Everlasting (Immortals 6)

Unwil ing to stop long enough to retrieve my jacket from my backpack, I rub my hands up and down my arms in an attempt to warm myself. My ears pricking with interest when a second gust rustles past. Only this time, in addition to the usual crackling of leaves and pattering of rocks tumbling over each other, it carries a whole other sound—one that’s either animal or human—I can’t be too sure. Al I know is that Rafe and I are no longer the only ones here.

My hair lifts, swirling around me as I fight to gather the strands in my fist. Noticing the way the fog thinned just enough to al ow for a glimpse of a distant snowcapped mountain, along with the very top branches of what must be a very tal tree (possibly the tree?), before thickening again and blotting everything out.

Determined to keep Rafe focused on me, hoping he didn’t see what I saw, I turn to him and say, “By the way, what exactly are you doing here? Surely this is no accident? So what is it you’re up to? Are you in cahoots with Misa and Marco? Or maybe even a friend of Lotus’s by chance? Or, are you seriously going to try to convince me that you’re just out for a day hike?”

I cock a brow, taking in what little I can see of him, his height, his wavy mane of dark hair, but the rest is al white. But when he doesn’t answer, when he just moves as though he might try to jump me, I reach for my flashlight and shine it right in his face, the beam cutting through the haze and showing me al that I need to see—which isn’t much of anything.

Like al the other rogue immortals I’ve met this past year, Rafe remains remarkably cool under pressure. His face showing no sign that he’s even startled by the sharp beam of light now shining on him. For someone who’s just been caught positioning himself to better attack me, he doesn’t look even the slightest bit guilty. If anything, he just looks determined.

But there is something else.

Something that real y stands out though I try not to let on.

He looks older.

Way older.

Last time I saw him he was just another super-hot, perfect specimen of a gorgeous immortal.

But now, while he’s stil real y good-looking, he’s also showing some definite signs of aging and wear—the years catching up with him in the form of graying hair and the fan of wrinkles surrounding his eyes. Even his teeth seem a little yel ow, as opposed to what I’ve come to think of as bright and shiny immortal white.

And suddenly I know exactly why he’s here.

“Let’s cut the crap, shal we?” he says, closing the smal gap between us in a handful of seconds. “Neither one of us is on a day hike.

You’re on Lotus’s journey to the Tree of Life. Hoping to get your hands on the one piece of fruit it bears every one thousand years.” He stares at me, his voice a perfect match for the glare in his gaze. “One beautiful, perfect piece of fruit that looks like a cross between a pomegranate and a peach. One amazing piece of produce that offers immortality to whoever is lucky enough to pluck it, seize it, taste it.

And, as it turns out, the mil ennium is up. It’s time for the harvest. And while I’m sure you consider yourself worthy of a bite, I hate to break it to you, Ever, but this is how it’s gonna go down: You’re gonna lead me to the tree, and I’l be the one to claim its bounty.”

I continue to study him, my flashlight moving over his face, wondering if I should fil him in on the truth that the fruit isn’t quite what it’s rumored to be. That the story behind its powers was never intended to be taken quite so literal y. The tree’s fruit grants wisdom and enlightenment to those who seek it—providing the ultimate truth—the knowledge that they are truly immortal beings. For those who’ve achieved physical immortality, wel , it has a reversal effect—returning the body and the soul back to the way it was always intended to be.

Which is not at al the sort of immortality he seeks—though it’s definitely the kind that he needs.

But instead I just say, “And why would I agree to do that?”

“Because now that Roman is gone, thanks to you I might add”—he pauses long enough to let that sink in—“the tree is my only hope left. Haven drank what was left of his supply, and since he assumed he’d live forever, he never bothered to share the recipe. Not to mention how he liked having control over us. Liked it almost as much as the party he threw every century and a half, always on the summer solstice, where he’d gather us together, wherever he was living at the time. We’d swap stories, share some good times, and drink a toast to each other, before we said our good-byes and moved on with our lives. Kind of like a high school reunion, but better, if you can imagine. No second-rate hotel bal room, no need to impress each other with bad plastic surgery and inflated job titles that don’t actual y mean anything…”

I don?

??t say a word. And I definitely don’t even try to imagine. I just stand there and let him continue.

“Funny thing was, even though your boyfriend Damen never showed—probably because he was never invited—but stil , he was always the most popular topic of conversation.” Rafe nods, gaze going inward now, as though he’s watching a scene that plays in his head. “For years he was like a legend to me. You should’ve heard the stories the orphans al told. The first among our kind, the one who turned six then disappeared, never to be seen or heard from again, or at least not intentional y. Do you realize he never even once thought to track them al down and let them drink again? He abandoned them, Ever—did you know that? He left them al to shrivel—to grow old and wither—while he stayed eternal y young.” He shakes his head and frowns in a way that encourages a whole new set of lines to race across his forehead. “Sorry, but if it sounds as though I don’t like him, wel , that’s because I don’t. Stil , that has nothing to do with why I can’t al ow you to reach that tree. It’s nothing personal, and I hope you’l understand when I say that the reason you can’t get your hands on that fruit is because it’s reserved just for me.”

I take a deep breath, dimming my flashlight a bit, realizing it’s better to try to ease his mind and put him off guard, to convince him to lower his defenses, than to put him on the defensive if I’ve any hope of regaining the advantage. Ful y aware that al it would take to be rid of him is one good shove that sends him over the edge. And as tempting as that might be, I won’t do it—and I’m pretty sure he won’t do it to me.

He needs me.

Only I can make the journey.

Only I can find the tree.

Which means he needs me to stay healthy, vital, and most importantly, in one piece, if he has any intention of my leading the way.

But what he doesn’t realize is that I’m more than happy to do so, as long as I arrive first. And when I do arrive, when I scale that tree and get to the fruit, I have every intention of sharing it. I have every intention of giving him, wel , maybe not the eternal life that he seeks, but certainly the one that he needs.

The one that wil reverse the effects of the elixir, provide true immortality, and spare him from Lotus’s fate.

I look at him, lifting my shoulders casual y as I say, “No worries.” But if his arched brow and quirked mouth are any indication, he’s going to need a little more convincing. “Real y. It’s not a big deal. For reals.”