Miles grins, looking at me when he says, “First a party and now a gift? You spoil me, Ever!”

And though I respond with a smile, the truth is, his words barely register. Everything is upstaged by the simple fact that Roman is here.

The second I see him, the invader takes over, effectively smothering whatever small glimmer of me managed to hang on for this long, and instantly replacing it with an insistent thrum that grows increasingly bolder.

A thrum that won’t stop until Roman and I join as one.

Damen’s arm tightens around me, aware of the change in my energy, clearly on edge. Poised and ready for just about anything, as first Misa, then Marco and Rafe, say good-bye to Miles, as Haven, clad in a purple velvet dress that brings out the sheen of her perfect, pale skin, looks on. Her glinting eyes sweeping over me, as her heavily ringed fingers tap ominously against her hips. And if she still had an aura to view, there’s no doubt I’d be gazing into a solid wall of the darkest, most blazing red.

But it’s not like I need to read her energy to know how she’s feeling or what she’s thinking. She’s exactly like me now—immortal—myopic—with only one goal in sight—Roman. Willing to do whatever it takes to stake her claim.

Her gaze rakes over me, working its way from my head to my toes. So sure of her powers, so overconfident in her fledgling abilities, I’m quickly dismissed with a casual shrug.

She leans in toward Miles, giving him a brief hug good-bye, quickly slipping out of the way when Roman grasps him in one of those brief, back-slapping man hugs, hand still gripping his shoulder when he says, “Now don’t forget, just after you’ve crossed the Ponte Vecchio, head down the alley, take a left and then another, and it’s the third door on the right. Big red door—can’t miss it.” Eyes gleaming in a billion points of light when he glances at Damen and sees the way the color just drained from his face. “It’s worth the trip, mate, trust me on that.” He turns toward Miles again. “Hell, ask Damen—wouldn’t you say it’s worth the trip? Surely you know the place?”

Damen gazes at Roman, jaw clenched, lids narrowed, striving for a calm, even tone when he says, “Can’t say that I do.”

But Roman just squints, head cocked to the side as he slips into a thick cockney brogue. “You sure ’bout that, mate? Coulda swore I sawr you in thar b’fore?”

“Doubtful,” Damen says, the word hard, final, the challenge clearly displayed in his gaze.

But Roman just laughs, hands raised in surrender and turning toward me when he says, “Ever.”

And that’s all it takes. The mere mention of my name on his lips and I’m liquid.

Pure molten liquid.

Willing to follow wherever he leads.

I move toward him, lured by his steely blue gaze. Each small step bringing me closer to the images now unfolding in his head—the ones he’s placed there for me. The exact kind of thing that would’ve disgusted me before—make me want to punch out his chakras and be done with all this. But not now.

Now I’m so breathless and heated I can’t get there quickly enough.

Damen reaches toward me—both mentally and physically—trying to send me a message, trying to pull me back to him, but it’s no use. His thoughts are mumbled, jumbled, making no sense at all. Just a long string of words I’ve no interest in.

Roman’s the only thing that interests me now.

He’s my sun, moon, and stars and I happily revolve all around him.

I take another step, my hands shaking, body aching, yearning for the chill of his touch on my skin. No longer caring who sees—what they’ll think—only wanting to feed the hungry monster within me.

And just as I’m about to do it, about to take that final leap forward, he sweeps right past me and saunters outside to his car. Leaving me unsteady, uncertain, breathless, and confused—as Miles stands by, unsure what to do—and Damen looks on with concern.

Summoning every ounce of his will to hold it together, to keep things on track, at least while Miles is present, and going right back to where we left off when he says, “Roman’s taste in art is pedestrian at best. Stick with my list and you can’t go wrong.” His face appearing composed, relaxed, but I know it’s anything but. The energy that emanates off him tells a whole other story.

And I wish I could care in the way I’m supposed to—in the way that I eventually will once this pulse starts to fade and the impact of what I’ve just done comes reeling back at me. But that’s a horrifying moment reserved for the future. Right now, all I can think about is him.

Where he’s going.

If she’s with him.

And what I can do to stop them.

Miles glances between us, wishing he could just board that jet and be done with all this. Nervously clearing his throat when he says, “So, now that that’s over, you wanna join the rest of the party? The cast is up in the game room and we’re about to perform the highlights of Hairspray pretty soon.”

Damen starts to shake his head no, but I override him. Even though I want to do pretty much anything but take part in a show-tunes sing-along, if I’ve any hope of salvation, I need to stay here. Right here in this house where it’s safe. If I go outside, I’ll go after him, and from that moment on, there’ll be no turning back.

Besides, I need the distraction. I can’t bear to see Damen’s questioning gaze, the look of hurt on his face. I need some time to calm and center myself, so I can eventually explain the strange, awful truth of what’s happening to me.