Shadowland (The Immortals #3)
Shadowland: Chapter 11

I toss and turn all night. Bed a tangled mess of sweat-dampened pillows and blankets, body and mind exhausted by dreams. Waking briefly, gasping for air, only to be pulled under again, returning to the very same place I fought to escape.

And the only reason I want it to stop is because Riley is there. Laughing happily as she grabs hold of my hand, taking me on a tour of a very strange land. But even though I skip right alongside her, pretending to enjoy the trip too, the moment she turns her back, I scramble for the surface, eager to remove myself from this scene.

Because the truth is, it’s not really Riley. Riley is gone. Having crossed the bridge at my urging, moving on to some unknown place. And even though she keeps yanking me back, yelling at me to pay attention, to just trust her and stop running—I refuse to obey. Sure that it’s some kind of punishment for harming Damen, sending Drina to the Shadowland, and putting everything I care about at risk—allowing my subconscious to produce these guilt-induced images, so sugar-coated with happiness, there’s no way they’re real.

But this last time, just as I’m about to run, Riley appears right before me, blocking my exit, and yelling at me to stay put. Standing before a large stage and slowly drawing the drapes, revealing a tall, narrow, rectangular cube—like a prison of glass—containing a desperate and struggling Damen inside.

I rush to his aid as Riley looks on, pleading with him to hang in there while I help him break free. But he can’t even hear me. Can’t even see me. Just continues to fight until so overcome with exhaustion, with the absolute futility, he closes his eyes and fades straight into the abyss.

The Shadowland.

The home for lost souls.

I bolt from my bed, body shaking, chilled, drenched with sweat, standing in the center of my room with a pillow clutched to my chest. Overcome not only by the feeling of utter defeat, but by the horrible message my imagined sister has sent—telling me that no matter how hard I try, I can’t save my soul mate from me.

I run for my closet, changing into some clothes before grabbing some sneakers and heading for the garage. Knowing it’s too early to go to school, too early to go anywhere. But I refuse to give up. Refuse to believe in nightmares. I have to start somewhere. Have to use what I got.

But just as I’m about to climb into my car, I think better. Realizing the whole process of opening the garage door and starting the engine will risk waking Sabine. And even though I can easily step outside and manifest another car, bike, Vespa, or whatever else I might want, I decide to try running instead.

I’ve never been much of a runner. Far more used to dragging my feet through every forced lap in P.E. than striving for any sort of personal best. But that was before I became immortal. Before I was gifted with incredible speed. A speed I haven’t even begun to test the limits of, since the last time I ran was the first time I realized I even had the potential. But now that I’m faced with the perfect opportunity to see just how far and fast I can go before stopping, dropping, or crumbling to the ground with a debilitating case of side cramps, I can’t wait to try it out.

I slip out the side door and head for the street. At first thinking I should warm up, start off in a nice slow jog before hitting the asphalt at full throttle. But no sooner have I started than a major surge of adrenaline kicks in, coursing through my body like the highest-grade rocket fuel. And the next thing I know, it’s full speed ahead. Running so fast my neighbor’s houses are reduced to a visual blur of stucco and stone. Jumping fallen trash cans and dodging poorly parked cars, as I race from street to street with the grace and agility of a jungle cat. Having virtually no awareness of my legs or my feet, just trusting they won’t fail me. That they’ll get me to my destination in miraculous time.

And no more than a few seconds have passed when I’m standing before it, the one place I swore I’d never return to, prepared to do the one thing I promised Damen I wouldn’t—approaching Roman’s door, hoping to broker some kind of deal.

But before I can even raise my hand to knock, Roman is there. Clad in a deep purple robe over blue silk pajamas, his matching velvet slippers with embroidered golden foxes peeking out from the hem. His gaze sleek, narrowed, looking me over without a trace of surprise.

“Ever.” He cocks his head to the side, allowing for an unobstructed view of his flashing Ouroboros tattoo. “What brings you to the neighborhood?”

My fingers play at the amulet just under my shirt, heart racing beneath it, hoping Damen’s right, that it’ll provide the necessary protection—should it come to that.

“We need to talk,” I say, trying not to cringe as his eyes sail over me, enjoying a nice, long, leisurely cruise.

He squints into the night, then back at me. “Do we?” He lifts his brow. “And here I had no idea.”

I start to roll my eyes, but remembering my purpose for coming here, I settle for pressing my lips together instead.

“Recognize the door?” He raps his knuckles hard against the wood, eliciting a nice solid thump, as I wonder what he could possibly be up to. “Of course you don’t,” he says, lips quirking at the sides. “That’s because it’s new. I was forced to replace the old one after your last visit. You remember? When you busted your way in so you could toss my supply of elixir down the drain?” He laughs and shakes his head. “Very naughty of you, Ever. And quite a mess I must say. I hope you’ll manage to behave better today.” He leans against the door frame and waves me in, gazing at me in a way so deep, so intimate, it’s all I can do not to squirm.

I head down the hall and into the den, noticing how the door isn’t the only thing that’s changed since I was last here. Gone are the framed Botticelli prints and abundance of chintz, all of it replaced by marble and stone, dark heavy fabrics, rough plastered walls, and black iron things shaped into scrolls.

