He looks at me, face calm, still, betraying nothing.
“Besides, it’s not like we actually have any real proof that he would’ve let her die. I mean, he had the antidote all along, he knew what I’d choose. But even if I did prove him wrong, how do we know he wouldn’t have given her the elixir himself?” I take a deep breath, hardly believing I’m borrowing Haven’s argument, the same one I balked at just
a few moments earlier. “And then—maybe he even would’ve tried to turn the whole thing around! You know, tell her we were prepared to let her die and end up turning her against us! Did you ever think of that?”
“No. I suppose I didn’t,” he says, lids narrowed, concern clouding his face.
“And it’s not like I’m not gonna monitor the situation cuz I totally am. I’ll make sure she’s safe. But she does have free will, you know, it’s not like we can choose her friends for her, so I figured, you know, when in Rome . . . and all . . . so to speak . . .”
“And what about the romantic feelings Haven holds toward Roman? Did you consider that?”
I shrug, my words containing a conviction I don’t really feel when I say, “She used to have feelings for you too if you’ll remember. She seemed to get over that pretty quickly. And don’t forget about Josh, the guy she was convinced was her soul mate who got booted over a kitten. And now that she’s in a position to have pretty much whatever or whoever she wants—” I pause, but only for a moment, not long enough for him to interject. “I’m sure Roman will lose his allure and slide way down on her list. I mean, I know she can seem kind of fragile, but she’s actually a lot tougher than you think.”
I stand, signaling an end to this conversation. What’s done is done and I don’t want him to do or say anything that’ll make me doubt my stance on Haven and Roman’s relationship any more than I already do.
He hesitates, gaze moving over me, taking me in, then rises in one, quick, languid move as he grasps my hand and leads me to the door, where he presses his lips against mine. Lingering, fusing, pushing, melding, the two of us drawing this kiss out for as long as we can, neither one willing to break away first.
I press hard against him, the contours of his body barely dimmed by that ever-present energy veil that hovers between us. The broad expanse of his chest, the valley of his torso—every inch of him conforming so tightly to me it’s nearly impossible to tell where he ends and I begin. Wishing this kiss could do the impossible—banish my mistakes—this strange way I feel—chase away the dark angry cloud that follows me everywhere these days.
“I should go,” I whisper, the first to break the spell, aware of the heat rising between us, that incendiary pull, a painful reminder that, for now anyway, this is as far as it goes.
And just as I’ve settled into my car and Damen’s gone back inside, Rayne appears, Luna still perched on her shoulder, twin sister Romy at her side.
“Tonight’s the night. Moon’s moving into a new phase,” she says, eyes narrowed, lips grim. No other words necessary, we all know what that means.
I nod and shift into reverse, ready to back down the drive, when she adds, “You know what to do, right? You remember our plan?”
I nod again, hating the fact that I’m in this position, knowing that as far as they’re concerned, I’ll never live this one down.
Backing out of the drive and onto the street, their thoughts chasing behind me, burrowing into my mind, as they think: It’s wrong to use magick for selfish, nefarious reasons. There’s karma to pay, and it’ll come back times three.
four
The first thing I see when I pull into the drive is Munoz’s silver Prius. Which, to be honest, pretty much makes me want to turn around and go just about anywhere else. But I don’t. I just sigh and pull into the garage instead. Knowing I’ve no choice but to face it.
Face the fact that my aunt/legal guardian is falling hard for my history teacher.
Face the fact that it’s a heckuva lot better to sit around the dinner table than the breakfast table, which, if things continue to progress at the rapid pace that they are, then it’s just a matter of time before it’s: Good-bye Mr. Munoz, hello Uncle Paul! I’ve seen it. It’s as good as done. Now I’m just waiting for them to realize it too.
I slip through the side door, tiptoeing lightly, hoping to make it up to my room without being seen so I can have some time to myself—time that I desperately need in order to set some things straight.
Poised and ready to dash up the stairs when Sabine pokes her head around the corner and says, “Oh good, I thought I heard your car in the garage. We’re going to eat in about half an hour, but why don’t you come in and visit a bit beforehand.”
I peer over her shoulder in search of Munoz, but thanks to the wall that separates us from the den, all I can see are a pair of leather man-sandals perched on the overstuffed ottoman, appearing so relaxed and casual it’s as if they don’t belong anywhere else but that very spot. Switching my gaze to her and taking in the sweep of her shoulder-length blond hair, the flush at her cheeks, her sparkling blue eyes, and renewing my vow to be happy that she’s happy—even though I’m not exactly thrilled with the reason behind it.
“I’m—I’ll be down in a bit,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’m just gonna wash up—and stuff . . .” My gaze drifts back to Munoz, unable to tear it away no matter how disturbing the view. I mean seriously, just because it’s summer doesn’t mean I should have to look at faculty feet in my own house.
“Okay, well, don’t take too long.” She starts to turn, hair swinging over her shoulder as she adds, “Oh, and I almost forgot, this came for you.”
She swipes a cream-colored envelope off the side table and offers it to me. The words mystics & moonbeams printed in purple on the top left corner, my name and address in Jude’s angular scribble scrawled across the front.
I just stand there and stare, knowing I could grab it, place my hand on the front, and intuit the contents without ever having to unseal it. But the thing is, I don’t want to touch it, don’t want anything to do with it, the job I once held, or Jude, the boss who, as it just so happens, played a significant role in pretty much all of my lives. Reappearing again and again, always managing to claim my affections until Damen showed up and swept me away. A centuries-old love triangle that ended the second I saw his Ouroboros tattoo last Thursday night.
And even though Damen claims that lots of people have them—that its original meaning wasn’t at all evil, that Roman and Drina just made it that way, I can’t take the chance that he’s wrong.
Can’t take the chance that Jude’s not one of them, when I’m pretty dang sure that he is.
“Ever?” Sabine tilts her head, shooting me her usual look that says: No matter how many books I read on the subject, adolescents may as well be aliens. A look I know all too well.