Everlasting (The Immortals #6)(45)

Words that continue to loop and repeat, playing over and over, each and every syl able stressed with greatest urgency, until it sounds something like: Dark—like his eyes.

Red—like the blood that flowed from me.

Blue—like the river, like the stone in my pocket.

A stone I must see.

I work it up past my hip, slide it across my bel y and over to where I can see it. Marveling at how it’s managed to stay cool despite the raging inferno around me, daring to slit one eye open, despite my lashes singeing, my skin scalding, and my retina searing, I peer upon it, twirling that bril iant bluegreen crystal around in my fingers, awed by the sight green crystal around in my fingers, awed by the sight of it, until I notice something even more wondrous—

the energy that radiates from my skin like a halo of the brightest, most radiant, golden-flecked purple. The color reminding me of the one I felt earlier. The one that thrummed right through my body, back when I was in Summerland, just after I’d inadvertently traded Fleur’s experience for mine. That colorful feeling convincing me there was more to Damen’s and my story.

That we’d both lived a life we’d yet to acknowledge.

And suddenly I know what it means—know what

it is.

That bril iantly shimmering shade that I see is the color of my soul.

My immortal soul.

It’s what my aura would look like if I had one. The truth descending upon me so hard and fast it leaves no room for doubt in my mind.

I can’t die here.

Can’t die anywhere.

While it’s true that my body may not outlast this heat, no matter what, my soul wil live on.

Like the snake that hangs from the cord at my neck—each life feeds into the next.

And the moment I acknowledge that, accept it for a fact, a soft spring rain begins to fal and I jump to my feet, smiling, laughing, as I tilt my head back. Opening my mouth as wide as it wil go, encouraging a smal pool of water to col ect on my tongue. Aware of the sand fading beneath me as my toes curl into a lovely expanse of flowers and grass that springs up to replace it. Aware of my skin healing, regenerating, as one sun sparks and fades and burns itself out, while the other one dims into a warm, forgiving, lifesustaining glow. I spread my arms wide and twirl in the field, skipping, and leaping, and dancing in a rain that, having healed me, is now reduced to a light, shimmering drizzle.

I did it! I can’t help but smile triumphantly. I won! I outsmarted the river—remembered the one thing that matters most—with a little help from my friends, of course!

Friends.

I stop, my breath coming ragged, too quick, as I gaze al around, my joy vanishing the moment I realize two truths I’ve forgotten ’til now:

—I’m not like my friends. My body’s immortal, my soul is not.

—Damen’s not here. Which means he forgot. Couldn’t hold on to the memories. Al owed the river to get the best of him.

And, having traded the soul’s immortality for physical immortality there’s only one place left to find him.

Trapped inside the Shadowland.





chapter twenty-four


Though I’ve been there before, three times at last count, I have no idea how to find it. No idea where it actual y exists, or how to locate it on a map. My first visit was via the experience Damen shared with me in his head. The second was when I telepathical y showed Roman the place where Drina’s soul went. And the third was when Haven kil ed me, sent me to that horrible abyss for what felt like forever but was probably only a matter of minutes.

That’s how the Shadowland works.

But it’s not like I ever made the trip by foot. It’s not like I ever set out to find the physical manifestation of it.

So, hoping for answers, I fal back on al that I’ve learned, the things Ava taught me. And instead of al owing my mind to run amok with questions and thoughts that only result in creating panic and uncertainty while never actual y arriving anywhere helpful or good, I choose to focus on the silence within. Trusting it to guide me, to lead me, to see that I arrive in the place I’m most meant to be.

Determined to fol ow my gut, my heart, my intuition, the hidden truth resting inside—I blaze my own trail, led solely by my own instincts, but when it feels like the trek is taking too long, I decide to speed it up a bit and manifest a partner.

Riding my mount for as far as she’l go, I slide off her back the second she halts just shy of the perimeter, the place where the grass turns to mud, where the trees are al burned out and barren despite the constant deluge of rain that never ceases to fal . It’s exactly like I first thought, this horrible place real y is Summerland’s yin—its shadow self—its opposite side—providing a clear demarcation between the two worlds—one light, one dark—leaving me with no doubt in my mind that it marks the entrance to the Shadowland.

I tap my horse on her rear, urging her to head for greener pastures, as I glance al around, hoping to find Lotus, or maybe even a guide of some kind, but realizing I’m al on my own I trudge deep into the muck. Trudge past what feels like mind-numbing miles of bleak, dreary, desolate, drenched, and soggy landscape, wondering if there wil ever come a point where it turns into something else, stops looking the same. That point coming much sooner than imagined when I stumble upon a scene so drastical y different, I stop, swipe a hand over my eyes, and blink a few times to make sure I’m not hal ucinating, that I real y am seeing what I think I’m seeing. And even then, I stil have my doubts. I creep forward, my head swiveling as my eyes strive to take it al in. It’s surreal, surely a crazy mirage of my own mental making. And yet, no matter how many times I blink, no matter how long I hold my breath and stare, it refuses to yield in any way until I’ve no choice but to accept the fact that the scene that lies before me is not only real, but an exact replica of the one in my dream.