Night Star

seven

I stare into her eyes, her face, knowing I have only a handful of seconds to make the choice between pushing right past her, getting myself outside, and allowing us both some much needed time to cool off—or staying right here and trying to reason with her, or at the very least, allow her to think that she “won” this one.

My silence providing all the encouragement she needs to pick up right where she left off. “You honestly mean to tell me that you and Damen have no secrets?” Her tone a perfect match for the sneer on her face. “Seriously? None at all?” She throws her head back and laughs, exposing a milky white neck littered with jewels, and the faint and flashing trace of a colorful Ouroboros tattoo. Reminding me of the one Roman had, and Drina before him, only Haven’s is far smaller than theirs and easily hidden by her long mane of hair. Her confidence blown completely out of proportion, mistaking my stillness for apprehension and fear, when she says, “Please.” She flutters her lashes. “Don’t kid yourself, and don’t even try to kid me. Six hundred years is an awfully long time, Ever. So long it’s impossible for either of us to imagine. Though it is more than enough time to rack up a few dirty skeletons for the old metaphorical closet, right?”

She smiles, her eyes crazy, her energy so frenetic, so intense, so tightly wound, my only goal is to keep her in check. Keep her from starting something she’ll surely regret.

“None of that concerns me,” I say, careful to keep my voice low and steady. “Our past may shape us, but it doesn’t define us. So there’s really no point in lingering there any longer than necessary.”

Trying not to wince when she scrunches her brow and veers toward me, her face so close to mine I can feel the blast of her chilled breath on my cheek, can hear the chime of her swaying jeweled earrings, the long strands of stones chafing against each other.

“True.” Her eyes move over me. “But then again, some things never change. Some—appetites—just get bigger and bigger, if you know what I mean.”

I move back toward the sinks, leaning my hip against one as I glance at her and sigh. Wanting her to know just how boring I find this, but she’s not the least bit affected. She couldn’t care less. This is her stage, I am her audience, and this particular show is far from over yet.

“I mean, doesn’t it ever worry you?” She moves toward me, closing the distance between us in a handful of steps. “That you’ll never be able to truly satisfy him in the way that he, well, that any guy for that matter, really and truly needs?”

I start to look away—want to look away—but something won’t let me. She won’t let me. Somehow she’s locking my gaze.

“Doesn’t it ever worry you that he’ll get bored with all the abstinence and angst until he has no choice but to sneak off somewhere for a little…er, relief, shall we say?”

I breathe, just look at her and breathe. Concentrating on the light residing within me, and doing my best not to panic at this sudden loss of control.

“Because if I were you, I’d be worried. Very worried. What you’re asking of him, well, it’s just…unnatural, now isn’t it?” She rubs her hands up and down her arms, shuddering as though it’s too awful, too unimaginable, as though it somehow affects her more than me. “Still, I wish you all the best on that, for as long as it lasts anyway.”

She releases me from her grip but continues to study me. Amused by the way I just involuntarily shook, the way I try not to let on just how much she’s disturbed me.

Her lip pulling up at the side as she looks me over and says, “What’s the matter, Ever? You look a little…upset.”

I concentrate on taking slow, deep breaths, once again weighing the choice between bolting and allowing her to carry this even further. Choosing to stay and hoping to put some sense back into her when I think: Seriously, this is it? You summoned me into the bathroom so you can express your concerns about Damen and my sex life? I sigh and shake my head as though I’m far too lazy to even summon the strength to say it out loud.

More like, lack-of-sex life. She laughs, meeting my gaze and rolling her eyes. “Trust me, Ever, as you well know, I’ve got much bigger things planned. And thanks to you, I have both the time and the power to see them through!” She cocks her head to the side and looks me over. “Remember what I said last time I saw you—the night you killed Roman?”

I start to refuse it but just as quickly force myself to stop. There’s no point in repeating it yet again. There’s no changing her mind. Despite Jude’s full-on confession, she still chooses to hold me equally responsible for that particular mess and there’s nothing I can do about it.