“Tuscan?” I turn, startled to find him standing so near I can see the individual dark purple flecks in his eyes.

He shrugs, refusing to back up and give me some space. “Sometimes I get a little hankering for the old country.” He smiles, a slow widening of his cheeks, displaying shiny white teeth. “As you well know, Ever, there’s no place like home.”

I swallow hard and turn away, trying to determine my quickest escape since I can’t afford to make even the slightest mistake.

“So tell me, to what do I owe this magnificent honor?” He glances over his shoulder as he heads for the bar. Removing a bottle of elixir from the wine refrigerator and pouring it into a cut crystal glass, before offering it to me. But I just shake my head and wave it away, watching as he carries it over to the couch where he plops himself down, spreads his legs wide, and rests the glass on his knee. “I’m assuming you didn’t drop by in the dead of night to admire my latest decorating scheme. So tell me, what’s the purpose of this?”

I clear my throat, forcing myself to look him square in the eye without flinching, wavering, fidgeting, or exhibiting any other sign of weakness. Aware of how this whole situation can change in an instant—how easily I can turn from mild curiosity to irresistible prey.

“I’m here to call a truce,” I say, alert for some kind of reaction but getting only his penetrating gaze. “You know, a cease-fire, a proclamation of peace, a—”

“Please.” He waves his hand. “Spare me the definition, luv. I can say it in twenty languages and forty dialects. You?”

I shrug, knowing I’m lucky to have said it in the one. Watching as he swirls his drink, the iridescent red liquid flashing and sparking as it runs up the sides and splashes back down.

“And just what sort of truce are you after? You of all people should know how it works. I’ve no intention of giving you anything, unless you’re willing to give up something of your own.” He pats the narrow space just beside him, smiling as though I’d actually consider joining him there.

“Why do you do this?” I ask, unable to contain my frustration. “I mean, you’re more or less decent looking, you’re immortal, you’ve got all the gifts that go with it—you can pretty much have anyone you want, so why do you insist on bothering me?”

He throws his head back and laughs, a giant roar that fills up the room. Finally calming down enough to level his gaze, looking at me as he says, “Decent looking?” He shakes his head and laughs again, placing his glass on the table and retrieving a pair of golden nail clippers from a jewel-encrusted case. “Decent looking,” he mutters, shaking his head, taking a moment to check out his nails, before returning his focus to me. “But you see, luv, that’s just it. I can have anything I want. Anything or anyone. It all comes so easy. Too easy.” He sighs, getting to work on his nails, so absorbed by the task, I’m wondering if he’ll continue when he says, “It all gets a little tedious after the first—oh—hundred or so years. And while you’re far too new to understand any of this, someday you’ll realize just how big of a favor I’ve done you.”

I squint, having no idea what he could possibly mean. A favor? Is he serious?

“You sure you won’t have a seat?” He wags his nail clipper toward the overstuffed chair just to my right, urging me to take it. “You’re making me out to be a very bad host, insisting on standing there like that. Besides, do you have any idea how fetching you look? A little—bedridden—sure, but in the sexiest way.”

He narrows his eyes until they’re sleek as a cat’s, lips parting just enough for his tongue to escape. But I just stay put and pretend not to notice. Everything with Roman is a game, and taking a seat would be conceding defeat. Though remaining like this, watching his tongue wet his lips as his gaze lingers in all the wrong places, doesn’t feel like much of a win.

“You’re even more delusional than I thought if you think you’ve done me a favor,” I say, voice hoarse, scratchy, a long way from strong. “You’re crazy!” I add, regretting it the instant it’s out.

But Roman just shrugs, unfazed by my outburst as he returns to his nails. “Trust me, it’s more than just a favor, luv. I’ve given you a purpose. A raison d’être as they say.” He glances at me, brow raised. “Tell me, Ever, are you not completely fixated on finding a way to—consummate—with Damen? Are you not so desperate for a solution you actually convinced yourself it was a good idea to come here?”

I swallow hard and stare at him. I should’ve known better, should’ve heeded Damen’s advice.

“You’re too impatient.” He nods, smoothing the edges of his freshly clipped nails. “What’s the rush when you have all of infinity laid out before you? Think about it, Ever, how exactly would you spend your eternity if it weren’t for me? Showering each other with huge bouquets of bloody red tulips? Having at each other so often it couldn’t help but grow boring?”

“This is ridiculous.” I glare. “And the fact that you see it like this—like it’s some chivalrous deed that you’ve done—” I shake my head, knowing there’s no need to continue. He’s delusional, insane, determined to see things in his own selfish way.

“Six hundred years I yearned for her,” he says, tossing his nail clippers aside, gaze never once leaving mine. “And why, you ask? Why would I bother with the same woman for so long when I can have anyone?” He looks at me as though waiting for the answer, but we both know I’ve no intention of going there. “It wasn’t just her beauty like you think—though I will admit, it did spur things at the start.” He smiles, eyes reminiscent. “No, it was the simple fact that I couldn’t have her. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how long I pined, I was never allowed”—he looks at me, gaze heavy, intense—“admittance—if you will.”

