Dark Flame (The Immortals #4)(84)
“Then I misjudged you.” I shrug. “Then I walk away with nothing. But I won’t hate you, and I won’t bother you again. But I think you’ll definitely believe in karma once you experience the effects of an action like that. So—you ready?”
He looks at me, looks at me for a long moment, weighing, considering, until he finally nods, his gaze holding steady on mine when he says, “Wanna know where I keep it?”
I swallow hard. My breath quickening.
“It’s right here.” He reaches over to his nightstand, opens a drawer, pulls out a small, jewel-encrusted, velvet-lined box and retrieves a slim glass vial filled with an opalescent liquid that looks an awful lot like elixir—except that it’s green.
And I watch as he waves it before me, seeing it sparkle and shine, hardly able to believe that the answer to all of my troubles is so small and contained.
“I thought you said you didn’t keep it here,” I say, my mouth gone suddenly dry as I take it in—seeing it shimmering before me.
“I didn’t. Not ’til after the other night. Before that, I kept it at the store. But this is it, luv—a single serving with no recipe card on file—the full list of ingredients exists only in here.” He taps the side of his head and eyes me carefully. “So, we have a deal, right? You show me yours—and I’ll give you mine.” He smiles, slipping the antidote into his shirt pocket and gazing at me when he says, “But you first. You hold up your end of the deal. Take me to her—and the happily ever after is yours.”
thirty-four
“Close your eyes,” I whisper, grasping Roman’s cold hands in mine, our knees pressed tightly together, our faces so close I can feel the chill of his breath on my cheek. “And now open your mind. Ridding it as best you can of all extraneous thoughts. Just empty it out—let it go blank—drop everything and just—be. Got it?”
He nods, squeezing my fingers even tighter. So focused on this, wanting so badly to see where Drina now lives, it’s heartbreaking.
“Now, I want you to enter my mind. I’m going to lower my shield and allow you in, and—I’m warning you, Roman—you may not like what you see, you may become extremely angry with me, but I want you to remember I’m holding up my end of the deal, okay? I never said you’d like it, I only said I’d take you to where she is.” I open one eye to see him nod once again, “Okay, so now—come in—slowly find your way in and—you with me?”
“Yes,” he whispers. “Yes—it’s so—dark—so—I can’t see a thing—and I’m falling—so fast—so—where—?”
“It’ll end soon—just hang in there,” I coax.
His breath quickens as the chill of it, a cloud of cold fog, hits my cheek. “It’s—it’s stopped—the fall—but it’s still so dark—and so—I’m—suspended—and—alone—so alone—but I’m not—someone else is out there—she’s out there—and—oh, God—Drina—where are you—” He grips my hands tighter, so tight they’re about to go numb, his breath shallow, ragged, his body dripping with the sweat of his efforts as it collapses onto mine and he’s swept away by the events unfolding in my head—his head—a breathless tour of the Shadowland, the infinite abyss, the final resting place for all immortal souls—including ours.
Mumbling a string of words so softly I can’t make them out, I only know from the tone that they’re agitated, disturbed, fretful, as he hovers in the darkness, clawing and grasping, desperately seeking her. His forehead pushed against mine, nose pressed to my cheek, lips resting so near, all of his energy and strength focused on her.
And that’s how Jude finds us.
That’s what he sees.
Roman and I together, sweating on his sheets, our bodies pressed tightly together, clutching at each other, both of us so lost in the vision, we don’t see him, don’t hear him, until it’s too late.
Too late to stop him.
Too late to undo what he does.
Too late to rewind and go back—back to how it was before—when I was so close—so close to getting what I want.
And before I know it, I’m wrenched from Roman’s grip, as Jude lunges on top of him, fist headed right toward the center of his torso, immune to my scream.
My agonized: “Noooooo!”
The sound of it filling up the room, and repeating over and over again.
Scrambling to get up—to pull him off—to stop him from going any further—but it’s too late. As fast as I am—I can’t beat him—I got a late start—I was thrown off my game—and Jude’s already there.
Already on top of Roman.
Already slamming his fist into his sacral center.
His weakest chakra.
His Achilles’ heel.
The center of jealousy, envy, and the irrational desire to possess.
The collection of needs that drove Roman for the last six hundred years.
Instantly turning him from glorious golden boy to pile of dust.
I leap onto Jude, grab him by the shoulders, and fling him to the other side of the room, hearing a dull crack as he lands against the dresser, but not bothering to look back. Focusing on only one thing, Roman’s white linen shirt glittering with tiny shards of glass as a dark green stain spreads across its front.