so unlike the Damen I know. Heâs always so strong, sexy, beautiful, and invincibleâimmune to weak moments and bad days. And seeing him vulnerable like that has left me far more shaken than I care to admit.
âConsider it done,â he says, filling my arms with dozens of manifested red tulips before speeding away.
eight
Â
The next morning when I meet Damen in the parking lot, all my worries disappear. Because the moment he opens my door and helps me out of my car, I notice how healthy he looks, how devastatingly handsome he is, and when I look in his eyes, itâs clear that all of yesterdayâs weirdness is over. We are more in love than ever.
Seriously. All through English he can barely keep his hands off of me. Constantly leaning toward my desk and whispering into my ear, much to Mr. Robinsâs annoyance, and Stacia and Honorâs disgust. And now that weâre at lunch, he hasnât let up a bit, stroking my cheek and gazing into my eyes, pausing only to take the occasional sip of his drink before picking up right where he left off, murmuring sweet nothings into my ear.
Usually when he acts like that, itâs partly out of love, and partly to tone down all of the noise and energyâall of the random sights, sounds, and colors that constantly bombard me. Ever since I broke the psychic shield Iâd made a few months back, a shield that shut everything out and made me as clueless as I was before I died and came back psychic, Iâve yet to find a way to replace it that will allow me to channel the energies I want while blocking the energies I donât want. And since Damenâs never struggled with this, heâs not sure how to teach me.
But now that heâs back in my life, it no longer seems all that urgent, because the mere sound of his voice can silence the world, while the touch of his skin makes my whole body tingle. And when I look in his eyes, well, letâs just say that Iâm instantly overcome by this warm, wonderful, magnetic
pull
âlike itâs just him and I and everything else has ceased to exist. Damenâs like my perfect psychic shield. My ultimate other half. And even when we canât be together, the telepathic thoughts and images he sends provide that same calming effect.
But today, all of those sweet murmurings arenât just to shield meâtheyâre mostly about our upcoming plans. The suite he booked at the Montage Resort. And how heâs yearned so long for this night.
âDo you have any idea what itâs like to wait for something for four hundred years?â he whispers, his lips nipping at the curve of my ear.
âFour hundred? I thought youâve been around for six hundred?â I say, pulling away to get a better view of his face.
âUnfortunately a couple of centuries had to pass before I found you,â he whispers, his mouth making its way from my neck to my ear. âTwo very lonely centuries, I might add.â
I swallow hard. Knowing the
loneliness
he refers to does
not
necessarily mean he was
alone
. In fact, quite the contrary. But still, I donât call him on it. In fact, I donât say a word. Iâm committed to moving past all of that, getting over my insecurities and moving forward. Just like I promised I would.
I refuse to think about how he spent those first two hundred years without me.
Or how he spent the next four hundred getting over the fact that heâd lost me.
Nor will I even begin to consider the six-hundred-year head start he has on studying and
practicing
theâumâsensual arts.
And I will absolutely, positively,
not
dwell on all of the beautiful, worldly, experienced women he
knew
over the span of those years.
Nope.
Not me.
I refuse to even go there.
âShall I pick you up at six?â he asks, gathering my hair at my nape and twisting it into a long blond rope. âWe can go to dinner first.â
âExcept we donât really
âConsider it done,â he says, filling my arms with dozens of manifested red tulips before speeding away.
eight
Â
The next morning when I meet Damen in the parking lot, all my worries disappear. Because the moment he opens my door and helps me out of my car, I notice how healthy he looks, how devastatingly handsome he is, and when I look in his eyes, itâs clear that all of yesterdayâs weirdness is over. We are more in love than ever.
Seriously. All through English he can barely keep his hands off of me. Constantly leaning toward my desk and whispering into my ear, much to Mr. Robinsâs annoyance, and Stacia and Honorâs disgust. And now that weâre at lunch, he hasnât let up a bit, stroking my cheek and gazing into my eyes, pausing only to take the occasional sip of his drink before picking up right where he left off, murmuring sweet nothings into my ear.
Usually when he acts like that, itâs partly out of love, and partly to tone down all of the noise and energyâall of the random sights, sounds, and colors that constantly bombard me. Ever since I broke the psychic shield Iâd made a few months back, a shield that shut everything out and made me as clueless as I was before I died and came back psychic, Iâve yet to find a way to replace it that will allow me to channel the energies I want while blocking the energies I donât want. And since Damenâs never struggled with this, heâs not sure how to teach me.
But now that heâs back in my life, it no longer seems all that urgent, because the mere sound of his voice can silence the world, while the touch of his skin makes my whole body tingle. And when I look in his eyes, well, letâs just say that Iâm instantly overcome by this warm, wonderful, magnetic
pull
âlike itâs just him and I and everything else has ceased to exist. Damenâs like my perfect psychic shield. My ultimate other half. And even when we canât be together, the telepathic thoughts and images he sends provide that same calming effect.
But today, all of those sweet murmurings arenât just to shield meâtheyâre mostly about our upcoming plans. The suite he booked at the Montage Resort. And how heâs yearned so long for this night.
âDo you have any idea what itâs like to wait for something for four hundred years?â he whispers, his lips nipping at the curve of my ear.
âFour hundred? I thought youâve been around for six hundred?â I say, pulling away to get a better view of his face.
âUnfortunately a couple of centuries had to pass before I found you,â he whispers, his mouth making its way from my neck to my ear. âTwo very lonely centuries, I might add.â
I swallow hard. Knowing the
loneliness
he refers to does
not
necessarily mean he was
alone
. In fact, quite the contrary. But still, I donât call him on it. In fact, I donât say a word. Iâm committed to moving past all of that, getting over my insecurities and moving forward. Just like I promised I would.
I refuse to think about how he spent those first two hundred years without me.
Or how he spent the next four hundred getting over the fact that heâd lost me.
Nor will I even begin to consider the six-hundred-year head start he has on studying and
practicing
theâumâsensual arts.
And I will absolutely, positively,
not
dwell on all of the beautiful, worldly, experienced women he
knew
over the span of those years.
Nope.
Not me.
I refuse to even go there.
âShall I pick you up at six?â he asks, gathering my hair at my nape and twisting it into a long blond rope. âWe can go to dinner first.â
âExcept we donât really
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