Chapter One
"Close your eyes and picture it. Can you see it?"
I nod, eyes closed.
"Imagine it right there before you. See its texture, shape, and color—got it?" I smile, holding the image in my head.
"Good. Now reach out and touch it. Feel its contours with the tips of your fingers, cradle its weight in thepalms of your hands, then combine all of your senses—sight, touch, smell, taste—can you taste it?" I bite my lip and suppress a giggle.
"Perfect. Now combine that with feeling. Believe it exists right before you. Feel it, see it, touch it, taste it, accept it, manifest it!" he says.
So I do. I do all of those things. And when he groans, I open my eyes to see for myself.
"Ever." He shakes his head. "You were supposed to think of an orange. This isn't even close."
"Nope, nothing fruity about him." I laugh, smiling at each of my Damens—the replica I manifested before me, and the flesh and blood version beside me. Both of them equally tall, dark, and so devastatingly handsome they hardly seem real.
"What am I going to do with you?" the real Damen asks, attempting a disapproving gaze but failing miserably. His eyes always betray him, showing nothing but love.
"Hmmm..." I glance between my two boyfriends—one real, one conjured. "I guess you could just go ahead and kiss me. Or, if you're too busy, I'll ask him to stand in, I don't think he'd mind." I motion toward manifest Damen, laughing when he smiles and winks at me even though his edges are fading and soon he'll be gone.
But the real Damen doesn't laugh. He just shakes his head and says, "Ever, please. You need to be serious. There's so much to teach you."
"What's the rush?" I fluff my pillow and pat the space right beside me, hoping he'll move away from my desk and come join me. "I thought we had nothing but time?" I smile. And when he looks at me, my whole body grows warm and my breath halts in my throat, and I can't help but wonder if I'll ever get used to his amazing beauty—his smooth olive skin, brown shiny hair, perfect face, and lean sculpted body—the perfect dark yin to my pale blond yang. "I think you'll find me a very eager student," I say, my eyes meeting his—two dark wells of unfathomable depths.
"You're insatiable," he whispers, shaking his head and moving beside me, as drawn to me as I am to him.
"Just trying to make up for lost time," I murmur, always so eager for these moments, the times when it's just us, and I don't have to share him with anyone else. Even knowing we have all of eternity laid out before us doesn't make me any less greedy. He leans in to kiss me, foregoing our lesson. All thoughts of manifesting, remote viewing, telepathy—all of that psychic business replaced by something far more immediate, as he pushes me back against a pile of pillows and covers my body with his, the two of us merging like crumbled vines seeking the sun. His fingers snake under my top, sliding along my stomach to the edge of my bra as I close my eyes and whisper, "I love you." Words I once kept to myself. But after saying it the first time, I've barely said anything else.
Hearing his soft muffled groan as he releases the clasp on my bra, so effortlessly, so perfectly, nothing awkward or fumbling about it. Every move he makes is so graceful, so perfect, so—Maybe too perfect.
"What's wrong?" he asks, as I push him away. His breath coming in short shallow gasps as his eyes seek mine, their surrounding skin tense and constricted in the way I've grown used to.
"Nothing's wrong." I turn my back and adjust my top, glad I completed the lesson on shielding my thoughts since it's the only thing that allows me to lie.
He sighs and moves away, denying me the tingle of his touch and the heat of his gaze as he paces before me. And when he finally stops and faces me, I press my lips together, knowing what's next. We've been here before.
"Ever, I'm not trying to rush you or anything. Really, I'm not," he says, his face creased with concern. "But at some point you're going to have to get over this and accept who I am. I can manifest anything you desire, send telepathic thoughts and images whenever we're apart, whisk you away to Summerland at a moment's notice. But the one thing I can't ever do is change the past. It just is."
I stare at the floor, feeling small, needy, and completely ashamed. Hating that I'm so incapable of hiding my jealousies and insecurities, hating that they're so transparent and clearly displayed. Because no matter what sort of psychic shield I create, it's no use. He's had six hundred years to study human behavior (to study my behavior), versus my sixteen. "Just—just give me a little more time to get used to all this," I say, picking at a frayed seam on my pillowcase. "It's only been a few weeks." I shrug, remembering how I killed his exwife, told him I loved him, and sealed my immortal fate, less than three weeks ago. He looks at me, his lips pressed together, his eyes tinged with doubt. And even though we're merely a few feet apart, the space that divides us is so heavy and fraught—it feels like an ocean.
"I'm referring to this lifetime," I say, my voice quickening, rising, hoping to fill up the void and lighten the mood. "And since I can't recall any of the others, it's all I have. I just need a little more time, okay?" I smile nervously, my lips feeling clumsy and loose as I hold them in place, exhaling in relief when he sits down beside me, lifts his fingers to my forehead, and seeks the space where my scar used to be.
"Well, that's one thing we'll never run out of." He sighs, trailing his fingers along the curve of my jaw ashe leans in to kiss me, his lips making a series of stops from my forehead, to my nose, to my mouth. And just when I think he's about to kiss me again, he squeezes my hand and moves away. Heading straight for the door and leaving a beautiful red tulip behind in his place.
Chapter Two
Even though Damen can sense the exact moment my Aunt Sabine turns onto our street and approaches the drive, that's not why he left. He left because of me. Because of the simple fact that he's been after me for hundreds of years, seeking me out in all of my incarnations, just so we could be together.
Only we never got together. Which means it never happened.
Apparently every time we were about to take the next step and consummate our love, his ex-wife Drina manag
ed to show up and kill me. But now that I've killed her, eliminated her with one well-placed though admittedly feeble swipe to her rather compromised heart chakra, there's absolutely nothing or no one blocking our way. Except me.
Because even though I love Damen with all of my being, and definitely want to take the next step—I can't stop thinking about those last six hundred years. And how he chose to live them. (Outlandishly, according to him. And whom he chose to live them with. (Besides his ex-wife Drina, many others have been alluded to.) And, well, as much as I hate to admit it, knowing all of that makes me feel a little insecure. Okay, maybe a lot insecure. I mean, it's not like my pathetically meager list of guys I've kissed could ever compare to his six centuries' worth of conquests.
And even though I know it's ridiculous, even though I know Damen has loved me for centuries, the fact is, the heart and mind aren't always friendly.
And in my case, they're barely speaking.
Yet still, every time Damen comes over for my lesson, I always manage to turn it into a prolonged make out session, each time starting out thinking: This is it! It's really going to happen this time! Only to push him away like the worst kind of tease.
And the truth is, it's exactly like he said. He can't change his past, it just is. Once something is done it can't be undone. There's no rewind. No going back.
The only thing a person can ever really do is keep moving forward. And that's exactly what I need to do. Take that big leap forward without hesitation, without once looking back. Simply forget the past and forge toward the future.
I just wish it were really that easy.
"Ever?" Sabine makes her way up the stairs as I run frantically around my room, trying to straighten it up before plopping in front of my desk and scrambling to look like I'm busy. "You still up?" she asks, poking her head inside. And even though her suit is wrinkled, her hair limp, and her eyes a little red and tired, her aura's hanging in there, beaming a nice shade of green.
"I was just finishing up some homework," I say, pushing my laptop away as though I'd been using it.
"Did you eat?" She leans against the door jamb, her eyes narrowed and suspicious, as her aura reaches right toward me—the portable lie detector she unknowingly carries wherever she goes. "Of course," I tell her.