Everlasting (The Immortals #6)(47)

I pause, taking a few moments to consider his words, while careful y sifting through a few of my own. “Wel ,” I say, my voice low, quiet, my eyes never once straying far from the elegant planes of his face.

“From what I’ve experienced so far, the best way to make up for al that is to release them. That’s pretty much al we can do at this point.”

I show him the crystal, show him how I’ve been using it to break through the glass and set the souls free. Motioning for him to join me, and watching as he places his palms to the surface and sends a silent plea for forgiveness. His flesh throbbing, blistering, blackening, before becoming almost mummified looking—refusing my offer of the crystal that wil al ow him to heal, he prefers to suffer, convinced he deserves it, as he fol ows me from one to the next. The two of us repeating the sequence—

Damen expressing his regrets as I send the glass shattering so another soul can rush out.

When we get to the next one, we halt—

immediately sensing something different. Instantly alerted to something unusual that sets it apart from those that came before. And even though the energy within is just as frantic as al the others, thrashing furiously, crashing from top to bottom and side to side, moving so fast it’s hard to get a handle on, to see it for anything more than a confusing blur—it’s stil an energy we both recognize.

So I bow out. Step to the side.

This particular soul is Damen’s to release, not mine.

While we al share a past, a long and convoluted history of jealousy that always ends in murder, my murder, the two of them have memories that don’t involve me, have nothing to do with me—and not al of them bad.

I hand him the crystal, listening as he cal s to her silently, telepathical y, but stil I can hear. And when he places his hands on either side of her cube, everything stil s.

Damen? she cal s, sensing his presence, his energy, or maybe it’s just wishful thinking. Maybe she’s been cal ing for him since the day I kil ed her and sent her soul here.

I am here. He closes his eyes, presses his forehead to the glass, holding on to the sides with each hand. I have failed you. Failed you in so many ways. Failed to love you in the way that you wanted, in the way that you needed. And though I may have saved your life, may have spared you from the black plague, I’m afraid that in the end, I stepped in where I didn’t belong, and, because of it, I’ve reduced you to this.

His breath fogs up the glass, prompting him to swipe a finger across it, then clear it with the scorched palm of his smoldering hand.

Drina Magdalena, you are Poverina no more. So please go. Be free. You have other places to be. I was never meant to be your destiny. He taps the crystal to the glass, drags it down each side, a bit across the top. Encouraging it to shatter into long, thin strips that fal to the ground before breaking into much smal er pieces that crumble at his feet.

I brace myself. Brace for just about anything. Expecting an angry whirl of energy that, if history is any indication, wil most likely hurl itself straight at me.

Which is why I’m surprised when she chooses to seep out slowly.

Her energy hovering before us, expanding, stretching, at first forming into a brief image of herself as my cousin Esme that lasts only a few seconds before she settles into her last incarnation as the gloriously beautiful, red-haired, green-eyed Drina—a beauty so startling even death cannot mar it.

She floats closer to Damen, her gaze moving over him, drinking him in as a quiet communication passes between them. And even though I can hear it, even though neither one of them tries to hide it from even though neither one of them tries to hide it from me, I stil turn away, try to grant them their privacy. Catching only about every third word, leaving their dialogue sounding something like:

Sorry—forgive

you—forgive

me—wrong—

wasted—misguided—regretful—then back to sorry again.

She reaches toward him, cups his face between her fingers, her mouth tugging down at the corners when he involuntarily flinches at the feel of her—her gaze saddening at the bottomless pool of regret she finds in his eyes.

And when she turns to me, it’s not at al what I expected. The usual score of hate, taunts, and threats has been replaced with a soft lilting reverence.

I should’ve known the first time I killed you, she thinks. I should’ve realized back then that even without your presence beside him, your love never died. I may have succeeded in borrowing him for a time, but he was never really mine, and it was never very long before he went searching for you again. Throughout all of these years, from the very first moment he met you as Adelina, his heart was claimed for good. He belongs only to you. You and Damen are meant to be. And I’ve been a fool for interfering. She sighs, shakes her head, reaches forward as though to touch me, but then, remembering Damen’s reaction, she thinks better, returns her arm to her side.

And I’m not sure who’s more surprised, her, Damen, or me, when I choose to step forward—

when I choose to reach for her hand and grasp it in mine. Suddenly knowing why Damen flinched the way he did, it’s not so much the cold, it’s more the buzz of her energy—the sheer, vibrating intensity is hard to get used to.

The words streaming into my head when she thinks: If you can forgive me, then soon, I’ll be leaving.

I gaze into the eyes of the person who kil ed me time and time again. Trying to rid herself of me, rid the world of me, only to find that she couldn’t. No matter how hard she tried, I kept coming back. And I’m amazed to find I can no longer think of her as the enemy. Now that I know the truth, know that we’re connected, that I’m as much a part of her as she is of me, I can no longer hate her. And even though this seems like the end, this good-bye is probably only temporary. I’ve no doubt we’l someday meet again. I just hope she can manage to hold on to some of the wisdom she’s gained.