“Ever—you okay in there? Dinner’s just about ready, you might want to make your way down!”
“Okay—I’ll . . .” I close my eyes, quickly banishing my robe and manifesting a simple blue dress in its place. Having no idea what to do now, where to go from here. Though one thing is clear—I can’t tell Romy and Rayne—they already witnessed my last flubbed attempt, and I’ll never live this one down. Besides, they’re too close to Damen, and th
ey’ll never forgive me.
“I’ll be there in a sec, really!” I say, sensing her energy from the other side of the door debating whether or not to bust in.
“Five minutes!” she warns, voice resigned. “Then I’m coming in to get you myself!”
I close my eyes and shake my head, shoving my feet into some flip-flops while combing my hands through my hair. Taking great care to ensure everything appears clean and pristine on the outside, because inside, there’s no doubt that things just took a major turn for the worse.
five
I slip out the side gate and onto the street, the soft lilting sounds of Sabine and Munoz laughing and enjoying the last of their wine by the pool drifting behind me as I break into a run. Careful to temper the pace, going neither too fast nor too slow, reluctant to attract any undue attention from anyone who might see.
It was bad enough having to explain it to Sabine. Especially after having just gulped down three-quarters of a barbecued chicken breast, a lump of potato salad, an entire corn on the cob, and a glass and a half of soda—none of which I was the slightest bit interested in, and which, in the end, only seemed to raise a whole new suspicion.
Her voice all raised and squeaky, gone completely high alert when she said, “Now? But it’ll be dark soon—and you just ate!” Her ever-watchful gaze sweeping over me, as a new possibility formed in her brain—exercise bulimia!
Having ruled out anorexia and just plain old bulimia to explain my odd behavior and even odder eating habits—she’s now onto something new, leaving no doubt that a trip to our local bookstore’s self-help aisles will be squeezed into her weekend’s agenda.
And I wish I could explain it to her, sit her right down and say, “Relax. It’s not at all what you think. I’m immortal. The juice is all I need to get by. But right now, I’ve got a little spell-casting problem to fix so—don’t wait up!”
But that’s never gonna happen. It can’t happen. Damen was clear about keeping our immortality a secret. And after seeing what’s happened when it’s gotten into the wrong hands, I have to say I agree with him one hundred percent.
But keeping it a secret has been one of my greatest challenges, and that’s where the jogging comes in. I am now, officially (or at least where Sabine and Munoz are concerned), a person who slips into a T-shirt, sneakers, and shorts and goes for an evening run.
A nice healthy excuse for getting out of the house and away from Munoz, whom I can’t help but like as a person, even though I never wanted to get to know him as a person.
A nice healthy excuse for getting away from an aunt who’s so kind and considerate and helpful toward me that I can’t help but feel like the world’s worst niece for all of the trouble I’ve caused.
A nice healthy excuse to get away from two wonderful, kindhearted people so I can indulge in a much darker, not at all healthy, obsession.
One that’s got a hold on me.
One I’m determined to beat.
I make a swift left onto the next street, noticing how the cars, the pavement, the sidewalks, the windows are all dappled with that burnished gold that the tail end of magic hour brings—the result of the first and last hour of sunlight when everything appears softer, warmer, bathed in the sun’s reddish haze. My muscles pumping, feet moving faster, picking up speed, even though I know better, even though I try to slow down—it’s too dangerous, too risky, someone might see—and yet I keep going. Unable to stop it. No longer the one who controls me.
Aiming for my destination like an arrow on a compass, my entire being is focused on one single point. Cars, houses, people—everything around me is reduced to a single, orangey blur as I close street after street. My heart crashing hard against my chest—but not from the run or the exertion, because the truth is, I’ve barely broken a sweat.
This live wire inside me is all about the proximity.
The simple fact that I’m near—
Getting closer—
Almost there.
Like a siren song propelling me toward uncertain ruin, and I can’t seem to get there quickly enough.
The second I see it, I stop. My gaze narrows as everything around me ceases to exist. Staring at Roman’s door as I will the beast to retreat. Renewing my resolve to overcome this strange, foreign pulse now beating in me, wanting only to slip inside, casually, easily, and confront him once and for all so we can put an end to all this.
Forcing myself to take long, deep breaths as I summon the strength that I’ll need. Just about to take that very first step when I hear my name called from a voice I’d hoped never to hear again.
He saunters toward me, head cocked to the side, as cool and casual as a summer’s breeze. His left arm heavily bandaged and wrapped in a navy blue sling, stopping just shy of me, purposely positioning himself out of my reach, when he says, “What are you doing?”
I swallow hard, relieved to feel the pulse lessening, receding, and yet startled to realize my first instinct isn’t to run, isn’t to finish the job and put the rest of him in a sling too—but to lie. To make any excuse that I can to explain my heated, gaping, practically salivating presence, right outside Roman’s store.