by Alyson Noel
He wants me for reals.
He wants me for good.
Wants to be sure I’ve made a clean break from Damen and all that we share.
Wants me to take a sure step toward him without a single glance back at what I once had.
Claims he can’t risk that kind of heartbreak again.
That just because it’s happened multiple times through the centuries doesn’t make it any easier this time around.
And since I just can’t give him that yet—despite what he told me about our past life in the South, confirming my very worst suspicions that Damen bought me, removed me from my family, and turned his back on them forever so that he could have me to himself—I’m still not ready to go there.
Even after he revealed the rest of it—that shortly after Damen took me away, he, along with the rest of my family, perished in a terrible fire they never would’ve been in if only Damen had bothered to save them. Resulting in a string of tragic deaths there’s just no logical excuse for.
I mean, once his immense wealth and formidable power is taken into account, well, an act like that, an act so cold, so calculating, and so callous that ended in such tragedy—is completely inexcusable on his part.
And yet, I’m still not ready to give up on him.
Though I’m not ready to see him yet either.
But even though I’m not about to share any of that with Ava, I still just shake my head and say, “There’s a lot more to it than that.” I purposely hold her gaze.
She nods and reaches toward me, her hand grasping mine in a gentle squeeze. “I’ve no doubt about that, Ever. No doubt at all.” She pauses, making sure she has my full attention when she adds, “Just make sure you don’t do anything rash. Take the time to dig deep, to really think it through. And when in doubt, well, you know my favorite remedy—”
“Meditation,” I mumble, laughing and rolling my eyes, grateful for the burst of light she always seems to provide even in the darkest of times. Pulling her back to me when she starts to move away. Not ready to part with her just yet, my gaze practically pleading with hers when I say, “Ava, do you know something?” I grip her arm tightly, finding myself suddenly desperate for her guidance, for a few enlightened words. “Do you know something about this? About Damen, Jude, and me? About who I’m supposed to choose?”
She looks at me, her gaze soft and caring, but still she just shakes her head slowly. A lock of auburn hair falling over her forehead and into her eyes, obscuring them briefly before she pushes it away and says, “I’m afraid that’s your journey, Ever. Yours and yours alone. Only you can discover which path to take. I’m only here as your friend.”
seventeen
“Thanks for all your help.” Jude tosses a damp dish towel over his shoulder and leans against the ancient refrigerator that’s nothing like Damen’s or Sabine’s—not stainless, not the size of a walk-in closet—just old and green, with a fondness for making loud, strange, gurgling noises. His thumbs hitched in his empty belt loops, legs casually crossed at the ankle, watching as I load the last of the cups and glasses into the dishwasher, before closing the door and pressing the start button.
I reach up, removing the elastic band from my hair, allowing the waves to spill down my back, stopping just shy of my waist, while trying to ignore Jude’s intense stare. The way his eyes narrow, drinking me in, hungrily following the trail of my hands as I smooth them over the front of my dress and lift a fallen strap. His gaze lingering for so long, I know I have to break it, find a way to distract him.
“It was a nice memorial.” I meet his eyes briefly before looking away. Busying myself with tidying up the tiled counters, the white porcelain sink. “I think she would’ve liked it.”
He smiles, wads up the towel and drops it on the counter, then heads into the den and sinks onto the old brown couch, just assuming I’ll follow, which, after a moment, I do.
“Actually, she did like it.” He kicks off his flip-flops, settles his feet onto the cushions.
“So, you saw her?” I drop onto the chair just opposite him, before propping my bare feet onto the old wooden door he uses as a coffee table.
He turns, slowly looking me over, spliced brow raised in surprise. “Yeah, I saw her. Why? Did you?”
I shake my head, quick to dispel it. Fingers playing with the cluster of crystals I wear at my neck, favoring the rough stones over the more polished ones. “Ava did.” I shrug, letting go of the amulet, allowing the stones to warm up my flesh. “I’m still unable to see Lina’s kind.”
“You still trying?” He squints, sitting up briefly, grasping a small pillow by his feet and placing it behind his head before lying back again.
“No.” I sigh, my voice wistful, gaze faraway. “Not anymore. I gave all that up a while ago.”
He nods, still looking at me, though in a more thoughtful, less intense way. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I haven’t seen her either. Riley, I mean. That is who we’re talking about here, right?”
I lean my head back against the cushion and close my eyes. Remembering my adorably feisty, pain-in-the-bum little sister with the penchant for wearing crazy costumes and wigs—and hoping that wherever she is, she’s having a truly awesome time.
Pulled away from my thoughts and back toward Jude when he says, “Ever, I was thinking—” He stares up at the wood-beamed ceiling. “Now that things are starting to settle around here, well, it’s probably a good time for you to start thinking about heading back to school.”
I stiffen, allowing for only the shallowest breath.
“Turns out Lina left it all to me—the house, the store—everything. And since all the paperwork seems to be in order, I figure I can just let the lawyer take over from here, which frees me up to get back to full-time. Not to mention Ava already offered to pick up any stray hours I’m unable to cover.”
I swallow hard, but I don’t say a word. His expression tells me it’s handled, arranged, he’s got it all figured out.
