There are no boundaries of any kind.

The world appearing just as it did when I died as Adelina. When I soared through the sky and gazed down on creation.

Only I’m not dead. In fact, it’s just the opposite. I’ve never felt so alive.

My eyes meet Damen’s, wondering if he’ll change, if I’ll change. But other than my hair returning from the red that I manifested to its natural state of blond, other than the purple aura that surrounds me, and the indigo blue that surrounds him, there doesn’t seem to be much change at all.

I reach toward him, just as he reaches toward me. Tentative, our fingertips just about to touch, when he flinches, pulls away, causing me to look at him and say, “Even if it doesn’t work, even if we discover our DNA is still cursed, even if one of us should die trying, we’ll find each other again. And again. And again. Same way we always have. Same way we always will from this point on. No matter what happens, we’ll never be apart. We’re truly immortal now. It’s like when we’re in the pavilion, right when we’re about to enter the scene and I always freeze—what is it you always say to me?”

He looks at me, face softening when he says, “Believe.”

And so we do.

We take that big leap of faith and believe.

The silence pierced by twin intakes of breath the moment we reach forward, make contact.

Our fingertips touching, meeting, pressing solidly together, seeming almost to merge into each other, until it’s impossible to tell us apart, determine where he ends and I begin. And I can’t help but marvel at the warmth of him—the surge of pure tingle and heat that he brings. And soon, no longer content with just that, longing for something much deeper, we slip into each other’s arms.

My hands at his neck, his at my waist, clutching me tightly, pulling me close, and then closer still. Exploring the path of my spine before threading his fingers through my thick mane of hair, he steers me toward him, expertly angling my lips to meet his. The soft pillowy firmness of his mouth reminding me of the first time I tasted him—in this life and all the others as well. Our whole world shrinking until there’s nothing but this.

One perfect everlasting kiss.

Bodies pressed together, we sink down to an antique rug that some of history’s most illustrious figures have walked upon, Damen lying beside me, curled all around me, the two of us completely overcome by the wonder of each other, the wonder of being together.

Hardly believing this moment has come after having waited so long.

The curse finally broken.

The universe no longer working against us.

Damen pulls away, gaze drinking me in as his fingers rediscover the feel of my skin. Exploring the expanse of flesh between my temple, my cheek, my lips, my chin, down around my neck, and then lower still, as my lips swell in anticipation of his, eagerly tasting, taking small nips at his hand, his shoulder, his chest, whatever comes near. I can’t get enough of him. Can’t help but want more of him.

All of him.

Now.

“Ever,” he whispers, gazing at me in the same way that Alrik once did, only this time it’s better, happening in real time.

I lift my face to his, capture his lips, and pull him back to me. My body heating, thrumming, wanting nothing more than to deepen this feeling—discover just how far it might go.

“Ever.” His voice is thick, hoarse, the words requiring great effort, when he adds, “Ever, not here. Not like this.”

I blink. Rub my lips together, as though awakening from a dream. Realizing we’re still on the floor, when there are far more comfortable places we could be, including one that I manifested just before I came here.

I rise to my feet, and lead him downstairs, out to my car, and onto the curving, winding expanse of Coast Highway, until I pull up to the most beautiful, old, weathered stone manse perched up high on a cliff, with floor-to-ceiling windows that look down upon a swiftly churning sea—a dwelling that wasn’t there just an hour before.

“Did you make this?” He turns to me.

I nod, grinning. “What can I say? I was hoping we’d come to an agreement. I was going to book us that room at the Montage, but I thought this was better, more private, more romantic. I hope it’s okay?”

He grasps my hand in his and we both hurry toward it. Scaling a long, winding, seemingly never-ending series of stairs until we reach the top, breathless for sure, but more with anticipation than the climb.

I swing the door open and motion him inside, seeing the way he laughs when he steps onto the old limestone floor and sees that despite the size of this place, despite its massive square footage, it only consists of one very large bedroom with a wood-burning fireplace, a beautiful four-poster bed, a gorgeous old woven rug, a well-appointed bathroom, and nothing more.

I flush. I can’t help it. Quickly mumbling something about having not had much time, how we can always add to it if we decide to hang out for a while.

But he just smiles, stops the flow of excuses with a gently pressed finger he soon replaces with his lips, turning my suddenly hushed silence into a nice, long, deeply soulful kiss. Pulling me toward him, toward the bed, voice softly whispering, “You are all that I want. All that I need. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

He kisses me gently but thoroughly, taking his time, making a great effort to handle me with care. But even though I know our time together is infinite, that we’ll always be together, I’m eager for more.

I tug at the hem of his sweater, yank it up high over his head and toss it aside. Pausing to explore the landscape of his chest—the curving hills of his shoulders, the rippled valley of his abs—before my fingers dip lower, working a button, a zipper, an elastic waistband.