Davina (The Immortal Prophecy 3)

All of them stopped. The woman in white had taken over the battle, but as Roane watched, she stopped in mid-air and looked down.

A rumbling started in the distance.

Everyone stopped.

THE IMMORTAL

This was her world.

The Immortal relished this sudden experience. She was free. She was alive. She was in control and she gazed down upon the war beneath her. Simpletons. The lot of them. All of them were weak. She wrinkled her nose. Here she was in the air and looking down on them. She was above them.

She was a god to them.

She couldn’t believe this was the world Davy honored above everything else. She wanted to be one of those weaklings. No. It was worse. These creatures were more powerful than humans. Davy wanted to be the lowest of the beings.

Never.

Determination coursed through her and as she gazed beneath her, The Immortal’s hands formed into fists. She would never be replaced. The human in her would never become human again. Davy’s destiny was linked with hers. She would not allow it. She would never go back into the shell, contained as a thread, jumping from one less than worthy human to another. All of them. They were all stupid. Everything they believed was wrong.

“Davy?”

She looked over to the cliff. Lucas Roane, the vampire that Davy loved. He was the vampire Talia loved as well, but he had no idea where their love for him was created. He would need to understand. Even now, while she was still acclimating to her new freedom, her body felt a stirring in her core. Her body wanted this vampire, but that was no surprise to her.

Everyone had stopped to gaze upon her, like the goddess she was. They felt her power. There were pockets among them, places where one person had more power than the other, but none matched her. She could feel her superiority over them, so they were ignored. For now.

She lowered herself so she was a few feet from the vampire Davy loved, and she cocked her head to the side. A small grin formed. He didn’t move. He didn’t dare. She sensed the horror in him. It was recoiling inside, pulling him from her. It was the body’s instinct for survival.

She did not come in peace, and his body was trying to pull him as far from her as possible, but still, he didn’t go.

Her eyes narrowed. “I can feel what is going on inside of you.”

Roane remained frozen in place. This couldn’t be . . . No, no. This couldn’t—he choked out, “Davy?”

She shook her head, slowly, and almost gently. “You know I am no longer her.” She took a step toward him. Her feet were bare, but she felt no pain. The ground was covered in blood, dirt, rocks, and she felt none of it. She only felt her power. Her dress glided over her body as she walked another step forward.

He jerked backwards. His eyes were piercing. A nerve bulged out from his neck. “Stop right there.”

“Now, Lucas,” she chided, wagging a finger from side to side. “You know I am not a being you can command. If anyone should know how powerful I am, it must be you.” She sent him visions of their past. The first memory was when he realized the thread had jumped to Talia. The second when he watched her bring their dead mother back to life. The third, when Talia stood behind her sister. Her hand was up and she was going to attempt the same event

. Tracey was turned into a vampire and Talia wanted to make her human. Lucas

stopped her, but The Immortal remembered that moment. She wanted Talia to try. She wanted to test the boundaries of her power, see how far she could go. He stopped her, though, and the two made love. The Immortal made him remember that night. When he slipped inside the thread-holder, held her, and cupped her face. He gazed down into Talia’s eyes, but it wasn’t Talia he was looking at. It was her.

He loved The Immortal, just as he fell in love with the next thread-holder.

She relished that feeling now. When she slipped into Davy. It was right. The body was right. There was power already in the human, more than she could’ve imagined, and as soon as the thread was inside of the empath, The Immortal knew she found the right body. At last.

She pushed that memory into Roane’s head, too. She wanted him to experience the moment he lost the next thread-holder, because he had. As soon as the thread was inside of Davy, it was over.

Davy was hers.

He fell in love with her vessel once again, and still, even as she pushed more memories into his mind, she knew he wouldn’t realize it.

He was in love with her, not the vessel.

Memory after memory, she shoved them all into his mind. Every time she was there. Every time he was feeling her power, not the thread-holder. Her. The last vision was when he drank from Davy’s blood. He was drinking her, not Davy. It was her, mixed in the vessel’s blood, that filled him and gave him power.

She stood just before him now, her hand still in the air. “Do you feel me?”