Shadowland i-3

by Элисон Ноэль

  Besides, Damen thinks, switching to telepathy now that our teacher, Mr. Robins, has arrived. You know it’s meaningless. The only one I’ve ever loved is you. Isn’t that enough?

  He brings his gloved thumb to my temple, gazing into my eyes as he shows me our history, my many incarnations as a young servant girl in France, a Puritan’s daughter in New England, a flirtatious British socialite, an artist’s muse with gorgeous red hair—

  I gape, eyes wide, never having seen that particular life before.

  But he just smiles, gaze growing warmer as he shows me the highlights of that time, a quick clip of the moment we met—at a gallery opening in Amsterdam—our first kiss just outside of the gallery that very same night. Presenting only the most romantic moments and sparing my death, which always, inevitably, comes before we can progress.

  And after watching all of those beautiful moments unfold, his unabashed love for me laid bare to see, I gaze into his eyes, answering his question when I think: Of course it’s enough. You’ve always been enough.

  Then closing them in shame when I add: But am I enough for you?

  Finally admitting the real truth—my fear that he’ll soon tire of the gloved hand-holding, the telepathic embrace, and seek out the real thing in a normal girl with safe DNA.

  He nods, gloved fingers cupping my chin as he gathers me into a mental embrace so warm, so safe, so comforting, all of my fears slip away. Answering the apology in my gaze as he leans forward, lips at my ear as he says, “Good. Now that that’s settled, about Roman . . .”

  CHAPTER 4

  As I make my way toward history class I’m wondering which will be worse—seeing Roman or Mr. Munoz? Because while I haven’t seen or spoken to either of them since last Friday when my whole world fell apart—there’s no doubt I left them both on a pretty strange note. My last contact with Munoz consisting of me going all sentimental and not only confiding my psychic powers—which is something I never do—but also encouraging him to date my aunt Sabine—which is something I’m seriously beginning to regret. And as awful as that was, it’s only rivaled by my last moments with Roman when I aimed my fist at his navel chakra, determined not just to kill him but to obliterate him completely. And I would have too—except for the fact that I totally choked and he got away. And even though in retrospect that probably worked out for the best, I’m still so angry with him, who’s to say I won’t try again?

  But the truth is, I know I won’t try again. And not just because Damen spent the whole of English class telepathically lecturing me on how revenge is never the answer, how karma is the one and only true justice system, and plenty more blah blah blah like that—but mostly because it’s not right. Despite the fact that Roman tricked me in the very worst way, leaving me absolutely no reason to ever trust him again—I still don’t have the right to kill him. It won’t solve my problem. Won’t change a thing. Even though he’s awful, evil, and everything that adds up to bad, I still don’t have the right to—

  “Well there’s my cheeky monkey!”

  He slithers up beside me, all blond tousled hair, ocean blue eyes, and shiny white teeth, leisurely stretching his strong, tanned arm across the classroom door, barring me from getting inside.

  And that’s all it takes. The grating purr of his contrived British accent and the complete creepiness of his leering gaze, and just like that I’m tempted to kill him again.

  But I won’t.

  I promised Damen I could get myself safely to and from class without resorting to that.

  “So tell me, Ever, how was your weekend? Did you and Damen enjoy a nice reunion? Was he able to—survive you—by chance?”

  I clench my fists by my sides, imagining how he’d look as nothing more than a heap of designer clothes and a pile of dust, despite the vow of nonviolence I took.

  “Because if not, if you failed to heed my advice and took that old dinosaur out for a ride, then I suppose my deepest condolences are in order.” He nods, gaze fixed on mine, lowering his voice as he adds, “Not to worry though, you won’t be alone for long. Once the proper mourning period ends, I’ll be happy to step in and fill up the void his extinction has left.”

  I focus on my breath, keeping it slow and steady as I take in the strong, tan, muscular arm blocking my path, knowing all it would take is one well-placed karate chop to break it in half.

  “Hell, even if you did manage to hold back and keep him alive, all you have to do is say the word, and I’m right by your side.” He grins, eyes grazing over me in the most intimate way. “But no need to answer too quickly or commit yourself yet. Take as long as you like. Because, Ever, I assure you, unlike Damen, I’m a man who can wait. Besides, it’s just a matter of time before you come looking for me anyway.”

