Dark Flame ti-4

by Элисон Ноэль

  Damen nods, coolly, calmly, but I can tell he's relieved too.

  And I just look at Miles, shrugging casually when I say, "Wow.

  I'm really sorry to hear that."

  But the truth is, I've already moved on. That strange magick is stirring inside me, causing my heart to race, my palms to sweat, as that restless, twitchy feeling takes over again. And all I want to do is ditch these two as fast as I can so I can find him. Roman. I've got an uncontrollable hunger that needs to be fed, no matter the cost to me or my friends.

  I swallow hard, taking slow measured breaths and struggling to steady myself. Clinging to the small glimmer of sanity that's managed to remain despite the battle that rages around it.

  "So, there you have it. A good old-fashioned girl fight."

  Miles shrugs. "Too bad I'm not the type to appreciate that kind of thing-though you might."

  He motions toward Damen, but Damen's quick to dispel it.

  "I assure you, I got over that type of thing a long time ago." He nods, a brief flash of sorrow crossing over his face, a memory of Drina and me that's here and gone before I can blink.

  Miles nods, glancing between us when he adds, "Though she is right about one thing-" Damen shifts ever so slightly, on high alert for whatever that might be, while I stand beside him, nervous, fidgety, only wishing he'd come to me.

  "She really is looking pretty smokin' these days. I mean, I don't know if it's her new, post-apocalyptic, rock 'n' roll gypsy look she's got going, or what. But it's like she's finally finding herself, coming into her own like she said, you know? And after being so lost for so long, it's got to be a pretty heady feeling to finally gain a little self-empowerment, so try to cut her some slack, okay? She'll come around. Eventually. But for now, I think we should just sit back and try not to take it personally. Or at least you guys should, because me-I'm headed for Florence-did I mention that?"

  I nod, automatically, robotically, rearranging my face into what I hope comes off as a pleasant expression. Hoping everything about me appears pleasant, friendly, and completely agreeable, because inside, I'm stirring, burning, and there's no way in hell I'm gonna let her enjoy that ride if it involves bringing Roman along.

  No.

  Way.

  But I don't say that. I don't say a word. I just shrug as though it hardly concerns me, as I continue to survey the room. Just biding my time until my favorite blue-eyed, blond-haired golden boy appears.

  "So I guess what I'm trying to say is that no matter what happens between you guys, I'm not choosing sides, which also means you're all equally welcome here. But that doesn't mean I invited her entourage to stop by-Haven came up with that all on her own. Because honestly, don't tell her I said so, but Roman's kind of-" He frowns and stares off into space, searching for just the right word, before shaking his head and starting again. "Well-whatever-let's just say there's something kind of-off about him-something kind of-strange.

  I don't really know how to explain it, but it's kind of the same feeling I had with Drina."

  His gaze switches between us, searching for confirmation that he really is onto something, but even though my attentions are elsewhere, Damen and I are united in this, standing side by side-a wall of nonchalance he cannot penetrate.

  "Anyway." He shrugs. "He makes her happy, and that's all that matters. I mean, it's not like we can stop it, right?"

  Oh, you have no idea. I narrow my gaze and press my lips together, struggling to keep it contained.

  "I mean, seriously. ."

  Miles yammers on and on as I take the opportunity to peer into his head. Dipping in ever so slightly and taking a quick peek around, sensing his excitement for his trip, his anxiety at leaving Holt, and absolutely no knowledge whatsoever of rogues, immortals, or anything else of the sort.

  ". . so basically you have eight weeks-two whole months to get it cleared up. And I'm counting on you, Ever, since we all know how stubborn Haven can be. I mean, I love her and all, but let's face it, she loves to be right more than anyone I know-and will fight to the absolute death to defend herself-even when she's dead wrong."

  I nod, having already popped back out of his head and renewed my vow to never do it again. Watching as Damen reaches into his pocket and retrieves a piece of paper folded into a neat little square-a note he probably manifested just a second before.

