Everlasting (The Immortals #6)(48)
She smiles, her face lighting up in a way that leaves her looking positively radiant, and at first I think it’s a response to what I just thought, only to see her eyes moving over me, motioning for Damen to look too.
Look—you’re glowing! Her expression changing to confusion when she adds: But… how can that be?
Immortals don’t glow. You never glowed. But now you do. It’s so odd—what do you suppose that it means?
Damen squints, unable to see what I see—what
she sees—the faint trace of purple that emanates from me, al around me.
She pauses, waiting for me to explain, but since I don’t even know where to begin, I just lift my shoulders and quirk my mouth to the side.
And Roman—have you sent him here too?
She looks straight at me.
I pause, wanting to stress that it wasn’t me who kil ed Roman—that, contrary to some people’s kil ed Roman—that, contrary to some people’s opinions I’m not some crazy immortal kil er. But soon realize that two out of three is hardly a record worth bragging about, much less defending, I gulp down the words and nod toward the last two remaining cubes.
And just like when Damen approached hers, when she approaches Roman’s, al activity halts as he senses her presence and cries out for her. And the second Damen cracks it open, Roman whirls out in a furious storm of energy that expands and forms, spending a few seconds as the handsome, rakish Rhys before he settles on the way he looked as the even more handsome, even more rakish Roman. Complete with golden tousled hair, piercing blue eyes, suntanned skin, faded jeans that hang dangerously low, and an unbuttoned white linen shirt that showcases his finely sculpted abs.
But even though Damen and I stand right there before him, ready to explain, defend our actions, do whatever it takes to ease what could very easily become a precarious situation—just like in life, his sole focus is Drina.
She’s al he can see.
Though unlike the past six centuries, Drina can final y see him.
The two of them drawn to each other, gazing at each other for so long, Damen clasps my hand in his and starts to move away, nearing the last remaining block when Roman cal s: Brother.
Soon fol owed by: Friend.
And then: Enemy.
Though that last part is chased with a dazzling, white-toothed smile.
We meet Roman’s gaze. Noting the way the grin lights up his face, lights up his energy, making it spark and glow as he shuts his eyes tightly and concentrates on a long stream of words he wants us to hear.
A long stream of words I can’t seem to put into any sort of context, can’t make any kind of sense of. A long convoluted list of herbs, potions, crystals, and… moon phases…
I gasp, eyes wide with disbelief, gaping at Damen, wondering if he hears what I hear, understands what, for me, just became clear.
It’s the antidote!
Roman is wil ingly, without being asked, bul ied, manipulated, or tortured, holding up his end of the deal.
The one we struck just minutes before he was kil ed and sent here.
The one where I agreed to give him what he wanted most, in exchange for what I wanted most. Drina for the antidote that’l al ow Damen and me to be together in the way that we were as Alrik and Adelina—with no need for energy shields, no fear of our DNA clashing, no threat of Damen dying. Roman’s making good on his word.
Taking a moment to repeat it once more, make
sure that we got it, took note of it, committed it to memory, because he’l soon be moving on, with Drina by his side, and he doesn’t expect to see us again, or at least not for a very long time. This is our last chance. The opportunity won’t come again. I gulp, nod, brimming with so much gratitude, so overcome with happiness, my eyes sting, my throat swel s, and I’ve no idea where to start, what to say. But I don’t have to say anything. He and Drina have already joined hands, already turned away. Already headed to the next cube where, having no further need of us, they pool their energy in a way that splits it wide open, al owing Haven to burst out of her own personal hel .
She shoots straight for me. An angry bal of raging red energy that, from al appearances, is stil furious with me.
Stil blames me.
Stil intends to make good on her last spoken words—her threat to undo me.
Damen shouts, jumps between us, his arms spread wide, doing his best to cover me, to defend me from whatever she’s planned.
But just as she reaches us, hovering a mere razor’s width away, she stops, slows, and I watch, eyes wide with wonder, as the furious red glow of her simmers into a much softer rose-toned pink. Shifting between al of the personas of her previous lives, beginning with my cousin, Esme’s sister, Fiona, before transitioning into several more I vaguely recognize from scenes I’ve viewed of my past incarnations. Amazed to learn she’s been with me al this time, usual y from a distance, never as a close friend or even a sister, but stil , wow, I had no idea. I start to apologize, want her to know how deeply sorry I am, but she’s far too impatient, and deeply sorry I am, but she’s far too impatient, and quickly waves it away. There’s stil more to show me, she’s not quite through yet, and I watch as she transitions into al of the guises she wore in her most recent life. Everything from her prima bal erina phase, to her J. Crew preppy phase, to the goth phase she was in back when we first met, to the short-lived Drina-wannabe phase that fol owed, to the emo phase that came shortly after, to the black leather and lace rock ’n’ rol gypsy look that didn’t last long before transitioning into her super-scary immortal witch phase, as Miles once cal ed it—the one her life ended with—until final y settling upon a version of herself I’ve never seen before. One where her hair is long and shiny and wel cared for, her eyes clear and bright, her clothing slightly edgy, Haven-like, but not crying out for attention or in-yourface angry. But the biggest change of al is the radiant smile that lights up her face, tel ing me she’s final y found herself—final y at peace.