“Just because you didn’t deliver the blow doesn’t make you any less complicit. Doesn’t make you any less of an accessory.” She smiles, allowing for a flash of blinding white teeth, as she revisits her door-kicking routine. Her words punctuated with a series of loud, crashing slams and bangs and cracks as she says, “Isn’t that what you told your good friend Honor just a moment ago? Because the fact is, you were right there when he barged in and you did nothing to stop it. You just sat there and let it happen without making a single move to save him. And that makes you both complicit and an accessory. To use your own argument against you.”

She stops and turns, her gaze meeting mine, waiting for the words to sink in, wanting me to know that she’s not just keeping tabs on my conversations, but just might be capable of far more than that.

I lift my hands before me, palms facing her in a gesture of peace, hoping to defuse this before it’s too late. “We don’t have to do this.” I regard her carefully. “You don’t have to do this. There’s no reason we can’t just—coexist. No reason why you need to go through with this—”

But I can’t even finish before her voice overrides mine, eyes darkening, face hardening, as she says, “Don’t even bother. You won’t change my mind.”

She means every word of it. I can see it in her eyes. Still, the stakes are too serious, leaving me with no choice but to try. “Okay, fine. So you’re determined to make good on your threat, and you think I can’t stop you. Whatever. That remains to be seen. But before you do something you’ll no doubt regret, you need to know that you’re wasting your time. In case you don’t get it, I happen to feel just as badly about what happened to Roman as you do. And while I know that’s hard to believe, it’s true. But even though I can’t take it back, even though I was too late and too slow to stop Jude, I never meant for it to happen. I never wanted it to happen. In the end, I had a much better understanding of just who Roman really was, what made him tick, why he did the things he did. And because of it, I forgave him. That’s why I went to see him, so I could explain to him once and for all that I was done fighting, that I wanted us to call a truce. And I’d just convinced him of it, we’d just agreed to work together, when Jude came in, misread the whole thing—and—well, you know the rest. But, Haven, I never saw it coming. If I had, I definitely would’ve stopped him. I never would’ve let it go down like that. By the time I realized what was happening it was too late to do anything to stop it. It was a tragic misunderstanding, but that’s all it was. It wasn’t sinister, it wasn’t premeditated, it wasn’t anything like you assume.” I nod, not entirely convinced of that myself but still desperate to convince her.

Whether or not Jude really did misread the situation and was only trying to protect me—or if he had a much darker agenda in mind, stopping me from obtaining the antidote so that he could finally have a shot at me after hundreds of years of rejection, is something I’ve been mulling over and over since the night it all happened. And I still haven’t reached a conclusion.

“He assumed I was in danger, in over my head, and ruled by dark magick. He acted purely on instinct, nothing more, nothing less. Seriously, you can direct all the anger you want at me, but please leave Jude out of it, okay?”

But even though I try my best to convince her, my words have no effect. They just roll right off her like rain down a windowpane, leaving a faint trace behind but refusing to penetrate in any real way.

“You want to protect Jude—that’s your problem.” She shrugs, as though he’s as disposable as last year’s boy band. “But I think you should know, there’s only one way for you to accomplish that, and that’s by making him drink. Otherwise, it’s not a fair fight. He’ll never survive it. He’ll never survive me.” She turns to the doors again, kicking one after another in such quick succession it’s like a blur of speed and sound, while I shake my head and watch.

I have no intention of turning Jude or anyone else for that matter. But even if I can’t convince her to leave him alone, there’s still one last thing I can say. Something I’m sure she doesn’t know, something that’ll probably anger her even more, but still, she needs to hear it. Needs to know just what her so-called beloved Roman had planned.

