It’s time to claim that which you most desire
Today on your birthday I’ll grant a cease-fire
Be at my house before midnight tonight
A second too late and this offer expires
Hope to see you soon!
Roman
xoxo
twenty-five
By the time I get to Roman’s I have only minutes to spare. Two to be exact, and I’m hoping his clock is reflecting that too. But this time, instead of charging the door like I usually do, I rap my knuckles against it and wait. Because if we truly are calling a truce like he says, then a show of manners can’t hurt.
I wait, adding up the seconds as I glance at my watch, the soft sound of his approaching feet signaling that my moment has come—the result of magick done right.
The door swings open and he stands there before me, all sparkly blue eyes, glistening white teeth, and suntanned skin. A black silky robe kind of thing, what was once called a smoking jacket, hanging loose off his shoulders, exposing an ample expanse of bare chest, abs that are remarkably defined, and a pair of old faded jeans that hang low on his hips.
And that’s all it takes. One passing glance at the bounty before me and my body begins to tremble, my knees start to sag, and my pulse quickens in a way so horrible, so dreadfully familiar, a new understanding slowly creeps over me:
The monster isn’t slain! Isn’t banished at all! It merely retreated, hunkered down somewhere deep, biding its time, and rebuilding its strength until it could rise up again . . .
I swallow hard, forcing a nod as though everything’s fine. Aware of his gaze sweeping over me, not missing a thing, knowing I need to get through this no matter what, there’s no way I can fail when
everything I need is so well within my reach.
He motions me in, head cocked to the side. “Glad to see you’re on time,” he says, studying me carefully.
I turn, not even halfway down the hall before I stop and reconsider. Seeing the look of amusement that crosses his face as the color drains from mine. “Just in time for what, exactly? What’s this about?” I narrow my gaze, pressing up against the wall as he slinks past and urges me to follow.
“Why it’s about your birthday, of course!” He laughs, glancing over his shoulder and shaking his head. “That Damen’s such a sentimental wanker—I’m sure he did his best to make your day special. Though, I daresay not nearly as special as I’m about to make it.”
I stand my ground, refusing to budge. But despite the fact that my hands and legs are so shaky it feels as though the sockets are coming loose, my voice stays controlled, measured, giving nothing away. “Fulfilling your promise and giving me what I want will make it special enough. No need to offer me a seat I won’t take, and a drink I’ll refuse. Why don’t we just fast-forward from here and get to it, okay?”
He looks at me, eyes creasing with laughter as a smile tugs at his lips. “Wow, that Damen’s one lucky bloke.” He shakes his head and rakes his fingers through his golden tousle of curls. “None of that time-wasting foreplay for you. Seems our little Ever here would rather skip right past the appetizers and get to the main course—and, luv, I can’t applaud you loudly enough for that.”
I force my face to remain blank, impassive, despite how much his words may disturb me. Painfully aware of this dark flame burning hotter inside me, now fanned by his presence.
“And while you may not desire a drink or a seat, as it just so happens I do. And since I’m the host of this little soiree, I’m afraid you’ll just have to humor me.”
He swoops toward the den in a swirl of black silk, sidling behind the bar and filling a heavy crystal goblet with a generous splash of red. Wiggling the glass before me, encouraging the opalescent liquid to spark and shine as it runs up and down the sides, reminding me of what Haven once said about it being more potent than Damen’s and wondering if it’s true. If it gives them some sort of advantage—if it would work that way for me too or end up making me as crazy and dangerous as them.
I rub my lips together and struggle to steady myself. My fingers growing fidgety, twitchy, knowing it’s not much longer before I lose it completely.
“So sorry about your little problem with Haven.” Roman nods, raising his glass and taking a long, steady sip. “But people change, you know? Not all friendships are built to last.”
“I haven’t given up.” I shrug, the words ringing with far more assurance than I feel. “I’m sure we’ll be able to work it out,” I add, that strange foreign pulse throbbing within me when he tilts his head to the side and allows his Ouroboros tattoo to flash in and out of view.
“You sure about that, luv?” He looks at me, fingers idly circling the stem of his glass as his gaze moves over me in that slow, leisurely, intimate way that he has. Choosing to linger on the deep V of my dress when he says, “I mean, no offense darlin’, but I beg to differ. It’s been my experience that when two determined birds want the same thing—well, someone’s bound to get hurt—or worse—as you well know.”
I move toward him—not the monster but me (though the monster certainly doesn’t object), gaze fixed on his when I say, “But Haven and I don’t want the same thing. She wants you and I want something entirely different.”
He peers at me from over the rim of his glass, the goblet obscuring everything but his steely blue gaze. “Oh, yeah, and what’s that, luv?”
“You already know.” I shrug, moving my hand from my hip and clasping it behind my back so he can’t see the way it trembles and shakes. “Isn’t that why you summoned me here?”