  “There’s only one thing I want from you.” I narrow my gaze until everything surrounding us blurs. “And that’s for you to leave me alone.” Heat rising to my cheeks as his gaze deepens to a leer.

  “’Fraid not, darlin’.” He laughs, looking me over and shaking his head. “Trust me, you want way more than that. But not to worry, it’s like I said, I’ll wait for as long as it takes. It’s Damen I’m worried about. And you should worry too. From what I saw those last six hundred years, he’s an impatient man. Bit of a hedonist really. Didn’t wait for much of anything so far as I could tell.”

  I swallow hard and strive to keep calm, reminding myself not to fall for his bait. Roman has a knack for locating my weakness, my psychological kryptonite so to speak, and pretty much lives to exploit it.

  “Don’t get me wrong, he’s always been one to keep up appearances—wearing the black armband, appearing inconsolable at the wake—but trust me, Ever, the moss hadn’t time to adhere to his shoe before he was back on the prowl. Looking to drown his sorrows in whatever or—should I say whomever—he could. And even though you prefer not to believe it, take it from someone who’s been there all along. Damen waits for no one. And he certainly never waited for you.”

  I take a deep breath, filling my head with words, music, mathematical equations stretching far beyond my abilities, anything to drown out the words that are like carefully honed arrows aimed straight for my heart.

  “Yep. Sawr it wit me own eyes, I did!” Smiling as he slips into a thick cockney brogue and back out again. “Drina saw it too. Broke her poor heart. Though, unlike me—and, I’m afraid, quite unlike you—Drina’s love was unconditional. Willing to take him back no matter where he’d been, no questions asked. Which, let’s face it, is something you’d never do.”

  “That’s not true!” I cry, voice hoarse, dry, as though it’s the first time I’ve used it all day. “I’ve had Damen since the moment we met—I—” I stop, knowing I shouldn’t have started. It’s useless to engage in this fight.

  “Sorry, darlin’, but you’re wrong. You’ve never had Damen at all. A chaste kiss here, a bit of sweaty hand-holding there—” He shrugs, gaze mocking. “Seriously, Ever, you think some pathetic attempts at second base can actually satisfy a greedy, narcissistic, self-indulgent bloke like him? For four hundred years no less?”

  I swallow hard, forcing a calm I don’t own when I say, “That’s a lot further than you ever got with Drina.”

  “No thanks to you,” he spits, harsh gaze on mine. “But, it’s like I said, I’m a man who can wait. Damen is not.” He shakes his head. “Shame you’re so determined to play hard to get. You and I are a lot more alike than you think. Both of us pining after someone we’ll never truly have—”

  “I could kill you right now,” I whisper, voice shaky, hands trembling, even though I promised Damen I wouldn’t do this, even though I know better. “I could—” I suck in my breath, not wanting him to know what only Damen and I know, that targetting an immortal’s weakest chakra, one of the body’s seven energy centers, is the quickest way to obliterate them.

  “You could what?” He smiles, face looming so close his breath chills my cheek. “Slug me in my sacral center, perhaps?”

  I gape, w
ondering where he could’ve possibly learned that.

  But he just laughs, shaking his head as he says, “Don’t forget, luv, Damen was under my spell, which means he told me everything, answered every question I asked—including a good bit about you.”

  I stand there, refusing to react, determined to appear composed, unruffled—but it’s too late. He got me. Right where it counts. And don’t think he doesn’t know it.

  “No worries, luv. I’ve no plans to go after you. Even though your glaring lack of discernment and tragic misuse of knowledge tells me that a quick jab to the throat chakra is all it would take to destroy you for good—” He smiles, tongue snaking around his lips. “I’m having far too much fun watching you squirm to attempt something like that. Besides, it won’t be long ’til you’re squirming beneath me. Or even on top of me. Either will do.” He laughs, blue eyes on mine, gazing at me in a way so knowing, so intimate, so deep, my stomach can’t help but heave. “I’ll leave the details to you. But no matter how much you may want to, you won’t go after me either. Mostly because I do have what you want. The antidote to the antidote. I assure you of that. You’re just gonna have to find a way to earn it. You’re just gonna have to pay the right price.”