“Here’s the thing,” I say, my gaze calm, even, wanting her to know I’m not the least bit impressed or intimidated by her door-kicking display. “The only reason I didn’t tell you this before is because I didn’t see the need, and I didn’t want to hurt you any more than you already had been. But the fact is, Roman was planning to leave.” My gaze bores into hers, seeing her flinch ever so slightly, but still enough for me to catch, enough to convince me to continue full speed. “He was headed back to London—jolly old England as he called it. Said this town was too slow, not enough action, and that there was no way he would miss it—or anything in it.”

She swallows hard and pushes her bangs out of her eyes. Two of her usual giveaways, proving she’s not so new and improved after all, that a good bit of all the old insecurities and doubts have managed to survive. But still putting forth a show of false bravado, she says, “Nice try, Ever. Pathetic, but certainly worth a shot, right? Desperate people do desperate things, isn’t that what they say? I figure if anyone should know for sure, it’s you.”

I lift my shoulders and clasp my hands before me as though we’re just two good friends enjoying a nice friendly chat. “You can deny it all you want, but it still doesn’t change the truth. He told me that night, told me all about it. He was feeling hemmed in, suffocated, said he needed to get away from it all. Go someplace bigger, more exciting—someplace where he could be free from the store, Misa, Rafe, Marco, oh, and of course, you.”

She plants her hands on her hips, struggling to appear strong, tough, completely impenetrable, but her body tells otherwise, betraying her with the slightest bit of tremble.

“Oh, okay, sure.” She scowls, drumming her hips with her thumbs and rolling her eyes dramatically. “So I’m just supposed to believe that Roman would choose to confess all of that to you, and yet totally fail to mention it to me, the person he was sleeping with? I mean, seriously Ever, this is totally pathetic and ridiculous—even for you.”

But I just shrug, sure that it’s working, that my words are getting to her. Looking her over, studying her closely, knowing I may be overstating it, embellishing a few bits here and there, but the gist is the same. He was planning to ditch her, and yet she’s hell-bent on destroying Jude and me in his name.

“He knew you’d make a big scene if he told you, and you know how he hated that kind of thing. No one’s saying he didn’t like you, Haven, heck, I’m sure he liked you just fine. If nothing else, you were a pleasant enough way to pass the time. But make no mistake, Roman didn’t love you. He never loved you. You even said so yourself. You remember when you said how in every relationship there’s always one who loves more than the other—isn’t that what you claimed? And then you even went on to admit that in your case it was you. That you loved Roman and he didn’t love you. But it’s not like it’s your fault or anything. So don’t take it too hard, or beat yourself up. Because the thing is, Roman was completely incapable of loving anyone, having never experienced it for himself. The closest he ever came to it were his feelings for Drina. But even still, that wasn’t love. It was more like obsession. She was pretty much all he could think about. Remember his dark drags as you used to call them? The times when he’d lock himself in his room for hours on end? You know what he was doing? He was trying to reconnect with her soul, so he wouldn’t feel so alone in the world. She’s the only other person he ever really cared about in all of his six hundred years. Which, I’m sorry to say, pretty much reduces you to little more than yet another notch on his belt.”

She’s quiet, so quiet I start to feel bad, wondering if I’ve taken it too far, yet still driving the point when I say, “You’re vowing revenge for the loss of a guy who was planning to ditch you at the first opportunity.”

She glares, eyes narrowed to where I can just barely see them, brows merging together as the sapphire that marks her forehead emits a dark, eerie glow. And the next thing I know, all the faucets are gushing, the soap dispensers are pumping, the toilets are flushing, the hand dryers are blasting, while reams of toilet paper go sailing through the room and bouncing off the walls.

And even though it’s clear that she’s making it happen, there’s no way of telling whether it was intended or was the result of the out-of-control anger I’ve triggered.

But either way, it doesn’t deter me. Now that I know that it’s working, I have no choice but to continue.

