’m just—tired. I’ve been feeling a little—on edge lately, that’s all.” I nuzzle closer, burying my face in the hollow of his neck, right next to where the cord for his amulet rests. That edgy prickly feeling I’ve been carrying for days, tempering, melting, as I inhale his warm musky scent over and over again. “Why can’t every moment be like this?” I murmur, knowing what I really mean is: Why can’t I always be like this—feel like this?
Why is everything changing?
“It can.” He shrugs. “There’s really no reason why it can’t.”
I pull away and meet his gaze. “Oh, I can think of at least two very good reasons.”
Nodding toward Romy and Rayne, the twin terrors we’re now responsible for as they bound down the stairs. Identical in their straight dark hair with razor-slashed bangs, pale skin, and large dark eyes—but complete opposites in their dress. Romy wearing a pink terry cloth sundress with matching flip-flops, while Rayne’s barefoot and dressed in all black, with Luna, their tiny black kitten, riding high on her shoulder. The two of them shooting Damen a happy, warm smile and glaring at me—business as usual, and pretty much the only thing that hasn’t changed around here.
“They’ll come around,” he says, wanting to believe it and wishing I would too.
“No they won’t.” I sigh, fumbling for my flip-flops. “But then, it’s not like they don’t have their reasons.” I slip on my shoes and look at him.
“Leaving so soon?”
I nod, avoiding his gaze. “Sabine’s making dinner, Munoz is coming over—it’s a whole bonding thing. She wants us to get to know each other better. You know, less student teacher, more future nonblood relations.” I shrug, realizing the instant it’s out that I should’ve invited him. It’s incredibly rude not to include him. But Damen’s presence will only mess with my other evening plans. The ones he may suspect but can’t possibly witness. Especially after making his feelings on my foray into magick so abundantly clear. Tacking on an awkward, “So—you know . . .” and leaving it to hang there, dangling between us, since I’ve no idea where to take it from there.