Everlasting (The Immortals #6)(83)
chapter forty-two
On my way to Damen’s I make a quick detour.
Just one quick stop to utilize my manifesting powers while I stil can.
Just one brief diversion that I hope wil amount to something that Damen and I can enjoy together. If not, then I can only assume that someone else wil enjoy it for us.
But I can’t al ow myself to think like that.
Can’t al ow even the slightest bit of negativity to slip in.
I’m sure Damen wil bear enough for the both of us, so it’s not like I need to add to it.
I wave at Sheila the gate guard, who
surprisingly, considering how long I’ve been gone, just waves me right in. Then I make my way up the hil and around the series of turns, until I’m pul ing onto his street. Remembering the very first time I came here—back when I was uninvited and forced to climb through an open kitchen window—only to find the place devoid of al furnishings in a way that wasn’t just empty, but eerily empty. Wel , eerily empty except for the room upstairs where he kept al of his most cherished mementos from his past—a room that took me some time to learn to appreciate. I leave my car in the drive and head for the door. Not bothering to ring the bel or knock, I just let myself in. Charging right through his enormous foyer and straight toward the stairs, knowing just where to find him, just where he goes when he’s feeling troubled like he is.
He stands at the window, his back turned to me, his gaze fixed on some faraway place, when he says, “There was a time when you thought this room was creepy. When you thought I was creepy.”
I pause by the old velvet settee, making no attempt to deny what he said. Taking in his col ection of handwoven tapestries, crystal chandeliers, golden candelabras, gilt-framed masterpieces—a visual reminder of a very long, adventure-fil ed life—a visual reminder that what I’m about to ask of him is no smal request.
“There was a time when you held great
resentment toward me for what I’d done to you—for what I’d made you.”
I nod, there’s no use denying that either, we both know it’s true. And though I wish he would face me, though I beg him with my mind to turn so he can see me, he remains where he is, rooted in place.
“And it’s clear you stil cling to that resentment. It’s why we find ourselves here. Divided like we are.”
“I don’t resent you,” I say, gaze glued to his back. “I know everything you’ve done, you’ve done out of love. How could I possibly resent you for that?”
My voice cushioned by antique rugs, heavy drapes, piles of silk pil ows, but stil managing to echo right back at me, sounding much smal er than I would’ve anticipated.
“But we are now at a crossroads.” He nods, his finger playing at something he holds against the windowsil , something he keeps just out of view. “You want to erase what I’ve done and go back to the old way of being, while I want to stay as I am, hold on to the life I’ve grown used to living.” He sighs. “And, I’m afraid in light of al that, there’s real y no way to compromise. We’ve come to a juncture—a place where we either have to find a way to agree on a shared destination, or head off in separate directions, and live separate lives.”
I stay quiet, stil , hating the sound of his words—
the way they cause my gut to clench and stir—yet knowing it’s true. A choice must be made, and it must be made soon.
“You must understand, Ever, that even though you’ve built a very strong and valid case, even though my choice is wrong in many, if not every, way
—for the last six hundred years this al that I’ve known. This is the life I’ve become accustomed to. And, as much as I hate to admit it, I’m just not sure I’m cut out to be mortal. While it was easy to give up on my extravagant ways when I thought my karma was to blame for our problems—while it was extremely easy to trade in my handmade motorcycle boots for rubber flip-flops—what you ask of me now, wel , it’s another thing entirely. And I know how incredibly hypocritical I probably sound. On the one incredibly hypocritical I probably sound. On the one hand, I claim to be so concerned with the karmic state of my soul, and yet, on the other, so fervently resistant to the one and only real solution that’s presented to fix it, but stil , there it is. Stated plainly, I’m not wil ing to give up my eternal youth and physical perfection in order to watch my body grow old and decay and eventual y die. I’m not wil ing to give up my access to magick and manifesting and easy trips to Summerland.
I’m just not. Perhaps it’s easier for you, having only been immortal for a year versus my six hundred. But, Ever, please, try to understand that my immortality has defined me for so long, I’m not sure who I’l be if I choose a life without it. I’m not sure who I’l be if I’m no longer the man you now see. Wil you stil love me? Wil I even like me? I’m just not wil ing to take the chance to find out.”
I balk. Seriously, balk. But it’s not like it matters. It’s not like he sees me. I mean, I knew he was fearful, I knew he was afraid of making such a huge change, but I never once considered he might be fearful of losing me once his physical immortality is stripped away.
Final y finding my voice enough to say, “You honestly think I won’t love you anymore? You honestly think that al of your experiences and talents and beliefs—al of the things that have shaped you into the amazing person I know you to be—wil somehow vanish and leave you a dul , empty, unlovable shel , the minute you choose to eat the fruit? Damen, seriously, you must know I don’t love you because you’re immortal, I love you because you’re you.” But even though my words are impassioned, spoken straight from the heart, they fal short.