  "I made you that list we talked about." He nods, responding to Miles's blank look when he adds, "The list of places you should check out in Firenze-places you won't want to miss.

  It's a long one." He shrugs. "Should keep you busy for the next several weeks." His gaze meets Miles's, looking at him in a way that's calm, placid, devoid of any hints at ulterior motives, meant to convince. But I know better. Know without being told that he's bent on steering him away from the list Roman gave him a few weeks before-but what I don't know is why.

  The last time I asked, he completely clammed up and refused to talk about it. All I know is that Roman is urging Miles to visit some out-of-the-way place that claims to host some rare antiquities and it's got Damen worried. Though I can't imagine why, since all of his paintings perished in a fire that he himself set over four hundred years ago-a fire that destroyed everything in his collection, including-for all intents and purposes-him.

  Miles looks it over, eyes sweeping from top to bottom before folding it back up and shoving it into his shirt pocket.

  "Trust me, after seeing the grueling schedule they sent yesterday, I'll be lucky to find time to sleep. They're pretty serious about us spending every spare second improving our craft, you know, like an actual acting camp, and not quite the freewheeling Italian holiday I was expecting."

  Damen nods, a flash of relief playing across his face so quickly you'd miss it if you blinked. But I didn't blink. I saw it.

  And if I wasn't so preoccupied with thoughts of Roman, I might pull him aside to ask why. But instead I just stand there, unable to ignore the fact that his usual tingle and heat is completely obliterated by the insistent pulse that now throbs in its place.

  A pulse that's not the least bit deterred by the sight of Jude heading toward us.

  He pauses, granting me a brief nod of acknowledgment before focusing on Damen. The two of them stiffening, straightening, squaring their shoulders, and expanding their chests in a way so primitive I'm reminded of what Jude said the other night-about the two of them being locked in a primal competition over me.

  Two gorgeous, smart, gifted, talented guys, fighting over me. And all I can think about is the one in the next room. The one dating my friend. The one who's as evil as he is irresistible.

  Damen motions toward Jude's bandaged arms, and says, "That's gotta hurt."

  And the way he said it, the inflection in his voice, coupled with the look on his face, well, I can't help but wonder if he meant it in a physical way or an emotional one, since we all know I'm the one who made him that way.

  Jude shrugs, a casual rise and fall of his shoulders that causes his dreadlocks to spill down his arms, gazing at me when he says, "Well, I've been better. But Ever's doing her best to make up for it."

  Miles glances between us, nose and forehead all scrunched when he says, "Wait-are you saying Ever did that to you?"

  I glance at Jude, having no idea how he might answer, and stopping just short of heaving an audible sigh of relief when he shakes his head and laughs.

  "She's helping out in the store." He shrugs. "That's all I meant-nothing sinister-nothing nearly as embarrassing as getting smacked down by a girl."

  And the second it's out, I laugh. Partly because everyone's so silent, caught up in a web of tension so thick you could chop it with an axe-and partly because I'm so highly wound, so twitchy and edgy, I can't think of what else to do. But unfortunately it happens to be one of those awful laughs. The loud, garish, horribly desperate kind that only manages to magnify just how truly awkward the moment really is.

  Damen stands beside me, stoic, conflicted, determined to do what's right for us-f
or me-though not always sure what that is. And I feel so bad for causing this mess, for being such a terrible girlfriend, for longing for the one person who's made our lives nothing but difficult, that I shut my eyes briefly and send him a flood of telepathic red tulips in an attempt to make up for it. But instead of the flowers I intended, he receives a sputtering, drippy, malformed blotch of red on squiggly green stems. The lamest bouquet ever created.

