I move toward him, stopping just a few inches shy, wishing he’d turn and face me, but knowing he’s not ready.
“In the end,” I say, my voice softly coaxing, “it al comes down to what you already know to be true. You know how the universe works.
You know that everything is energy, that thoughts create, that we can work our own magick right here on the earth plane by keeping our intentions positive and clear. So now it’s just a matter of putting al that we know into practice. Now it’s just a matter of having faith in al that you’ve taught me. Now it’s just a matter of trusting the universe enough, trusting me enough, and trusting yourself enough, to believe. Damen, don’t you want to slow down? Don’t you want to stay in one place for more than a few years? Don’t you want to build lasting friendships, maybe even, I don’t know, but maybe even have a family someday? Heck, don’t you want to see your own family again?”
He takes a deep breath, takes several deep breaths, then he turns, his dark eyes going impossibly wide when he sees me—sees how I’m dressed.
“You’re a vision,” he says, his voice edged with wonder. “You’re just like the painting. Enchantment. Isn’t that what we cal ed it?”
But while his eyes are busy roaming me, mine are fixed on what he holds in his hand.
The thing he’d kept hidden when he was facing the windowsil now plainly in view.
The sight of it reminding me of Roman’s last night, when he sat before me on his rumpled bed—a gleaming glass vial fil ed with sparkling green liquid pinched between his finger and thumb.
Much like Damen stands now.
He catches me looking, grips the glass tighter, causing the green liquid to splash up the sides, swishing just shy of the lip.
And I know that al we have to do to be together in the way that we want is to drink it.
Just one smal sip from each of us is al it’l take.
One smal sip and al of our problems disappear.
Only that’s what I used to think. Now I know that it’s no longer true.
While the antidote may be a sure thing, the bigger solution, the real solution, offers no guarantee. It requires a leap of faith—a pretty big leap for sure—but stil one I’m wil ing to take.
Though from what I can see, with the way Damen lifts the vial before him, I’m clearly the only one feeling that way.
Stil , I can’t help but be transfixed by the sight of it. Transfixed by the realization that I’m ready to turn my back on the one thing I sought for so long.
I lift my hands before me, the lotus blossom cupped between my palms as I say, “I saw Lotus—just before she crossed over. She wanted you to have this.” My eyes meet his, noting how he’s absorbed by the sight of me, as the antidote continues to swirl in his grip.
And while he doesn’t reach for the flower, he does manage to say, “I always figured it was the stuff of myth. I had no idea it real y exists.”
I edge closer to him, edge past an ancient marble-topped table covered with stacks of very impressive, first-edition signed books that would easily fetch hundreds of thousands of dol ars at auction.
“The actual Tree of Life!” He flicks his gaze between me, the lotus blossom, and the antidote he holds in his hand, softly shaking his head when he says, “It’s amazing to me that you not only found it, but that you brought back enough fruit for al of our kind. While I can’t bring myself to taste it, I’m impressed and amazed that you managed to do such a thing.”
Despite the warmth in his eyes, al I can hear is: I can’t bring myself to taste it.
The words resonating in a way that robs me of breath, makes my knees threaten to crumple.
We gaze at each other, the silence gathering, building between us. And if I could, I’d encourage the moment to stretch and grow and linger forever, but I know it must end. Everything does. I also know what needs to be said, so it may as wel come from me.
“So, I guess this is it then?” I try not to sound as broken as I feel but don’t come close to succeeding.
He looks at me, his expression standing in for any words he might say, so I heave a deep sigh, curl my fingers around the lotus blossom, and start to haul myself out of his room, out of his life.
We’ve reached the crossroads.
The juncture.
There is no turning back.
This is where we go our separate ways.
Aware of the almost feel of his hand on my arm when he pul s me back to him and says, “Yes.”
I look at him, unsure what he’s saying yes to.
“The questions you asked earlier, about wanting to settle down, start a family, see my family? Yes. Yes to al of it.”
I try to swal ow but can’t, try to speak but the words just won’t come.
His hands sliding around me, grasping me to him, he lets go of the vial, al ows it to fal , to crash to the ground. The sparkling green liquid seeping out al around as he says, “But mostly yes to you.”
forty-three
Even though he’s agreed to do it, he stil hesitates.
His hand shaking, his gaze so ful of trouble and worry it prompts me to say, “Look at me.”
He takes a deep breath, but does as I ask.
“Let this be the proof.”
He cocks his head, not quite understanding.
“Let this costume be the proof of how I’l always come back to you. No matter what happens, we’l always be together, always find a way to locate each other. Whether I’m Adelina, Evaline, Abigail, Chloe, Fleur, Emala, Ever, or, eventual y, someone else entirely.” I smile. “No matter which guise my soul decides to wear, I wil always return to you. Just like I always have returned to you.”
He nods, holds my gaze, lifting the cup to his lips as I do the same.
