Damen nods, coolly, calmly, but I can tell he’s relieved too. And I just look at Miles, shrugging casually when I say, “Wow. I’m really sorry to hear that.”

But the truth is, I’ve already moved on. That strange magick is stirring inside me, causing my heart to race, my palms to sweat, as that restless, twitchy feeling takes over again. And all I want to do is ditch these two as fast as I can so I can find him. Roman. I’ve got an uncontrollable hunger that needs to be fed, no matter the cost to me or my friends.

I swallow hard, taking slow measured breaths and struggling to steady myself. Clinging to the small glimmer of sanity that’s managed to remain despite the battle that rages around it.

“So, there you have it. A good old-fashioned girl fight.” Miles shrugs. “Too bad I’m not the type to appreciate that kind of thing—though you might.”

He motions toward Damen, but Damen’s quick to dispel it. “I assure you, I got over that type of thing a long time ago.” He nods, a brief flash of sorrow crossing over his face, a memory of Drina and me that’s here and gone before I can blink.

Miles nods, glancing between us when he adds, “Though she is right about one thing—”

Damen shifts ever so slightly, on high alert for whatever that might be, while I stand beside him, nervous, fidgety, only wishing he’d come to me.

“She really is looking pretty smokin’ these days. I mean, I don’t know if it’s her new, post-apocalyptic, rock ’n’ roll gypsy look she’s got going, or what. But it’s like she’s finally finding herself, coming into her own like she said, you know? And after being so lost for so long, it’s got to be a pretty heady feeling to finally gain a little self-empowerment, so try to cut her some slack, okay? She’ll come around. Eventually. But for now, I think we should just sit back and try not to take it personally. Or at least you guys should, because me—I’m headed for Florence—did I mention that?”

I nod, automatically, robotically, rearranging my face into what I hope comes off as a pleasant expression. Hoping everything about me appears pleasant, friendly, and completely agreeable, because inside, I’m stirring, burning, and there’s no way in hell I’m gonna let her enjoy that ride if it involves bringing Roman along.

No.

Way.

But I don’t say that. I don’t say a word. I just shrug as though it hardly concerns me, as I continue to survey the room. Just biding my time until my favorite blue-eyed, blond-haired golden boy appears.

“So I guess what I’m trying to say is that no matter what happens between you guys, I’m not choosing sides, which also means you’re all equally welcome here. But that doesn’t mean I invited her entourage to stop by—Haven came up with that all on her own. Because honestly, don’t tell her I said so, but Roman’s kind of—” He frowns and stares off into space, searching for just the right word, before shaking his head and starting again. “Well—whatever—let’s just say there’s something kind of—off about him—something kind of—strange. I don’t really know how to explain it, but it’s kind of the same feeling I had with Drina.”

His gaze switches between us, searching for confirmation that he really is onto something, but even though my attentions are elsewhere, Damen and I are united in this, standing side by side—a wall of nonchalance he cannot penetrate.

“Anyway.” He shrugs. “He makes her happy, and that’s all that matters. I mean, it’s not like we can stop it, right?”

Oh, you have no idea. I narrow my gaze and press my lips together, struggling to keep it contained.

“I mean, seriously . . .”

Miles yammers on and on as I take the opportunity to peer into his head. Dipping in ever so slightly and taking a quick peek around, sensing his excitement for his trip, his anxiety at leaving Holt, and absolutely no knowledge whatsoever of rogues, immortals, or anything else of the sort.

“. . . so basically you have eight weeks—two whole months to get it cleared up. And I’m counting on you, Ever, since we all know how stubborn Haven can be. I mean, I love her and all, but let’s face it, she loves to be right more than anyone I know—and will fight to the absolute death to defend herself—even when she’s dead wrong.”

I nod, having already popped back out of his head and renewed my vow to never do it again. Watching as Damen reaches into his pocket and retrieves a piece of paper folded into a neat little square—a note he probably manifested just a second before.

“I made you that list we talked about.” He nods, responding to Miles’s blank look when he adds, “The list of places you should check out in Firenze—places you won’t want to miss. It’s a long one.” He shrugs. “Should keep you busy for the next several weeks.” His gaze meets Miles’s, looking at him in a way that’s calm, placid, devoid of any hints at ulterior motives, meant to convince. But I know better. Know without being told that he’s bent on steering him away from the list Roman gave him a few weeks before—but what I don’t know is why.

The last time I asked, he completely clammed up and refused to talk about it. All I know is that Roman is urging Miles to visit some out-of-the-way place that claims to host some rare antiquities and it’s got Damen worried. Though I can’t imagine why, since all of his paintings perished in a fire that he himself set over four hundred years ago—a fire that destroyed everything in his collection, including—for all intents and purposes—him.