I move along the row of sinks, calmly shutting each of the taps as I say, “It just doesn’t make any sense—this whole revenge thing. Your big romance with Roman was nothing more than—well, as he would put it, a couple of mediocre shags, mate.” I look at her, indulging a small smile at my spot-on British accent. “So why waste your time on avenging a past that never really was, when you’ve got the future of your making all stretched out right before you?”

But I’ve barely had a chance to finish before she’s on me.

Right on me.

Slamming me all the way across the room and into the pink tiled wall. Bashing my head against it so hard the awful dull thud of it echoes throughout the room, as a trail of warm blood drips its way from the gash where it cracked all the way down to my dress.

I stagger, lurch forward, only to fall back again. Reeling from side to side, struggling to regain my focus, my balance, but I’m so shaken, so woozy, so unsteady, I can’t fight the fingers that push into my shoulders and pin me in place.

Her face hovering just inches from mine when she says, “Make no mistake, Ever, I’m not vowing revenge just for Roman—I’m vowing revenge against you.” Her eyes bore into me, shooting me a look so hateful I can’t help but turn away and close mine against it. Aware of the bite of her chilled breath on my cheek, her lips at the edge of my ear, as she takes a moment to rest against me and savor her victory.

The fixtures settling, the toilets calming, the dryers halting, as piles of soap seep slowly across the floor and into the grout, her voice a gruff, raspy whisper just inches away. “You’ve ripped away everything that’s ever meant anything to me. You’re also the one who made me this way. So if anyone’s to blame here, it’s you. You made me what I am. And now you decide that you don’t like what you see and you’re determined to stop me?” She leans back to better observe me, allowing her fingers to creep dangerously close to the amulet that hangs from my neck. “Well, too bad.” She laughs, flicking the stones with her fingers and setting my whole body on edge.

“You chose to feed me the elixir, you chose to turn me, you chose to make me exactly what I am, and now there’s no going back.”

She dares me to deny it, dares me with her gaze. But I can’t meet it. I’m too busy willing the dizziness to end, too busy begging for the healing to begin. Struggling for each and every breath, the words ground out between gritted teeth. “You’re not just delusional, but you’re wrong.” I fill my lungs with air and surround myself with white light, knowing I need all the help I can get. This is not going at all as I’d planned.

Having mistaken her small stature for a lack of strength—having misjudged the power of hate, along with the live wire that strums inside her, fueling her with a seemingly endless supply of rage.

Careful to keep my face neutral, my tone steady, not wanting to alert her to my newly alarmed state. “I may have made you immortal—but what you do with that is entirely up to you.” The words reminding me of the scene I manifested just yesterday, except this scene is nothing like the victorious one I’d rehearsed.

Then, just like that, I feel it. I’m back. My wound healed. My strength returned. One look in her eyes tells me she senses it too.

And just like that, it’s over.

She’s already pushed me away.

Already made for the door.

Glancing over her shoulder to say, “Hey, Ever—before you go lecturing me on forgiveness, maybe you should do a little digging around. There’s a ton of stuff you don’t know about Damen—stuff he’d never choose to confide on his own. Seriously. You should look into it.”

I don’t respond. I should, I know, but the words just won’t come.

My gaze is locked with hers when she adds, “Forgiveness, Ever. Think about it. So easy to preach—so difficult to practice. Maybe you should ask yourself if you’re truly capable of it? Can you really forgive the sins of Damen’s past? That’s what I wanna know—and that’s the only reason I let you live now. The only reason I’ll let you hang around just a little bit longer. If nothing else, it’ll be interesting to watch. But make no mistake, the moment you start to bore me or annoy me, well, you know the drill—”

And the next thing I know, she’s gone.

Though her words continue to reverberate all around me.

Teasing.

Taunting.

Refusing to dissipate as I busy myself with washing the blood from my hair and manifesting a new dress to wear.

Readying myself to see Damen, who’s no doubt still waiting for me.

Desperate to bury the evidence of what just went down, along with my own nagging doubts.