But the life I’m most interested in is the life that’s revealed last.
My Southern life.
Back when I lived and worked as a slave.
Back when Damen freed me at the expense of my happiness.
Watching that whole miserable lifetime unfold, from a childhood that never really was, to the only bright spot in that entire existence—a brief kiss from Jude.
The two of us slinking off to meet behind the barn just as the sun begins to fall. Unsure what’s causing my heart to flutter more—the excitement of what I hope will be my first kiss or the fear of being caught sneaking off the job. Knowing the penalty for such an act will be a severe beating—or worse.
But still, determined to keep my promise to meet him, I’m overcome with a rare feeling of joy, an unexpected surge of happiness, when I see that he’s already there.
He smiles awkwardly, and I nod in return, suddenly overcome by an extreme bout of shyness, a fear of appearing overeager. Though it’s not long before I notice the way his hands shake, the way his eyes dart, and I know I’m not the only one feeling this way.
We exchange a few pleasantries, the kind of automatic words neither of us pays any real attention to. Then just when I’m thinking I’ve been gone for too long, that I’ll have no choice but to head back before my absence is noticed, he does it.
He leans toward me, his large brown eyes peering at me with such love and kindness it robs me of breath. Then he closes them softly, leaving me with a view of curly dark lashes resting against glossy dark skin, and a pair of enticing lips moving toward mine. The cool sweet press of his mouth so soft and familiar, it causes a wonderful wave of calm to flow through my body.
Even after it’s over, even after I push him away, turn on my heel, lift my skirts, and run back toward the house—the kiss lingers.
The taste and feel of it continuing to play, as I silently repeat the whispered promise we made to meet up the very next day, same time and place.
But just a few hours before that’s scheduled to happen, Damen appears.
Seemingly arriving out of nowhere, just like he has in all of my previous lives, only this time he spares no time for a prolonged courtship, or even a few pleasantries of any kind, his intentions are far too urgent for that.
He’s determined to buy me. To free me from a painfully harsh life of brutality and servitude, in exchange for one so opulent, and so privileged, and so opposite of everything that I’m used to, I’m convinced that he’s lying, that it’s a trick, that there’s no way it could possibly be true.
So sure that my life has just taken such a major turn for the worse that I cry out for my mother, my father, strain my fingers toward Jude’s—wanting him to hold me, protect me, not let me go to wherever it is I’m about to. Convinced I’m being ripped away from the only form of happiness I ever could know for something far worse, I’m terrified, caught in a state of overwhelming turmoil and fear. Deeply suspicious of this new, soft-spoken master who whispers to me gently, who treats me respectfully, and who gazes upon me with the kind of reverence I’ve never known before, that I’m sure isn’t real.
Carefully setting me up in my very own room, in my very own wing of a house far bigger and fancier than the one I was made to clean. Faced with no task more demanding than sleeping, eating, dressing, and dreaming, with no threat of demeaning chores or painful beatings.
He gets me settled in, pointing out the features of my quarters—my own private bath, a canopied bed, a wardrobe full of beautiful dresses, a vanity lined with the finest imported creams and perfumes and silver-handled brushes—telling me to take all the time that I need, that supper will hold until whenever I’m ready.
Our first meal together spent in absolute silence as I take the seat just opposite him, dressed in the finest gown I ever have seen. Focusing on the soft feel of the fabric, the way it eases against my subtly scented skin, as I pick at my food and he sips his red drink. Staring off into the distance, occasionally peering at me when he thinks I don’t notice, but mostly distracted by the thoughts in his head. His brow furrowed, his mouth grim, his gaze telling, heavy, and just conflicted enough to tell me he’s struggling with something, some kind of choice he must make.
And though I wait for the other shoe to drop, it never comes close. I simply finish my meal, bid him good night, and return to a room that’s warmed by a well-tended fire and the finest cotton sheets.
Waking early the next morning and rushing to the window just in time to see him riding off on his horse, my eyes following anxiously, sure that this is it, that he’s brought me all this way only to abandon me to someone who will find me and beat me ’til my death in some kind of sick, twisted game.
But it turns out I’m wrong, he returns that very same evening. And though he smiles when he greets me, his eyes betray a tragic story of devastating defeat.
Torn between telling me the truth and not wanting to upset me or scare me any more than I already am, he decides to keep the news to himself, to bury the awful truth he just learned, figuring there’s no reason for me to ever know, it won’t do me any good.
But even though I never learned the truth in that life, Shadowland generously reveals everything that he failed to.
Showing me exactly what happened when he rode off that day, where he went, who he saw, who he spoke to, the whole sordid scene.
He returned to the plantation, fully intent on buying my mother, my father, Jude, and all the rest of them and bringing them back to the house to enjoy their freedom, offering an exorbitant amount of money, a sum completely unheard of even among the very rich in those parts, only to have it refused. Taking no time to consider it, before he was quickly sent away. So eager to be rid of him, a foreman was sent to escort him off the property.
A foreman who, I can tell at first glance, isn’t at all what he seems.