  I gape, dry mouthed and slack jawed, remembering last Friday when he claimed the very same thing. So distracted by Damen awakening I forgot all about it ’til now.

  I press my lips together as my gaze meets his, my hope rising for the first time in days, knowing it’s just a matter of time until the antidote is mine. I just need to find a way to get it from him.

  “Oh, look at that.” He smirks. “Seems you forgot all about our date with destiny.”

  He lifts his arm and I start to plow through, then he lowers it just as quickly, laughing as he locks me in place.

  “Deep breaths,” he coos, lips grazing the edge of my ear, fingers sliding over my shoulder, leaving an icy cold wake in their path. “No need to panic. No need to get all spazzed out again. I’m sure that between us, we can come to some sort of mutual agreement, find a way to work something out.”

  I narrow my gaze, disgusted by the price that he’s set, words slow and deliberate when I say, “Nothing you could ever say or do could convince me to sleep with you!” just as Mr. Munoz opens the door, allowing the entire class to overhear.

  “Whoa—” Roman smiles, hands raised in mock surrender as he backs into the room. “Who said anything about bumpin’ uglies, mate?” He throws his head back and laughs, allowing his creepy Ouroboros tattoo to flash in and out of view. “I mean, not to disappoint you, darlin’, but if it’s a good shag I’m after, a virgin’s about the last place I’d look!”

  I storm toward my desk, cheeks burning, gaze fixed on the floor, spending the next forty minutes cringing as my classmates burst into hysterics every time Roman directs a disgusting wet smoochy sound my way, despite Munoz’s numerous attempts to quiet them down. And the moment the bell rings, I make a run for the door. Desperate to get to Damen before Roman can, convinced Roman will push him too far and he’ll snap—an act neither of us can afford now that Roman holds the key.

  But just as I turn the knob I hear, “Ever? Got a minute?”

  I pause, classmates piling up behind me, eager to get to the hall where they can follow Roman’s lead and taunt me some more. His mocking laughter trailing behind as I turn toward Munoz to see what he wants.

  “I did it.” He smiles, posture stiff, voice anxious, but still eager for me to know.

  I shift uncomfortably, moving my bag from one shoulder to the next, wishing I’d taken the time to learn remote viewing so I could keep an eye on the lunch tables and ensure Damen sticks to the plan.

  “I approached her. Just like you told me to.” He nods.

  I squint, returning my focus to him, gut churning as I begin to understand.

  “The woman from Starbucks? Sabine? I saw her this morning. We even talked for a while, and—” He shrugs, gaze drifting away, obviously still very taken by the event.

  I stand before him, breathless, knowing I have to stop it, whatever it takes, before it gets out of hand.

  “And you were right. She is really nice. In fact, I probably shouldn’t tell you but we’re having dinner this Friday night.”

  I nod, numb, shell-shocked, the words glancing over me as I peer into his energy and watch it unfold in his head:

  Sabine standing in line, minding her own business until Munoz approaches—causing her to turn and grant him a smile that’s—that’s—shamefully flirtatious!

  Except that there’s no shame at all. At least not on Sabine’s part. Nor Munoz for that matter. No, the shame is all mine. Those two couldn’t be happier.

  This cannot happen. For too many reasons to mention this dinner can never take place. One of them being that Sabine is not just my aunt, but my guardian, my caretaker, my only living relative in the whole entire world! And another, possibly even more urgent reason, is the fact that, thanks to my pathetic, maudlin, overly sentimental, ill-advised moment of weakness last Friday, Munoz knows I’m psychic while Sabine does not!

  I’ve gone to great lengths to keep my secret from her, and there’s no way I’m going to be outed by my love-struck history teacher.