Surprised to learn it’s not at al sweet like I thought, but stil , I hardly notice its bitterness—the way it doesn’t sit so wel on the tongue. I just urge the fruit down. Encourage it to flow through my system as though it’s the sweetest ambrosia any God could create, while Damen does the same.
And when I see the way the room sparkles and glows, when I see the way the furniture vibrates and al the paintings come to life—I understand exactly what made Misa, Marco, and Rafe whoop and hol er and carry on like they did.
Everything is alive.
Everything is bursting with color, throbbing with energy, and it’s al connected to us.
We are part of each other, part of everything that surrounds us.
There are no boundaries of any kind.
The world appearing just as it did when I died as Adelina. When I soared through the sky and gazed down on creation.
Only I’m not dead. In fact, it’s just the opposite. I’ve never felt so alive.
My eyes meet Damen’s, wondering if he’l change, if I’l change. But other than my hair returning from the red that I manifested to its natural state of blond, other than the purple aura that surrounds me, and the indigo blue that surrounds him, there doesn’t seem to be much change at al .
I reach toward him, just as he reaches toward me. Tentative, our fingertips just about to touch, when he flinches, pul s away, causing me to look at him and say, “Even if it doesn’t work, even if we discover our DNA is stil cursed, even if one of us should die trying, we’l find each other again. And again. And again. Same way we always have. Same way we always wil from this point on. No matter what happens, we’l never be apart. We’re truly immortal now. It’s like when we’re in the pavilion, right when we’re about to enter the scene and I always freeze—what is it you always say to me?”
He looks at me, face softening when he says, “Believe. ”
And so we do.
We take that big leap of faith and believe.
The silence pierced by twin intakes of breath the moment we reach forward, make contact.
Our fingertips touching, meeting, pressing solidly together, seeming almost to merge into each other, until it’s impossible to tel us apart, determine where he ends and I begin. And
I can’t help but marvel at the warmth of him—the surge of pure tingle and heat that he brings. And soon, no longer content with just that, longing for something much deeper, we slip into each other’s arms.
My hands at his neck, his at my waist, clutching me tightly, pul ing me close, and then closer stil . Exploring the path of my spine before threading his fingers through my thick mane of hair, he steers me toward him, expertly angling my lips to meet his. The soft pil owy firmness of his mouth reminding me of the first time I tasted him—in this life and al the others as wel . Our whole world shrinking until there’s nothing but this.
One perfect everlasting kiss.
Bodies pressed together, we sink down to an antique rug that some of history’s most il ustrious figures have walked upon, Damen lying beside me, curled al around me, the two of us completely overcome by the wonder of each other, the wonder of being together.
Hardly believing this moment has come after having waited so long.
The curse final y broken.
The universe no longer working against us.
Damen pul s away, gaze drinking me in as his fingers rediscover the feel of my skin. Exploring the expanse of flesh between my temple, my cheek, my lips, my chin, down around my neck, and then lower stil , as my lips swel in anticipation of his, eagerly tasting, taking smal nips at his hand, his shoulder, his chest, whatever comes near. I can’t get enough of him. Can’t help but want more of him.
Al of him.
Now.
“Ever,” he whispers, gazing at me in the same way that Alrik once did, only this time it’s better, happening in real time.
I lift my face to his, capture his lips, and pul him back to me. My body heating, thrumming, wanting nothing more than to deepen this feeling—discover just how far it might go.
“Ever.” His voice is thick, hoarse, the words requiring great effort, when he adds, “Ever, not here. Not like this.”
I blink. Rub my lips together, as though awakening from a dream. Realizing we’re stil on the floor, when there are far more comfortable places we could be, including one that I manifested just before I came here.
I rise to my feet, and lead him downstairs, out to my car, and onto the curving, winding expanse of Coast Highway, until I pul up to the most beautiful, old, weathered stone manse perched up high on a cliff, with floor-to-ceiling windows that look down upon a swiftly churning sea—a dwel ing that wasn’t there just an hour before.
“Did you make this?” He turns to me.
I nod, grinning. “What can I say? I was hoping we’d come to an agreement. I was going to book us that room at the Montage, but I thought this was better, more private, more romantic. I hope it’s okay?”
He grasps my hand in his and we both hurry toward it. Scaling a long, winding, seemingly never-ending series of stairs until we reach the top, breathless for sure, but more with anticipation than the climb.
I swing the door open and motion him inside, seeing the way he laughs when he steps onto the old limestone floor and sees that despite the size of this place, despite its massive square footage, it only consists of one very large bedroom with a wood-burning fireplace, a beautiful four-poster bed, a gorgeous old woven rug, a wel -appointed bathroom, and nothing more.
I flush. I can’t help it. Quickly mumbling something about having not had much time, how we can always add to it if we decide to hang out for a while.
But he just smiles, stops the flow of excuses with a gently pressed finger he soon replaces with his lips, turning my suddenly hushed silence into a nice, long, deeply soulful kiss. Pul ing me toward him, toward the bed, voice softly whispering, “You are al that I want. Al that I need. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”
He kisses me gently but thoroughly, taking his time, making a great effort to handle me with care. But even though I know our time together is infinite, that we’l always be together, I’m eager for more.