It’s in the way he moves, the way he lives in his skin—overconfident, overly perfect, in every single way.
He’s an immortal.
Though not the good kind—not Damen’s kind—he’s a rogue. Long before Damen even realized Roman still existed, that he’d made his own elixir and was freely turning people. Still, I can see by the worried look in his eyes that he senses it too.
Not wanting to cause any problems, not wanting to make a scene or make it any worse for my family or Jude, Damen leaves. Tuning in to my fear at being alone in the mansion, he’s eager to comfort me, while vowing to revisit the plantation later, under the cover of night, when he plans to sneak them all out.
Having no way of knowing it’ll be too late by then.
Having no way to see what I see—Roman lurking in the background while the master’s away, running the entire show, sight unseen.
Having no way of knowing that the fire was purposely set long after he left, when it was already far too late to stop it, far too late to rescue anyone.
The rest of the story unfolding just as he said—he takes me to Europe, proceeding slowly, cautiously, allowing me all the time and space that I need until I eventually learn to trust him—to love him—to find true, but fleeting, happiness with him.
Until Drina finds out and quickly does away with me.
And suddenly, I’m aware of what I should’ve known all along:
Damen’s The One.
Always has been.
Always will be.
A fact made even clearer as I relive the scenes from my most current life.
Watching as he finds my body by the side of the road, just after the accident. Not just witnessing but also feeling, experiencing the full impact of his grief at having lost me yet again. His pain becoming my pain, the full brunt of his sorrow leaving me gasping, as he begs for guidance, as he grapples with the choice of whether or not he should turn me like him.
Completely consumed by his gut-wrenching loss, the day I shout at him, reject him, tell him to go away, to leave me alone, to never speak to me again, just moments after he’s finally found the courage to reveal
what he made me—what I am.
Experiencing the full force of his confusion when he found himself under Roman’s spell. His numbness, his inability to control his own actions, his own words, everything carefully orchestrated by Roman who manipulated him into being cruel, into hurting me, but even though I already guessed it, here in the Shadowland I can feel it, and I know, now more than ever, that no matter what he said or did, his heart wasn’t in it.
He was just going through the preprogrammed motions, his body and mind dancing to Roman’s tune, while his heart, refusing to be controlled, never once strayed from mine.
Even when he leaves me to choose between him and Jude, he loves me as much as ever before. So much that he’s unsure if he can actually withstand the pain of losing me again, and yet he’s so convinced of his actions, so convinced he’s doing the right and noble thing, he’s fully prepared to lose me if that’s what I choose.
I watch how he spends those days without me, feeling lost and lonely and bleak. Haunted by the scenes from his past, sure that he deserves nothing less, and though he’s clearly overcome with joy when I return, deep down inside, he’s not entirely sure he deserves it.
I feel the fear he held in check when I was taken over by the dark magick I brought upon myself—just as I feel his eagerness to forgive me for all of the things that I did while under its influence.
Experiencing his love in such a deeply profound way, I’m left completely hollowed and humbled by the sheer abundance of it—by the way it never once shrank in its intensity, never once wavered throughout all of these passing centuries, throughout this past tumultuous year.
Humbled by the way he never once questioned his feelings for me in the way that I’ve questioned mine for him.
And yet, despite my occasionally turning him away—I now know something I failed to realize before:
My love for him also stayed true.
I may have questioned, second-guessed, veered a good ways from the path now and then, but all of that confusion existed only in my head.
Deep down inside, my heart knew the score.
And I know now that Haven was wrong.
It’s not always a case of one loving more than the other.
When two people are truly meant to be, they love equally.
Differently—but still equally.
The irony being—now that I realize all of this, finally realize the truth of him and me, I’m forced to spend the rest of eternity suspended in the abyss, reflecting on all that I missed.
Swathed in a never-ending cloak of darkness, completely disconnected from anything and everything around me. Haunted by the mistakes of my past that forever swirl by. Like an infinite show set on permanent repeat, taunting me with all that I could’ve been, if I’d only chosen differently.
If only I’d followed my heart instead of my head.
One thing made abundantly, blindingly clear—while it’s true that Jude’s always been there, always been kind and giving and loving toward me—Damen’s my one and only true soul mate.
I open my mouth, desperate to shout out his name, desperate for the feel of it on my lips, my tongue, hoping to reach him in some way.
But nothing comes.
And even if it did, there’s no one to hear me.
This is it.
My eternity.
Disconnected.
Dark.
Repeatedly tormented by a past I can’t change.
Aware that Drina is out there somewhere. Roman too. Each of us trapped in our own version of hell with no way to reach each other, with no end in sight.
So I do the only thing that I can—I close my eyes and surrender. Thinking that if nothing else, at least now I know.
At least I found the answer I sought for so long.
Soundlessly whispering into the void, my lips moving quickly, silently, without ceasing. Calling his name, calling him to me.
Even though there’s no use.
Even though it’s futile.
Even though it’s way past too late.
twenty-seven
The sound of his voice floats over me, through me, all around me. Like a vague and distant hum that crosses oceans, continents, and galaxies to reach me.