  But just as I’m about to tell him that he absolutely cannot, under any circumstances whatsoever, take my aunt to dinner and/or divulge any information I might’ve accidentally confessed during a weak moment when I was sure I’d never see him again, he clears his throat and says, “Anyway, you should get to lunch before it’s too late. I didn’t mean to keep you this long, I just thought—”

  “Oh, no, it’s okay,” I say. “I just—”

  But he doesn’t let me finish. Practically pushes me out the door as he waves me away, saying, “Go on now. Go find your friends. I just thought I should thank you, that’s all.”

  CHAPTER 5

  When I get to the lunch table I sit beside Damen, relieved to find everything as normal as any other day. Damen’s gloved hand squeezing my knee as I quickly scan the campus, looking for Roman as he thinks: He’s gone.

  Gone? I gape, hoping he means gone as in not around, as opposed to gone as in pile of dust.

  But Damen just laughs, the smooth melodic sound reverberating from his head to mine. Not annihilated. I assure you. Just—absent—that’s all. Drove off a few minutes ago with some guy I’ve never seen before.

  Did you talk? Did he try to provoke you? Damen shakes his head, his eyes peering into mine as I add: Good. Because we can’t afford to go after him—no matter what! He has the antidote! He admitted it! Which means all we have to do now is find a way to—

  Ever. He frowns. You can’t possibly believe him! This is what Roman does. He lies and manipulates everyone around him. You have to stay away from him—he’s using you—he can’t be trusted—

  I shake my head. This time is different. I can feel it. And I need for Damen to feel it too. He’s not lying—seriously—he said—

  Not even finishing the thought before Haven leans forward, eyes darting between us as she says, “Okay, that’s it. Just what the heck is going on here? Seriously, enough already.”

  I turn, noticing how her friendly yellow aura beams in such sudden sharp contrast to the deliberate harshness of her all-black ensemble. Knowing she means no ill will though she’s definitely disturbed by us.

  “Seriously. It’s like—it’s like you guys have some kind of creepy way of communicating. Like twin speak or something. Only yours is silent. And more eerie.”

  I shrug and open my lunch pack, going through the motions of unwrapping a sandwich I’ve no plans to eat, determined to hide just how alarmed her question has made me. Knocking my knee against Damen’s, telepathically urging him to step in and handle this since I’ve no idea what to say.

  “Don’t pretend it’s not happening.” Her eyes narrow in suspicion. “I’ve been watching you guys for a while now, and it’s really starting to creep me out.”

  “What’s creeping you out
?” Miles gazes up from his phone, but only for a moment before he’s back to texting again.

  “Those two.” She points a short, black painted nail with a chunk of pink frosting stuck to its tip. “I swear, they get stranger every day.”

  Miles nods, setting down his phone as he takes a moment to look us over. “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to mention that. You guys are weird.” He laughs. “Oh, and the whole Michael Jackson, one glove thing?” He shakes his head and purses his lips. “So not working for you. That look is so played even you can’t bring it back.”

  Haven frowns, annoyed by Miles’s joke when she’s trying to be serious. “Laugh all you want,” she says, gaze steady, unwavering. “But something’s up with those two. I may not know what, but I’ll figure it out. I’ll get to the bottom of it. You’ll see.”

  And I’m just about to speak when Damen shakes his head and swirls his red drink, leaning toward Haven as he says, “Don’t waste your time. It’s not as sinister as you think.” He smiles, gaze fixed on hers. “We’re practicing telepathy, that’s all. Attempting to read each other’s minds in place of talking all the time. So we stop getting in trouble in class.” He laughs, causing me to squeeze my sandwich so hard the mayonnaise squirts out the sides. Gaping at my boyfriend who’s just arbitrarily decided to break our number one rule—Don’t tell anyone who we are or what we can do!

  Calming only slightly when Haven rolls her eyes and says, “Please. I’m not an idiot.”

  “Wasn’t implying you were.” Damen smiles. “It’s quite real, I assure you. Would you like to try?”

  I freeze, body solid, unmoving, as though witnessing a disaster on the side of the road—only this particular disaster is me.

  “Close your eyes and think of a number between one and ten.” He nods, solemn gaze meeting hers. “Focus on that number with all of your might. See it in your mind as clearly as you can, and silently repeat the sound of it over and over again. Got it?”