Shadowland (The Immortals #3)(66)

“Ever!” he cries, voice so urgent it resonates to my core, his arms tightening around me, shielding me in a way that feels just like home. Manifesting a soft, plushy couch where he guides me to sit, his gaze hovering over me, anxious, unnerved, having no intention of upsetting me like this.

I turn, holding my breath as my eyes meet his, afraid of finding something different, something changed, now that it’s all laid out in the open. Now that we both know it wasn’t always just him.

That there was once someone else.

And I know him today.

“I don’t—” I shake my head, feeling embarrassed, guilty, as though I’ve somehow betrayed him by unknowingly seeking him out. “I’m not sure what to say—I—”

Damen shakes his head, his hand at my cheek, drawing me near. “Don’t think that,” he says. “None of this is your fault. You hear me? None of it. It’s just karma.” He pauses, gaze holding mine. “It’s just unfinished business—so to speak.”

“But what could be unfinished?” I ask, having an inkling of an idea of where this is going and refusing to take part in that journey. “That was over a hundred years ago! And like you said, it was over before the paint even—”

But before I can get there, he’s shaking his head, hand on my cheek, my shoulder, my knee, as he says, “I’m no longer so sure about that.”

I look at him, fighting the urge to pull away. Wishing he’d stop. Wanting to leave. No longer liking it here.

“It seems I’ve interfered,” he says, face hard, judgmental, though it’s a judgment reserved only for him. “It seems I have a habit of intruding on your life, meddling in decisions that should’ve been yours. Pushing a fate that”—he pauses, jaw clenched, gaze steady, though his lip quivers in a way that reveals the price of all this—“that was never meant to be yours—”

“What are you talking about?” I cry, voice high, urgent, sensing the energy surrounding his words, and knowing it’s about to get worse.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He looks at me, the light in his eyes fractured into millions of bits—a kaleidoscope of darkness that may never be fixed.

He rises from the couch in one quick, sinuous move until he’s filling the space just before me. But before he can speak, before he can make things even worse, I rush ahead when I say, “This is ridiculous! All of it! Everything! It’s destiny that’s brought us together again and again. We’re soul mates! You said it yourself! And from what I’ve learned, that’s exactly how it works—soul mates find each other, time and again, against all odds, no matter what!” I reach for his hand but he’s slipped just out of reach, pacing before me, avoiding my touch.

“Destiny?” He shakes his head, voice harsh, gaze cruel, but all of it directed inwardly. “Was it destiny when I purposely roamed the earth in search of you—over and over again—unable to rest until I’d found you?” He stops, eyes meeting mine. “Tell me Ever, does that sound like destiny to you? Or something that was forced?”

I start to speak, lips parting wide though no words will come, watching as he turns toward the wall and stares at the girl. That proud and beautiful girl whose gaze moves right past him—toward somebody else.

“Somehow I was able to ignore all of this, push it aside for the last four hundred years, convincing myself it was our fate, that you and I were meant to be. But the other day, when you dropped by after work, I sensed something different—a shift in your energy. And then last night, at the store—I knew.

I stare at his back, the solid square of his shoulders—his lean, muscled form. Remembering how he acted so strangely, so formal, and thinking how it all makes perfect sense.

“The moment I saw his eyes, I knew.” He turns, his gaze meeting mine. “So tell me, Ever, tell me the truth, was it not the same way with you?”

I swallow hard, wanting to look away, but knowing I can’t. He’ll misread it, assume I’m holding back. Remembering the moment Jude caught me alone in his store, the way my heart raced, my cheeks flushed, along with the odd, nervous dance in my gut. One moment I was fine and the next—a mess. And all because Jude’s deep sea green eyes met mine . . .

It couldn’t mean—

Couldn’t possibly—

Could it?

I rise from the couch, moving toward him ’til our bodies are mere inches apart. Wanting to assure him, assure me. Find a way to prove that none of it meant anything.

But this is Summerland. And thoughts are energy. And I’m afraid he just witnessed mine.

“It’s not your fault,” he says, voice hoarse, rough. “Please don’t feel bad.”

I shove my hands in my pockets, pushing as deep as they’ll go, determined to steady myself in a world that’s no longer stable.

“I want you to know how sorry I am. And yet—” He shakes his head. “Sorry just doesn’t cut it. It’s woefully inadequate, and you deserve better than that. I’m afraid the only thing I can do now—the only thing that’ll make things right, is to—”

His voice breaks, prompting me to lift my face until it’s even with his. The two of us standing so close the slightest move forward could easily bridge the gap.

But just as I’m about to make the leap, he backs away, gaze steady, features drawn tight, determined to be heard when he says, “I’m stepping aside. It’s the only thing I can do at this point. From this moment on, I will no longer interfere with your fate. From this point on, every move toward your destiny is yours and yours alone to make.”