But I can’t reply, can’t respond in any way. It’s useless. Unreal.
A trick of the mind.
A Shadowland jeer.
No one can reach me now that I’m here.
My name a plea on his lips when he says, “Ever, baby, open your eyes and look at me—please.” Words so familiar, I’m sure I’ve heard them before.
And just like before, I struggle to meet them. Slowly lifting my lids to find him gazing at me. Brow slanted with relief as those deep dark eyes bore anxiously into mine.
But it’s not real. It’s a game of some kind. Shadowland is a cruel and lonely place and I can’t afford to buy into this.
His arms slide around me, surrounding me, cradling me, and I allow myself to accept it, to sink into their depths, because while it may not be real, it’s just too good to resist.
I try once again, struggling to call out his name, but he presses his finger to my lips, pushing softly. He whispers, “Don’t speak. It’s okay. You’re okay. It’s all over now.”
I start to pull away, still gazing at him, not entirely convinced. My fingers seeking my throat, searching for evidence, exploring the exact same space where Haven’s fist plowed into me.
Ended me.
Remembering exactly how it felt to die for the second time in this life.
Remembering how it was nothing at all like the first time.
My eyes grazing his face, seeing the concern that plays at his brow, the relief that creeps into his gaze, eager for him to comprehend what really, truly happened here. “She killed me,” I tell him. “Despite all of my practice and training, in the end, I was no match for her.”
“She didn’t kill you,” he whispers. “Honestly, you’re still here.”
I struggle to sit, but he just holds me that much closer. So I gaze around the shop, taking in the piles of broken glass, the knocked-over bookshelves—like a scene from the most over-the-top disaster flick, featuring earthquakes, tornadoes, a full-on assault.
“But I went to the Shadowland—I saw—”
I close my eyes and swallow past the lump in my throat, pausing long enough for him to say, “I know. I could feel your despair. But even though it probably felt like a long time to you, or at least I know it did for me, it wasn’t nearly long enough for the silver cord to break and detach your body from your soul. Which is why I was able to coax you right back.”
But even though he speaks with such confidence, even though he nods and meets my gaze with complete and total assurance, I know better. Despite my cord staying attached, I know for sure that I died. And there’s only one reason I’m back.
I rose above my weak chakra.
The moment I realized the truth—about me—about us—the moment I made the right choice—I was somehow restored.
“She hit me right in my weak spot—my fifth chakra—and then—I saw everything.” I gaze up at him, wanting him to know, wanting him to really hear me. “I saw every single thing, every single moment from all of our lives. Including the stuff you tried so hard to keep hidden from me.”
He takes a deep breath, his gaze full of questions, one in particular that looms large between us.
And I waste no time in answering, circling my arms around his neck and bringing him to me, vaguely aware of the energy veil that dances between his lips and mine, as my mind streams into his. Informing him of all that I saw and what I now understand.
That I’ve accepted the one real truth.
That I will never doubt him again.
We stay like that, our bodies pressed together, intensely aware of the miracle that just occurred.
I’m more than just reborn—I’m truly, newly awakened.
Pulling away a moment later, my gaze posing a question he immediately answers when he says
, “I sensed your distress. I got here as soon as I could, only to find the shop destroyed, and you…essentially…dead. But it wasn’t long before you came back—though I’m sure it felt like an eternity to you. That’s how the Shadowland works.”
“And Jude?” My heart sinks to my stomach as my eyes scan the room, unable to find him, no matter how hard I look.
Then plummeting even further when Damen’s voice drops as he says, “Jude’s no longer here.”
twenty-eight
The first thing I see when we arrive is pretty much the last thing I expected:
The twins.
Romy and Rayne standing side by side, with Romy in head-to-toe pink and Rayne in head-to-toe black, their jaws dropping in unison the moment they see me.
“Ever!” Romy cries, running up to hug me, her skinny body barreling right into mine, practically knocking me over from the force, as she wraps her scrawny arms around me and holds tight.
“We thought for sure you were stuck in the Shadowland,” Rayne says, shaking her head as she blinks back her grief. Coming forward to stand quietly beside her sister, who’s still attached to me. And just when I’m sure she’s going to chase it with some kind of sarcastic crack, some derisive dig about how disappointed she is that I made it out in one piece, she looks right at me and says, “I’m so glad we were wrong.” And her voice warbles so badly, she can barely eke out the words.
Recognizing a peace offering when I see one, I slide my arm around her, amazed by the way she lets me, the way she leans into me. Not just returning the hug but holding it for much longer that I ever would’ve expected. Pulling away a few moments later, she clears her throat, combs her fingers through her razor-slashed bangs, and wipes her nose with her long cotton sleeve.
And even though I’m dying to know how they got here, for now, it’ll have to wait. There are far more pressing concerns.
But I don’t even have a chance to voice them, before they nod their heads solemnly and say, “He’s here.” They turn and point toward the Great Halls of Learning just behind them. “He’s with Ava. It’s all good.”