I clear my throat, forcing myself to look him square in the eye without flinching, wavering, fidgeting, or exhibiting any other sign of weakness. Aware of how this whole situation can change in an instant—how easily I can turn from mild curiosity to irresistible prey.

“I’m here to call a truce,” I say, alert for some kind of reaction but getting only his penetrating gaze. “You know, a cease-fire, a proclamation of peace, a—”

“Please.” He waves his hand. “Spare me the definition, luv. I can say it in twenty languages and forty dialects. You?”

I shrug, knowing I’m lucky to have said it in the one. Watching as he swirls his drink, the iridescent red liquid flashing and sparking as it runs up the sides and splashes back down.

“And just what sort of truce are you after? You of all people should know how it works. I’ve no intention of giving you anything, unless you’re willing to give up something of your own.” He pats the narrow space just beside him, smiling as though I’d actually consider joining him there.

“Why do you do this?” I ask, unable to contain my frustration. “I mean, you’re more or less decent looking, you’re immortal, you’ve got all the gifts that go with it—you can pretty much have anyone you want, so why do you insist on bothering me?”

He throws his head back and laughs, a giant roar that fills up the room. Finally calming down enough to level his gaze, looking at me as he says, “Decent looking?” He shakes his head and laughs again, placing his glass on the table and retrieving a pair of golden nail clippers from a jewel-encrusted case. “Decent looking,” he mutters, shaking his head, taking a moment to check out his nails, before returning his focus to me. “But you see, luv, that’s just it. I can have anything I want. Anything or anyone. It all comes so easy. Too easy.” He sighs, getting to work on his nails, so absorbed by the task, I’m wondering if he’ll continue when he says, “It all gets a little tedious after the first—oh—hundred or so years. And while you’re far too new to understand any of this, someday you’ll realize just how big of a favor I’ve done you.”

I squint, having no idea what he could possibly mean. A favor? Is he serious?

“You sure you won’t have a seat?” He wags his nail clipper toward the overstuffed chair just to my right, urging me to take it. “You’re making me out to be a very bad host, insisting on standing there like that. Besides, do you have any idea how fetching you look? A little—bedridden—sure, but in the sexiest way.”

He narrows his eyes until they’re sleek as a cat’s, lips parting just enough for his tongue to escape. But I just stay put and pretend not to notice. Everything with Roman is a game, and taking a seat would be conceding defeat. Though remaining like this, watching his tongue wet his lips as his gaze lingers in all the wrong places, doesn’t feel like much of a win.

“You’re even more delusional than I thought if you think you’ve done me a favor,” I say, voice hoarse, scratchy, a long way from strong. “You’re crazy!” I add, regretting it the instant it’s out.

But Roman just shrugs, unfazed by my outburst as he returns to his nails. “Trust me, it’s more than just a favor, luv. I’ve given you a purpose. A raison d’être as they say.” He glances at me, brow raised. “Tell me, Ever, are you not completely fixated on finding a way to—consummate—with Damen? Are you not so desperate for a solution you actually convinced yourself it was a good idea to come here?”

I swallow hard and stare at him. I should’ve known better, should’ve heeded Damen’s advice.

“You’re too impatient.” He nods, smoothing the edges of his freshly clipped nails. “What’s the rush when you have all of infinity laid out before you? Think about it, Ever, how exactly would you spend your eternity if it weren’t for me? Showering each other with huge bouquets of bloody red tulips? Having at each other so often it couldn’t help but grow boring?”

“This is ridiculous.” I glare. “And the fact that you see it like this—like it’s some chivalrous deed that you’ve done—” I shake my head, knowing there’s no need to continue. He’s delusional, insane, determined to see things in his own selfish way.

“Six hundred years I yearned for her,” he says, tossing his nail clippers aside, gaze never once leaving mine. “And why, you ask? Why would I bother with the same woman for so long when I can have anyone?” He looks at me as though waiting for the answer, but we both know I’ve no intention of going there. “It wasn’t just her beauty like you think—though I will admit, it did spur things at the start.” He smiles, eyes reminiscent. “No, it was the simple fact that I couldn’t have her. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how long I pined, I was never allowed”—he looks at me, gaze heavy, intense—“admittance—if you will.”

I roll my eyes. I can’t help it. The fact that he wasted centuries pining for that monster is of no interest to me.

But he just continues, ignoring my pained expression when he says, “Make no mistake, Ever, I’m about to share something very important, something you really should keep in mind.” He leans forward, arms on knees, voice steady and low, filled with new urgency. “We always want what we can’t have.” He leans back, nodding as though he just shared the key to enlightenment. “It’s human nature. We’re hardwired that way. And as much as you’d prefer not to believe it, it’s the only reason Damen’s spent the last four hundred years longing for you.”