I roll my eyes. I can’t help it. The fact that he wasted centuries pining for that monster is of no interest to me.

But he just continues, ignoring my pained expression when he says, “Make no mistake, Ever, I’m about to share something very important, something you really should keep in mind.” He leans forward, arms on knees, voice steady and low, filled with new urgency. “We always want what we can’t have.” He leans back, nodding as though he just shared the key to enlightenment. “It’s human nature. We’re hardwired that way. And as much as you’d prefer not to believe it, it’s the only reason Damen’s spent the last four hundred years longing for you.”

I look at him, face placid, body still, aware that he’s trying to hurt me, prodding the usual spots, knowing this has been one of my fears from the moment I first learned of our history.

“Face it, Ever, even Drina’s incredible beauty wasn’t enough to keep his interest. I’m sure you’re aware of just how quickly he tired of her?”

I swallow hard, stomach like a hard bitter marble. Since when is two hundred years considered quickly? But I guess when you’re dealing with eternity everything is relative.

“It’s not a beauty contest,” I say, cringing when I hear the words spoken aloud. I mean, seriously, is that the best I could do?

“Of course it’s not, luv.” Roman shakes his head, pity in his gaze. “If it was, Drina would win.” He settles back, arms spread across the cushions, glass resting on top, daring me to respond. “Let me guess, you’ve convinced yourself it’s about two souls meeting as one, destined for each other, and all of that—puppy love?” He laughs, nodding when he adds, “That is what you’re thinking, right?”

“You don’t want to know what I’m thinking.” I narrow my gaze, determined to get to the point now that my patience’s dissolved. “I didn’t come here to be bored by your philosophical litanies, I came here because—”

“Because you want something from me.” He nods, setting down his drink, glass meeting wood with a solid, wet thwomp. “In which case, I’m in the driver’s seat, which means you’re in no position to set the pace.”

“Why do you do this?” I shake my head, having grown bored with this game. “Why do you bother when you know I’m not interested? Surely you realize that no matter what you do to Damen and me, it’ll never bring Drina back. What’s done is done. It can never be changed. And, in the end, all of this game playing, all of this nonsense you engage in—all it really does is prevent you from living your life—from moving on.” I continue to stare, gaze unwavering, convincing. Projecting an image of him handing over the antidote and cooperating with me. “So, I’m asking you, in as reasonable a way as I can—please help me undo what you’ve done to Damen, so we can all coexist.”

He shakes his head, lids squinched tight. “Sorry, darlin’, the price is set. Now it’s just a matter of whether you’re willing to pay.”

I lean against the wall, tired, defeated, but not letting on. Knowing the one thing he wants is the one thing I’ll never give. The same old game Damen warned me about. “You’ll never have me, Roman. Never, ever, for as long as I—”

Not even getting to the more degrading, insulting part that comes next when he rises from the couch, moving so quickly his breath hits my cheek long before I can blink.

“Relax,” he whispers, face looming so close I can make out each flawless pore on his skin. “As much fun as that might be, providing an amusing diversion at least, I’m afraid that’s not it. I’m after something far more esoteric than a virginal shag. Though, if you’d like to make a go of it, no strings attached, then I assure you, darlin’, I’m certainly up for the task.” He smiles, deep blue eyes boring into mine, projecting the movie he plays in his head, the one starring him, and me, and a king-sized bed.

I look away, breath coming ragged, too fast, summoning every ounce of my will not to slam my knee in his groin when his nose glances my ear, my cheek, my neck, inhaling my scent.

“I know what you’re going through, Ever,” he murmurs, lips brushing the tip of my ear. “Longing for something so close and yet—you can never quite taste it. It’s the kind of pain most people will never experience. But we know, don’t we? You and I are joined in that way.”

I unclench my fists and fight to steady myself. Knowing I can’t risk doing anything rash, can’t afford to overreact.

“Not to worry.” He smiles, slipping just out of my reach. “You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you’ll figure it out. And if not—” He shrugs. “Well, nothing changes, right? Everything stays exactly the same. You and I with our fates intertwined—for all of infinity.”

He slips down the hall, moving so fast it’s a moment before I can make out his form. Tilting his head and urging me toward the door, practically pushing me onto his stoop when he says, “Sorry to cut this so short. Though I do so with your reputation in mind. If Damen ever found out you were here—well, that could be rather tragic for you, couldn’t it?”

He smiles, all shiny white teeth, golden hair, tanned skin, and blue eyes—the ultimate California poster boy beckoning—Come live the good life in Laguna Beach! And I’m furious with myself—furious for being so stupid—for not listening to Damen—for putting us further at risk. Handing Roman yet one more thing to lord over my head.

“Sorry you didn’t get what you came for, luv,” he purrs, his attention pulled by a vintage black Jaguar that pulls into the drive, containing a gorgeous dark-haired couple who head right inside. Closing the door behind them as he adds, “Whatever you do, steer clear of Marco’s car on your way out, he’ll flip if you so much as smudge it.”

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