I tug at the hem of his sweater, yank it up high over his head and toss it aside. Pausing to explore the landscape of his chest—the curving hil s of his shoulders, the rippled val ey of his abs—before my fingers dip lower, working a button, a zipper, an elastic waistband.
And even though it’s not the first time I’ve seen him, I stil can’t stop the gasp from escaping my throat. Stil can’t stop myself from drinking in the astonishing sight of him.
He removes my clothes too. Fingers moving deftly, expertly, far more practiced than mine. And it’s not long before there’s nothing left between us—neither physical, nor mystical.
There is only he and I.
No barriers of any kind.
He anchors his leg over me, around me, until his body covers mine. My insides quivering with tingle and heat as I shutter my eyes to the warmth of him, the feel of him, then lazily lifting my lids to find his gaze burning into me. The two of us pul ed into the hypnotic lul and sway of each other, and it’s not long before he reaches down and joins us together.
Joins us in the way of Alrik and Adelina.
Joins us in the way we’ve dreamed of al this time.
But it’s so much better than anything that went before.
Because this is real.
This is right.
A final confirmation that we’re made for each other.
Meant to be together.
Always and forever.
Our bodies rising, lifting, soaring high, then higher stil —the moment growing, expanding, holding for as long as it wil … until we col apse into the warmth of each other, and the ceiling bursts open, and a deluge of beautiful red tulips comes raining down.
forty-four
I rol onto my side, edge closer to him, al owing my fingers to fol ow the trail from his chest to his abdomen and down lower stil . Amazed by the actual feel of him, his warm and wonderful being—wondering how I managed without it so long.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, his lips nipping the lobe of my ear.
“Oh, you know…” I smile flirtatiously, my pinkie inching back up, finding his navel and navigating the perimeter, as he laughs and pul s me onto his chest. Planting a kiss on the top of my head as my mind fil s with one single word: Content.
I am total y and completely content.
I’m also happy, relaxed, and at peace.
I have everything I could ever want.
My life is complete.
I gaze up at him, wishing we could linger, drag this out for as long as we can, but Damen has other plans, claims we’ve got somewhere important to be.
“I’l miss this place,” he says, getting to his feet and stepping over the carpet of tulip petals that kept raining down until they covered the floor.
“Don’t sound so final. It’s not like it’s going anywhere.” I smile. “Unless, we’re going somewhere? Are we going somewhere?” I peer at him, hoping for a clue. But he’s wearing his very best poker face, which means there is no getting through.
I shrug, slip into the dress I was smart enough to manifest earlier, since it’s not like I’m wil ing to wear that winged costume again.
Then as soon as we’re dressed, he grabs my hand and leads me to the window, the two of us watching the waves crash against the rocks far below.
“Do you stil see it?” He glances at me.
I nod, then, trying something I was too nervous (not to mention too preoccupied) to try earlier, I think: Do you?
He looks at me, smiles, and thinks: Yes. And, even better, we can still hear each other!
I lean against him, wondering how long it wil last. Knowing the vibrating colors, the lyrical hum of the universe wil eventual y fade.
Even when Misa and Marco and Rafe raved about the experience, it was in the past tense. Stil , though it may fade from sight, it’l never fade from my mind. Now that we know the truth of everything, the way the universe works, the world wil continue to be as magical and amazing as ever, even for mortals like us.
“Ready?” he asks, hand grasped with mine, the blur of our combined energy al the
proof that I need that we are one with each other
—one with everything.
I nod, walking alongside him as we make our way to my car. Experiencing a moment of panic when I try to start it with my mind like I usual y do, then relaxing once I remember I’d had the foresight to bring the key along, since from what I can tel , that sort of mental magick no longer works.
And when Damen tries to manifest a tulip for me, sadly, it never makes it past the vision he holds in his head. But before he can real y start to feel bad, I’m quick to remind him that if it’s true what they say about the universe, that thoughts truly do create, then that tulip wil show up eventual y.
When we arrive at my house, I dash up the stairs and head straight for my closet, busying myself with throwing a bag together, while Damen heads for the den, cal ing out, “What should I do with al this?”
I zip the duffle closed and swing it over my shoulder, glad to see I’ve stil got at least some of my immortal strength and stamina since I basical y threw in everything that would fit.
I go to where he stands, seeing him point toward the bottles of elixir stil stored in my mini-fridge. Only their numbers have greatly diminished from the last time I looked.
I slip around the counter, dropping to my knees as I conduct a quick mental count. A count I repeat again and again—each time coming to the same startling conclusion: Not al of the immortals went for the fruit.
“I was thinking we should destroy them, or at least keep them under lock and key. I’d hate for them to get in the wrong hands, or even unsuspecting hands, you know?” Damen turns to face me. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, alerted by my expression.