Everlasting (The Immortals #6)(59)

I rol my eyes, aware that it’s wasted since he can’t see it, but stil , it makes me feel better and at the moment I’l take al the good feeling I can get.

“And speaking of Roman…” Rafe pauses

dramatical y, though it’s pretty obvious what’s to fol ow. “Whatever happened to him? Been a while since he and I last caught up. According to the rumor mil , you kil ed him. But then, I’ve never been one for secondhand information. Whenever possible, I like to go straight to the source. So, tel me, Ever, is it true? Did you do it? Because even though I don’t know you al that wel , I have to say, it’s definitely got that grim ring of truth. You’ve got it in you, that’s for sure. I knew it the first time I saw you. No offense, of course.”

“None taken.” I scowl, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable with the fact that he’s behind me, but doing my best not to let on. “It’s true that Roman’s no longer with us,” I say, confirming what Rafe already knows, though careful to give no hint of the deep remorse I feel for that loss, nor any indication of who might be to blame. My voice growing bolder when I add, “Turns out he wasn’t so immortal after al . But then, you already guessed that, didn’t you?”

The breeze quickens, sweeping past us,

causing the air to chil to an uncomfortable degree. Becoming so cold my heart sinks, knowing I can’t possibly bear another winter again, especial y not with Rafe here.

Unwil ing to stop long enough to retrieve my jacket from my backpack, I rub my hands up and down my arms in an attempt to warm myself. My ears pricking with interest when a second gust rustles past. Only this time, in addition to the usual crackling of leaves and pattering of rocks tumbling over each other, it carries a whole other sound—one that’s either animal or human—I can’t be too sure. Al I know is that Rafe and I are no longer the only ones here.

My hair lifts, swirling around me as I fight to gather the strands in my fist. Noticing the way the fog thinned just enough to al ow for a glimpse of a distant snowcapped mountain, along with the very top branches of what must be a very tal tree (possibly the tree?), before thickening again and blotting everything out.

Determined to keep Rafe focused on me,

hoping he didn’t see what I saw, I turn to him and say, “By the way, what exactly are you doing here?

Surely this is no accident? So what is it you’re up to?

Are you in cahoots with Misa and Marco? Or maybe even a friend of Lotus’s by chance? Or, are you even a friend of Lotus’s by chance? Or, are you seriously going to try to convince me that you’re just out for a day hike?”

I cock a brow, taking in what little I can see of him, his height, his wavy mane of dark hair, but the rest is al white. But when he doesn’t answer, when he just moves as though he might try to jump me, I reach for my flashlight and shine it right in his face, the beam cutting through the haze and showing me al that I need to see—which isn’t much of anything. Like al the other rogue immortals I’ve met this past year, Rafe remains remarkably cool under pressure. His face showing no sign that he’s even startled by the sharp beam of light now shining on him. For someone who’s just been caught positioning himself to better attack me, he doesn’t look even the slightest bit guilty. If anything, he just looks determined.

But there is something else.

Something that real y stands out though I try not to let on.

He looks older.

Way older.

Last time I saw him he was just another super-hot, perfect specimen of a gorgeous immortal. But now, while he’s stil real y good-looking, he’s also showing some definite signs of aging and wear

—the years catching up with him in the form of graying hair and the fan of wrinkles surrounding his eyes. Even his teeth seem a little yel ow, as opposed to what I’ve come to think of as bright and shiny immortal white.

And suddenly I know exactly why he’s here.

“Let’s cut the crap, shal we?” he says, closing the smal gap between us in a handful of seconds.

“Neither one of us is on a day hike.

You’re on Lotus’s journey to the Tree of Life. Hoping to get your hands on the one piece of fruit it bears every one thousand years.” He stares at me, his voice a perfect match for the glare in his gaze.

“One beautiful, perfect piece of fruit that looks like a cross between a pomegranate and a peach. One amazing piece of produce that offers immortality to whoever is lucky enough to pluck it, seize it, taste it. And, as it turns out, the mil ennium is up. It’s time for the harvest. And while I’m sure you consider yourself worthy of a bite, I hate to break it to you, Ever, but this is how it’s gonna go down: You’re gonna lead me to the tree, and I’l be the one to claim its bounty.”

I continue to study him, my flashlight moving over his face, wondering if I should fil him in on the truth that the fruit isn’t quite what it’s rumored to be. That the story behind its powers was never intended to be taken quite so literal y. The tree’s fruit grants wisdom and enlightenment to those who seek it—

providing the ultimate truth—the knowledge that they are truly immortal beings. For those who’ve achieved physical immortality, wel , it has a reversal effect—

returning the body and the soul back to the way it was always intended to be.

Which is not at al the sort of immortality he seeks—though it’s definitely the kind that he needs. But instead I just say, “And why would I agree to do that?”