But this time, it doesn’t work. Even though I move toward him, toward the anticipatory gleam in his eye, it’s not for the reason he thinks.

“I’m not here for that,” I say, watching as he shrugs, like he couldn’t care less either way.

Head bent forward, inspecting his perfectly buffed and manicured nails when he says, “Then just what are you here for? Come on, get on with it already, Haven’ll drop by eventually, soon as her concert is over, and I don’t think either of us needs a scene like that again.”

“I’ve no plans to hurt Haven.” I shrug. “I’ve no plans to hurt you either. I’m merely here to appeal to your higher self, that’s all.”

He gapes, eyes searching my face for the joke he’s sure that I’m hiding.

“I know you have one. A higher self. In fact, I know all about you. I know all about your past, how your mother died in labor, how your father beat and then abandoned you—I know it all—I—”

“Bloody hell,” he says, blue eyes wide, voice so soft, so stunned, I almost missed it. “Nobody knows about that—how the hell did you—?”

But I just shrug, the how doesn’t matter. “And after knowing all that, I find that I can no longer hate you. I just don’t. It’s not in me.”

He stares at me, eyes narrowed, full of skepticism. Returning to his usual bravado when he says, “Of course you do, luv, you love to hate me, that’s just what you do. In fact, you love to hate me so much, I’m all you can think about.” He smiles, nodding as though he’s onto me, like he’s known all along.

But I just shake my head, perching on the edge of his bed when I say, “While that used to be true, it’s not anymore. And the only reason I came here is to tell you how sorry I am for what happened to you. I really, truly am.”

He averts his gaze, clenching his jaw and kicking at the blanket when he says, “Well, you bloody well shouldn’t be! There’s only one thing you have to be sorry for, luv, and that’s what you did to Drina. All the rest—you can spare me. I’m not the least bit interested in your misguided alms for the poor, destitute, and downtrodden. I don’t need your sympathies, darlin’. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m no longer that kid. Surely you can see that, Ever, just look at me.” He smiles and spreads his arms wide, inviting me to take a good long look at his undeniably, glorious self. “I’m at the very top of my game. Have been for centuries now.”

“And that’s just it.” I lean toward him. “You view it all as one big game—as though life is the board and you’re the piece that always needs to stay three steps ahead of all the others. You never let your guard down, never allow yourself to get close to anyone—and you have no idea how to love or how to be loved, since love was never given to you. I mean, sure you could’ve made different choices, and there’s no doubt you should’ve, but still it’s kind of hard to offer what you’ve never had, what you’ve never experienced for yourself, and I forgive you for that.”

“What is this?” He glares at me. “Amateur hour? You gonna send me a bill for your ridiculous psychobabblings? Is that it?”

“No,” I say, my voice quiet, my gaze fixed on his. “I’m just trying to tell you that it’s over. I refuse to fight you anymore. I choose to love you and accept you instead. Whether you like it or not.”

“Show me,” he says, back to patting the bed again. “Why don’t you just crawl on over here and show me the love, Ever?”

“It’s not that kind of love. It’s the real kind. The unconditional kind. The nonjudgmental kind. Not the physical kind. I love you as a fellow soul who inhabits this earth. I love you as a fellow immortal. I love you because I’m tired of hating you, and refuse to do so any longer. I love you because I finally understand what made you the way you are. And if I could change it, I would. But I can’t—so I choose to love you instead. And my hope is that my acceptance of you will spur you on to do something good too, but if not—” I shrug. “At least I can say I tried.”

“Bloody hell,” he mumbles, rolling his eyes as though my words do nothing but pain him. “Somebody’s been drinking the hippie juice!” He shakes his head and laughs, settling down and looking at me when he says, “Okay, Ever, you love me and forgive me. Bravo. Well done. But here’s the news flash—you still don’t get the antidote, okay? You still love me? Or you back to hating me again? Just how deep is your love, Ever—to quote a song from the seventies that I’m sure you’ve never heard of.” He drops his hands onto his lap, leaving them open, relaxed. “I feel sorry for your generation. All that crap music you listen to. You should hear the band Haven went to see—The Mighty Hooligans? What kind of a piss-poor name is that?”

I just shrug. I know an avoidance tactic when I see one, but no matter how hard he tries, I refuse to be swayed off course like he wants. “Your choice,” I say. “I’m not here to ask you for anything.”

“Then what are you here for? What’s the point of this little visit of yours? According to you, you’re not looking for the antidote, you’re not looking for a good shaggin’ even though it’s bloody obvious you’re desperately in need of one. You just waltz on in here and disrupt my privacy so you could tell me you love me? Really, Ever? Because I’m sorry to say it, but I find that all a bit hard to digest.”