Dark Flame (Immortals 4)

Roman’s voice a soft, thick whisper in my ear when he says, “Feel that?”

I look at him, aware of nothing more than the insistent pulse now thrumming inside me as my body fills with heat. Heat that seeks nothing more than his cool, sweet relief.

“Okay, so now I want you to ask me a question, a simple yes or no question, one that you already know the answer to. Giving me a moment to concentrate on the answer and state it both mentally and verbally as you try to push my arm down with two fingers.”

I glance between my watch and him, knee jiggling like crazy, knowing I don’t have much longer.

But he just nods, arm raised, encouraging gaze on mine. “The truth strengthens, lies weaken—now’s your chance to test that theory on me, so we can then test it on you. It’s the only way to prove what you really do want, Ever. So, go ahead, ask me a question, whatever you want. I’ll even lower my shield so you can read my thoughts and see I’m not cheating.”

He looks at me, the weight of his gaze causing my pulse to quicken and my heart to crash until I can’t—I can’t—

“Ask me a question, Ever.” He peers at me closely. “Ask me anything you want. The sooner we finish with me, the sooner we can get on to you and determine just what it is you desire most.”

I stand beside him, struggling to steel myself, to center myself, but it’s no use, I can’t do it, can’t play this game anymore.

“Would you rather we skip ahead?” he asks, gaze moving over me, slowly, deeply. “Would you prefer I test you instead?”

He waits, giving me a moment to collect myself, to take a deep breath and bid a silent plea to Hecate, asking her for the strength to get through this, to get what I came for. But when I look at Roman again, I realize Hecate has left me, I’m all on my own.

“It is the antidote you want, right?” he asks, turning toward me, so close I can feel his breath on my cheek, his lips just inches from mine. “That is the one true thing you desire above all else?”

Yes! I shout, the word coming from somewhere down deep as my mind repeats it with such force I’m sure he can hear it.

Only he can’t hear it.

Because it was never voiced.

It’s just an empty sound that bounces around in my head until it finally dies out.

And the second his eyes meet mine—I’m gone.

The flame roaring through me, setting my body ablaze, as my fingers, hungry for the feel of his flesh, grasp and claw at that smooth expanse of golden tanned chest.

“Careful, luv.” He grips my wrists and pulls me tightly to him, eyes narrowed, lips moist and wet. “I’ve never been one for the scratch marks, no matter how fast they may fade.” Holding me away from him as his gaze trails down my body—hungry, predatory, and I the banquet before him. “Also, we’ll have none of this nonsense.” He laughs, loosening the amulet from my neck and tossing it clear to the other side of the room where it rolls and bounces and clinks against the ground.

But I don’t care about that, don’t care about anything but the feel of his fingers snaking their way down my back, the way he buries his face in my hair and presses his nose to my neck, inhaling strongly, deeply, filling himself with my scent. His gaze burning into mine as he lifts me into his arms and lowers me onto the couch. Ridding himself of his jacket and unfastening his jeans as I run my hands over his skin and pull him down to me, eager for the feel of his kiss, his lips upon mine.

Gasping when he pushes me away, removes my hands from his neck, and says, “Take it easy, luv. You’re the one who doesn’t like all that foreplay, remember? There’s plenty of time for that later, but first, let’s get this thing done. After all, you’ve been waiting for—what? Four hundred years, is it?”

I pull him back to me, hungry for more—more of his skin—more of the taste of him—my body pushing, arching, desperate to meet his, my lips swollen, greedy for all he can give. Wanting him to want me in the way I want him, and willing to do whatever it takes to get him to kiss me—then suddenly remembering just what that is . . .

He wedges his knee between mine, losing his jeans and squaring his hips, positioning himself as he says, “This’ll only hurt a minute, luv, and then—”

And then he looks at me and everything stops—his eyes glazed with longing, lips parted in wonder, as that look—the look I’ve been longing for, yearning for, suddenly takes over.

The look that tells me he wants me—needs me—as much as I want and need him.

I pull him down to me, desperate to finally feel the press of his lips when he bends toward me, voice a whisper of hushed reverence when he says, “Drina—”

I pull back, squinting, confused, looking into his eyes and seeing what he sees—flaming red hair, porcelain skin, emerald green eyes—a reflection that doesn’t belong to—me.

“Drina . . .” he mumbles, “Drina, I . . .”

And while my body’s still responding, encouraging his touch, his gentle caress of my skin, my heart’s shrinking back, refusing to play. Something is wrong—something’s gone very—very—wrong—something that clings to the outer edges, just starting to form and take shape, when he tugs at my dress and it slips right away.

And when I gaze at him, see that glazed look in his eyes, I know it’s almost here. My birthday gift—the thing I wanted most—is about to be mine.

Vaguely aware that from this moment on, nothing will ever be the same.