  He turns, squinting at me with concern as Jude takes the moment to say, "Listen, I'm gonna-vamanos. So, Miles-" His cast meets the center of Miles's palm, resulting in something between a slap and a shake. "And, Ever-" He turns toward me, his gaze lingering for just a few seconds too long, long enough to make me squirm, long enough for everyone to notice. And I can't help but wonder if he did it on purpose, so Damen will know I chose Jude over him in my time of need, or if he really is that bad a liar and is struggling to hide the secret we share. Switching his gaze to Damen as the two of them exchange a loaded look I can't read, turning away only when Miles ushers him out the front door. And that's all it takes to convince me to do the right thing. To stop pushing Damen away, come clean, and finally accept the help he's already offered to me.

  I turn, grasping his arm as my eyes seek his, ready to spill the whole sordid tale, but my throat squeezes tight, halting my words and practically cutting off my air supply, turning what was meant to be a confession into a red-faced, sputtering, coughing fit.

  And when Damen slides his arm around me and asks if I'm okay, it's all I can do not to push him away. But I don't, I summon all my strength to pull it together as best as I can.

  Bowing my head, closing my eyes, and waiting for the outburst to die down. Knowing I'm no longer in charge, of me, of anything. The monster is rising, now wide awake, and it's not about to let Damen come between Roman and me.

  Miles closes the door behind Jude and turns to us and says, "Nope, nothing awkward about that." Glancing between us as he sighs and shakes his head.

  I reach inside my bag, frantically fishing around until I find what I want. The small, sane part of me knowing I need to move this along, hand over the gift and make my way out of here before it's too late, before this strange magick takes over completely and forces me to do something I'll surely regret.

  Roman is getting closer. I can feel him drawing near. And I need to get out of here while I still can.

  "We can't stay long, but I just wanted you to have this," I say, hoping he doesn't notice the tremor in my hands when I hand over the leather-bound journal I picked up at the store.

  Concentrating on taking slow deep breaths, determined to keep the beast at bay, watching as he runs his hand over the front before flipping through the rough-edged pages inside.

  Trying to rid my voice of its edginess when I say, "I mean, I know you'll probably blog your whole journey, but just in case you don't have Internet access, or you want to keep some stuff private, I thought you could write it down here."

  Miles grins, looking at me when he says, "First a party and now a gift? You spoil me, Ever!"

  And though I respond with a smile, the truth is, his words barely register. Everything is upstaged by the simple fact that Roman is here.

  The second I see him, the invader takes over, effectively smothering whatever small glimmer of me managed to hang on for this long, and instantly replacing it with an insistent thrum that grows increasingly bolder.

  A thrum that won't stop until Roman and I join as one.

  Damen's arm tightens around me, aware of the change in my energy, clearly on edge. Poised and ready for just about anything, as first Misa, then Marco and Rafe, say good-bye to Miles, as Haven, clad in a purple velvet dress that brings out the sheen of her perfect, pale skin, looks on. Her glinting eyes sweeping over me, as her heavily ringed fingers tap ominously against her hips. And if she still had an aura to view, there's no doubt I'd be gazing into a solid wall of the darkest, most blazing red.

  But it's not like I need to read her energy to know how she's feeling or what she's thinking. She's exactly like me now-immortal-myopic-with only one goal in sight-Roman. Willing to do whatever it takes to stake her claim.

  Her gaze rakes over me, working its way from my head to my toes. So sure of her powers, so overconfident in her fledgling abilities, I'm quickly dismissed with a casual shrug.

  She leans in toward Miles, giving him a brief hug good-bye, quickly slipping out of the way when Roman grasps him in one of those brief, back-slapping man hugs, hand still gripping his shoulder when he says, "Now don't forget, just after you've crossed the Ponte Vecchio, head down the alley, take a left and then another, and it's the third door on the right. Big red door-can't miss it." Eyes gleaming in a billion points of light when he glances at Damen and sees the way the color just drained from his face. "It's worth the trip, mate, trust me on that." He turns toward Miles again. "Hell, ask Damen-wouldn't you say it's worth the trip? Surely you know the place?"

  Damen gazes at Roman, jaw clenched, lids narrowed, striving for a calm, even tone when he says, "Can't say that I do."

  But Roman just squints, head cocked to the side as he slips into a thick cockney brogue. "You sure 'bout that, mate?