“As much as I appreciate your help, and I do—” He peers at me briefly, before returning to the ceiling again. “I think it’s probably best for you to—”
But I don’t even let him finish before I’m saying, “But, really—it’s no—” Biggie—I start to say it’s really no biggie. Start to explain the conclusion I’ve recently come to regarding school, the normal life path one’s expected to follow, and me—and how they no longer mix—no longer make the least bit of sense.
Though I don’t get very far before he waves his hand and says, “Ever, if you think for one moment that this is easy for me, well, think again.” He sighs and closes his eyes. “Trust me, there’s a big, loud, overwhelming part of me telling me to just shut up—to stop talking, and quit while I’ve got you right here in my house, well within my reach, and more than willing to spend your free time with me.” He stops, hands clenching, fingers fidgeting, a sign of the battle that rages within. “But there’s also another, far more rational part, that tells me to do just the opposite. And even though I’m probably crazy for saying this, I feel like I have to, so, I just…” He pauses, swallowing hard before he starts again, “I just think its for the best if you—”
I hold my breath, pretty sure that I don’t want to hear it, yet resigned to the fact that I will.
“I think you should sort of…just…stay away for a while, that’s all.”
He opens his eyes and looks right at me, allowing the sentence to hang there between us like a barrier that cannot be breached.
“Because as much as I love having you around, and I think you know by now that I do, if we have any hope of moving forward, if you have any hope of making a decision anytime soon regarding your future—or our future—whatever the case may be, well, then, you really need to get back out there. You have to stop—” He takes a deep breath and shifts uncomfortably, obviously having to force the words from his lips. “You have to stop hiding out at the store and deal with your life head-on.”
I sit there, speechles
s, stunned, and a little confused as to how I’m supposed to take that—much less respond to it.
Hiding?
Is that what he thinks I’ve been doing all week?
And, even worse, is there any chance that it’s true? That he’s onto something I’m totally unconscious of and worked extra hard to ignore?
I shake my head and drop my feet from the table to the floor. Slipping them back into my wedge-heeled sandals when I say, “I guess I didn’t realize…I—”
But before I can go any further, Jude abruptly sits up, shaking his head when he says, “Please, I meant nothing by it, I just want you to think about it, okay? Because, Ever—” He pushes his dreadlocks off his face so he can really see me. “I just don’t know how much longer I can sit on standby like this.”
He drops his hands to his lap, where they remain open, relaxed, like some kind of offering. Holding my gaze for so long my heart begins to race, my gut to dance, and I feel so light-headed it’s like all of the air has been sucked right out of the room.
The energy between us building and growing until it’s so palpable, so tactile, it’s like I can actually see it streaming from his body to mine. A thick, pulsating band of desire that expands and contracts, urging us to move closer, to merge as one.
And I’m not sure who’s responsible for it—him, or me, or maybe some sort of universal force. All I know is that the pull is so overwhelming, so broad and sweeping, I leap right out of my chair, slap my bag onto my shoulder, and say, “I should go.”
Already at the door, fingers twisting the handle when he calls, “Ever—we’re okay here, right?”
But I just keep going, wondering if he saw what I saw, felt what I felt, or if it was just some stupid thing I made up in my head.
Stepping outside and taking a long, deep breath—filling my lungs with warm salty air as I gaze up at a night sky filled with stars, one in particular that burns especially bright.
One single star that manages to outshine all the rest—as though it’s begging me to make a wish upon it.
So I do.
Gazing up at my very own night star, asking for guidance, direction, for some kind of help—and, failing that, to at least provide some kind of nudge that’ll push me toward the right one.
eighteen
I drive around Laguna for what seems like forever, unsure what to do with myself, unsure where to go. Part of me—a big part of me—longing to go straight to Damen’s, barrel right into his arms, tell him that all is forgiven, and try to pick up right where we left off—but I dismiss it just as quickly.
I’m lonely and confused and really just looking for a warm place to land. And as conflicted as I may be about him, I refuse to treat him like a crutch.
We both deserve better than that.
So I continue to cruise, traveling up and down Coast Highway a few times before venturing into the smaller, narrower, twisting and turning village streets. Just meandering around and around, with no real destination in mind, until I find myself at Roman’s—or, make that Haven’s, since according to Miles, she’s taken up residence.
Abandoning my car by the curb, far enough away so she won’t see it, I creep quietly across the street, hearing the music well before I’ve even reached the path that leads to the door. The speakers blaring some song by one of those garage bands she’s so fond of—the kind Roman hated and I’ve never even heard of.
I make my way toward the front window, a large bay one lined with hedges on the outside and an unoccupied window seat on the inside. Crouching down beside the bushes, having no intention of going in or being seen, I’m far more interested in observing, learning just what it is that she’s up to, and how she spends her free time. The more I know about her habits, the better I’ll be able to plan around them, or if not actually plan, then at least I’ll know how to react when the time comes.
