Shadowland (The Immortals #3)(19)
“But how? Everything we’ve tried so far has been a total bust.” I shake my head. “And why should we run ourselves ragged, searching for answers, when Roman’s already admitted to having the antidote? He said all I have to do is pay the right price and he’ll hand it over—how hard can that be?”
“And you’re willing to pay his price?” Damen asks, voice steady and deep as his dark eyes sweep mine.
I avert my gaze, cheeks heating to a thousand degrees. “Of course not! Or at least not the price that you think!” I bring my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them. “It’s just—” I shake my head, frustrated at having to plead my case. “It’s just that—”
“Ever, this is exactly what Roman wants.” His jaw tightens, his features harden, before meeting my gaze and softening again. “He wants to divide us, make us question each other, break us apart. He also wants us to go after him and start some kind of war. You’ve no reason to trust him, he’ll lie, manipulate, and make no mistake, it’s a very dangerous game that he plays. And while I promise to do everything in my power to protect you, you have to help me here too. You have to promise you’ll stay away from him, ignore all his taunts, and won’t rise to his bait. I’ll find a solution. Figure something out. Just please, look to me for the answers, not Roman, okay?”
I press my lips together and look away, wondering why I should promise any of that when the cure is right there for the taking. Besides, I’m the one who caused this situation. I’m the one who got us into this mess. So I should be the one to get us both out.
I switch my gaze back to his, an idea beginning to form—one that might work.
“So we’re clear about Roman?” He tilts his head and lifts his brow, unwilling to leave until I consent.
I nod, just barely, but still enough to convince him to head down the stairs so fast I can’t distinguish his form. The only hint of his having been here are the stones against my chest and the single red tulip he left on the bed.
ten
“Ever?”
I close the window on my computer and switch it to the essay I’m supposed to be writing for English. Knowing Sabine would freak if she caught me running a Google search on ancient alchemical formulas, rather than the homework she’s expecting to see.
Because as nice as it is lying beside Damen, the beat of our hearts connecting as one, in the long run, it’s just not enough. It’ll never be enough. I want a normal relationship with my immortal boyfriend. One with no barriers. One where I can truly enjoy the feel of skin as opposed to the way I remember it in my head. And I’ll pretty much stop at nothing to get it.
“Did you eat?” She places her hand on my shoulder as she peers at the screen.
And since I didn’t prepare, didn’t guard myself from her touch, that’s all it takes to see her version of the infamous Starbucks meet and greet. Which, unfortunately, is not so different from Munoz’s version—the two of them acting all happy and giddy, smiling at each other with an abundance of hope. And even though she seems really happy, and no doubt deserves to be happy especially after all that I’ve put her through, I still comfort myself with the vision I had a few months back—the one where she clearly ends up with some cute guy who works in her building. Wondering if I should say or do something to temper her excitement since it’s not like this little flirtation is going anywhere. But knowing I’ve already taken too big of a risk by outing myself to Munoz, I don’t say a word. I can’t afford to tip her off too.
I swivel around in my chair, releasing myself from her grip. Wanting to avoid seeing anything more than I already have, waiting for her energy stream to fade.
“Damen made me dinner,” I say, voice steady and low despite the fact that it’s not exactly true. Unless you count the elixir I drank.
She looks at me, gaze suddenly troubled as it narrows on mine. “Damen?” She steps back. “Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.”
I cringe, wishing I hadn’t just put it out there like that. I should’ve broken her in slowly, gotten her used to the idea of seeing him again.
“Does this mean you’re back together?”
I shrug, allowing my hair to fall in my face so it’s partially hidden. Grasping a chunk and twisting it around, pretending to inspect for split ends even though I no longer get them. “Yeah, um, we’re still—friendly.” I shrug. “I mean, actually, we’re more than friends, we’re more like—”
Dating and doomed—destined to spend an eternity in the abyss—madly in love but unable to touch—
“Well, yeah, I mean, I guess you could say we’re back together again.” Forcing a smile so wide my lips practically split down the middle, but holding it anyway, hoping it’ll encourage her to join in.
“And you’re okay with that?” She runs her hand through her golden blond hair, a shade we used to share until I started drinking the elixir which turned mine even lighter, then perches on the edge of my bed, crosses her legs, and drops her briefcase onto the floor—four very bad signs that she’s settling in for one of her long, awkward talks.
Her gaze moves over me, taking in my faded jeans, my white tank top and blue tee, searching for symptoms, hints, clues, some kind of telltale sign of adolescent distress. Having only recently ruled out anorexia and/or bulimia when my elixir-fueled growth spurt added four inches to my height and bulked up my frame with a thin layer of muscle even though I never work out.