  Coulda swore I sawr you in thar b'fore?"

  "Doubtful," Damen says, the word hard, final, the challenge clearly displayed in his gaze.

  But Roman just laughs, hands raised in surrender and turning toward me when he says, "Ever."

  And that's all it takes. The mere mention of my name on his lips and I'm liquid.

  Pure molten liquid.

  Willing to follow wherever he leads.

  I move toward him, lured by his steely blue gaze. Each small step bringing me closer to the images now unfolding in his head-the ones he's placed there for me. The exact kind of thing that would've disgusted me before-make me want to punch out his chakras and be done with all this. But not now.

  Now I'm so breathless and heated I can't get there quickly enough.

  Damen reaches toward me-both mentally and physically-trying to send me a message, trying to pull me back to him, but it's no use. His thoughts are mumbled, jumbled, making no sense at all. Just a long string of words I've no interest in.

  Roman's the only thing that interests me now.

  He's my sun, moon, and stars and I happily revolve all around him.

  I take another step, my hands shaking, body aching, yearning for the chill of his touch on my skin. No longer caring who sees-what they'll think-only wanting to feed the hungry monster within me.

  And just as I'm about to do it, about to take that final leap forward, he sweeps right past me and saunters outside to his car. Leaving me unsteady, uncertain, breathless, and confused-as Miles stands by, unsure what to do-and Damen looks on with concern.

  Summoning every ounce of his will to hold it together, to keep things on track, at least while Miles is present, and going right back to where we left off when he says, "Roman's taste in art is pedestrian at best. Stick with my list and you can't go wrong." His face appearing composed, relaxed, but I know it's anything but. The energy that emanates off him tells a whole other story.

  And I wish I could care in the way I'm supposed to-in the way that I eventually will once this pulse starts to fade and the impact of what I've just done comes reeling back at me. But that's a horrifying moment reserved for the future. Right now, all I can think about is him.

  Where he's going.

  If she's with him.

  And what I can do to stop them.

  Miles glances between us, wishing he could just board that jet and be done with all this. Nervously clearing his throat when he says, "So, now that that's over, you wanna join the rest of the party? The cast is up in the game room and we're about to perform the highlights of Hairspray pretty soon."

  Damen starts to shake his head no, but I override him. Even though I want to do pretty much anything but take part in a show-tunes sing-along, if I've any hope of salvation, I need to stay here. Right here in this house where it's
safe. If I go outside, I'll go after him, and from that moment on, there'll be no turning back.

  Besides, I need the distraction. I can't bear to see Damen's questioning gaze, the look of hurt on his face. I need some time to calm and center myself, so I can eventually explain the strange, awful truth of what's happening to me.

  I grasp his hand tightly and lead him upstairs, hoping the energy veil that hovers between us will mask my clammy, cold skin, as I enter the game room with a smile and wave.

  Remembering the secret Miles once told me about acting-that it's all about projecting-projecting-projecting-believing the lie so fervently the audience buys it too.

  thirteen

  "Damen-I-" I try to tell him-try to force the words from my lips, but they won't come. My throat's gone all hot, tight, and crowded again. As though the beast knows my agenda and refuses to comply.

  Damen looks at me, his growing concern clearly stamped on his face.

  "Let's-let's go to Summerland," I croak, amazed I could even say that. "Back to Versailles." I nod, swiveling in my seat until I'm fully facing him, begging him with my eyes to go along with my plan.

  "Now?" He brakes at a light and looks at me, his eyes narrowed, forehead scrunched-the telltale signs I'm being scrutinized.

  I press my lips together and shrug, striving to appear relaxed, nonchalant, as though I'm really not all that attached to the outcome, when the truth is I've been twitchy and itchy from the moment we got to Miles's to the moment we left, and the only thing that will cure it, the only thing that will enable me to confide in Damen and ask for the help that I need is to get to Summerland ASAP. Here on the earth plane, I'm no longer in control of me.