She stands before a blazing fire, her hair long and wavy, her makeup as dramatically applied as the last time I saw her. Though the long, flowy gown she wore on the first day of school has been swapped for a skintight, indigo-blue minidress, while the stilettos she usually favors have been shunned for bare feet. But the tangle of necklaces are still there, minus the amulet of course, and the longer I watch her, the way she speaks, the way she flits around the room, the more I begin to worry.
There’s something so manic, so agitated, so tightly wound about her, it’s like she can barely contain her own energy, can barely handle herself.
Bouncing from foot to foot in a state of perpetual motion, taking numerous gulps from her goblet, not allowing it to sit empty for even a second before she’s dipping into Roman’s supply of elixir and refilling again.
The same elixir she claims to be far more powerful than the one Damen brews, and from the looks of her, and from what I experienced in the school bathroom, I’ve no doubt it’s true.
Even though her words are completely drowned out by the music and the blaring percussion that vibrates the walls, it’s not like I need to listen to know what’s really going on here.
She’s worse than I thought.
She’s losing control of herself.
While she may be able to influence her rapt group of listeners, keeping them mesmerized, entranced, and happy to focus only on her—she’s far too fidgety, far too frenzied and turbulent to keep it going much longer.
She reaches for the goblet again, tossing her head back and taking a long, deep swill. Running her tongue over her lips, desperate to catch every last drop, her eyes practically glowing as she repeats the sequence again—and again—drinking and pouring, pouring and drinking—leaving no doubt in my mind she’s addicted.
Having been to that dark place myself, I know all the signs. Know just what it looks like.
Though it’s not like I’m all that surprised. This is pretty much what I expected from the moment she turned against me and went off on her own. Though I am surprised that her new group of friends pretty much consists of every Bay View High School student who’s ever been dumped on by Stacia, Craig, or any other member of the A list crew—while the A list itself, the group she was last seen cozying up to on the first day of school, is decidedly absent.
And I’m just starting to get it, just starting to understand what it is that she’s up to, when I hear:
“Ever?”
I turn, my gaze meeting Honor’s as she pauses on her way to the door.
“What’re you doing here?” She squints, carefully eyeballing me.
I glance between her and the house, knowing my hiding place near the bushes and my surprise at being caught pretty much reveals everything that I won’t.
The silence lingering between us so long, I’m just about to break it when she says, “Haven’t seen you around school lately—I was starting to think you dropped out.”
“It’s been a week.” I shrug, knowing that as far as a defense goes, it’s a lame one. Still, I could’ve been sick, could’ve come down with mono or a bad case of the flu, so why does everyone just assume I dropped out?
Am I really that big of a weirdo/loser to them?
She juts her hip to the side and drums her fingers against it, taking a moment to really look me over before saying, “Really? A week—is that all?” She bobs her head back and forth as though mentally weighing my words. “Huh. Seems so much longer. Must be the fastest social revolution in all of history.”
I narrow my gaze, not liking the sound of that, but determined to not say a word—or at least not yet anyway. I’m hoping my silence will get her so pumped up and carried away, so eager to impress me with whatever it is that she’s done, she’ll reveal far more than she ever intended.
“Surely you’ve heard?” She tosses her hair over her shoulder as she starts to move toward me. “I guess I just assumed that’s why you’re here, spying on Haven and all. But, whatever, all you need to know is that it worked. Stacia is history and Haven has taken her place.” Her eyes flash as she allows her lip to curl just the tiniest bit, no doubt feeling mo
re than a little pleased with herself. “Things are very, very different around Bay View these days. But, heck, don’t take my word for it, why don’t you drop by and see for yourself?”
I take a deep breath, resisting the urge to react, to pay any real notice to her mocking tone, her sense of superiority. It’s exactly what she wants, and I’m not about to comply.
Still, I am hoping to knock her down a notch when I say, “Excuse me, but did you just say Haven’s taken Stacia’s place?”
Honor nods, still smirking, still feeling all puffed up and triumphant.
“Sooo…” I narrow my eyes, dragging out the word as I take a moment to slowly look her over. Taking in her designer flats, black leggings, and the long-sleeved, clingy T-shirt that hangs well past her hips. My gaze finding its way back to hers when I say, “How does that make you feel?”
She glances toward the window, watching as Haven continues to entertain her minions, before returning to me. Her confidence beginning to waver, to fade, just like her aura, wondering just what it is that I’m getting at.
“I mean, that’s not quite the coup you had planned, now is it?”
She exhales loudly, deeply, gazing at the street, the yard, anywhere but me.
“Because, if I remember right, your whole deal was that you were tired of being number two—and now, well, from what you just told me anyway, you actually kind of missed the revolution since you’re still number two. I mean, think about it, Honor, according to what you just said, the only change is that you’re now Haven’s shadow instead of Stacia’s—or at least that’s how it sounded to me.”
She crosses her arms before her, so quickly, so violently, the bag on her shoulder slips down to her elbow and bangs hard against her thigh. But she pays it no notice, just narrows her gaze on mine when she says, “I was sick of dealing with Stacia’s crap. And now, thanks to a little help from Haven, I don’t have to. No one has to. Stacia is nothing more than a big washed-up has-been who no one pays any attention to. She doesn’t matter anymore, and you shouldn’t feel sorry for her.” She lifts her brow and scowls.