“I did try to call—but it was—complicated.” I shake my head. “It was a choice between—between something I really need—and you. And as you see, I chose you.”

She looks at me, eyes wide, mind calculating, not saying a word.

“Roman promised to give me what I need if I just let you die. But I couldn’t do it—and so—” I gesture toward her. “Now you’re immortal.”

She shakes her head and gazes around, focusing on a group of neighborhood kids driving a jacked-up golf cart up and down the street. Keeping quiet for so long I’m just about to speak when she says, “Sorry you didn’t get what you want, Ever, really I am. But you’re wrong about Roman. There’s no way he’d let me die. From what you said, he had the elixir standing by, ready to go in case you chose differently. Besides, I think I know Roman just a little better than you, and the fact is, he knows how unhappy I’ve been, about the stuff going on with my family—” She shrugs. “He probably just wanted to make me immortal to spare me from that, but didn’t want to sire me since there’s a lot of responsibility that goes with it. I’ve no doubt that if you hadn’t made me drink, he would’ve stepped in. Face it, Ever, you made the wrong choice. You should’ve just called his bluff.”

“There’s no sire,” I mumble, inwardly rolling my eyes at myself. Out of that whole entire litany, that’s what I choose to focus on? I shake my head and start over. “It’s not like that—not even close—it’s . . .” Voice fading as she looks away, fully convinced of one thing—she’s right and I’m wrong. And since I tried to warn her about all the dangers—about him—Damen can’t possibly fault me for what I say next.

“Fine, believe what you want, just do me a favor. If you’re going to insist on hanging with Roman, then all I ask is that you always wear your amulet. Seriously, don’t ever take it off—not for anything—and—”

She looks at me, brow raised, door half open, desperate to get out of this car and away from me.

“And if you’re serious about repaying me for making you immortal—”

Our eyes meet.

“Then Roman has something I really need you to get.”

three

“How’d it go?”

Damen opens the door before I can knock. His gaze deep and intense as he follows me into the den where I drop onto his plush velour couch and kick off my flip-flops. Careful to avoid his eyes as he lands on the cushion beside me, usually all too eager to spend the rest of eternity just gazing at him—taking in the fine planes of his face—his high sculpted cheekbones, lush inviting lips, the slant of his brow, his dark wavy hair, and thick fringe of lashes—but not today.

Today I’d prefer to look just about anywhere else.

“So, you told her?” His fingers trail along the side of my cheek, the curve of my ear, his touch filling me with tingle and heat despite the ever-present energy veil that hovers between us. “Did the cupcake provide the distraction you hoped it would?” His lips nip at my lobe before working their way down my neck.

I lean back against the cushions, closing my eyes in a feigned bout of fatigue. But the truth is, I don’t want him to see me, to observe me too closely. Don’t want him to sense my thoughts, my essence, my energy—that strange, foreign pulse that’s been stirring inside me for the last several days.

“Hardly.” I sigh. “She pretty much ignored it—guess she’s like us now—in more ways than one.” Feeling the weight of his gaze as he studies me intensely.

“Care to elaborate?”

I scrunch down even lower and toss my leg over his, my breath slowing as I settle into the warmth of his energy. “She’s just—so far advanced. I mean, she has the whole look, you know? That eerie, flawless, immortal look. She even heard my thoughts—until I blocked them.” I frown and shake my head.

“Eerie? Is that how you see it—see us?” Clearly distressed by my words.

“Well—not really eerie.” I pause, wondering why I phrased it like that. “More like—not normal. I mean, I doubt even supermodels look that perfect all the time. Not to mention, what are we gonna do if she grows four inches practically overnight like I did? How do we possibly explain that?”

“Same way we did with you,” he says, eyes narrowed, cautious, more interested in the words I’m not saying than the ones that I am. “We’ll call it a growth spurt. They’re not that uncommon among mortals, you know.” His voice lifts in a weak attempt at levity that doesn’t quite work.

I avert my gaze, taking in the crowded bookshelves filled with leather-bound first editions, the abstract oil paintings, most of them priceless originals, knowing he’s onto me. He knows something’s up, but I’m hoping he can’t sense just how far it goes. That I’m just saying the words, going through the motions, not really invested in any of this.

“And so—does she hate you like you feared?” he asks, voice steady, deep, the slightest bit probing.

I peer at him, this wonderful glorious creature who’s loved me for the last four hundred years and continues to do so no matter how many blunders I make, no matter how many lives I mess up. Sighing as I close my eyes and manifest a single red tulip that I promptly hand over. Serving not just as the symbol of our undying love, but also the winning wager in the bet that we made.