“It’ll end soon—just hang in there,” I coax.

His breath quickens as the chill of it, a cloud of cold fog, hits my cheek. “It’s—it’s stopped—the fall—but it’s still so dark—and so—I’m—suspended—and—alone—so alone—but I’m not—someone else is out there—she’s out there—and—oh, God—Drina—where are you—” He grips my hands tighter, so tight they’re about to go numb, his breath shallow, ragged, his body dripping with the sweat of his efforts as it collapses onto mine and he’s swept away by the events unfolding in my head—his head—a breathless tour of the Shadowland, the infinite abyss, the final resting place for all immortal souls—including ours.

Mumbling a string of words so softly I can’t make them out, I only know from the tone that they’re agitated, disturbed, fretful, as he hovers in the darkness, clawing and grasping, desperately seeking her. His forehead pushed against mine, nose pressed to my cheek, lips resting so near, all of his energy and strength focused on her.

And that’s how Jude finds us.

That’s what he sees.

Roman and I together, sweating on his sheets, our bodies pressed tightly together, clutching at each other, both of us so lost in the vision, we don’t see him, don’t hear him, until it’s too late.

Too late to stop him.

Too late to undo what he does.

Too late to rewind and go back—back to how it was before—when I was so close—so close to getting what I want.

And before I know it, I’m wrenched from Roman’s grip, as Jude lunges on top of him, fist headed right toward the center of his torso, immune to my scream.

My agonized: “Noooooo!”

The sound of it filling up the room, and repeating over and over again.

Scrambling to get up—to pull him off—to stop him from going any further—but it’s too late. As fast as I am—I can’t beat him—I got a late start—I was thrown off my game—and Jude’s already there.

Already on top of Roman.

Already slamming his fist into his sacral center.

His weakest chakra.

His Achilles’ heel.

The center of jealousy, envy, and the irrational desire to possess.

The collection of needs that drove Roman for the last six hundred years.

Instantly turning him from glorious golden boy to pile of dust.

I leap onto Jude, grab him by the shoulders, and fling him to the other side of the room, hearing a dull crack as he lands against the dresser, but not bothering to look back. Focusing on only one thing, Roman’s white linen shirt glittering with tiny shards of glass as a dark green stain spreads across its front.

The antidote.

The vial for the antidote now smashed—destroyed in the struggle—and taking my hopes along with it.

And now, with Roman gone, his soul headed for the Shadowland, there’s no way to ever retrieve it.

“How could you?” I turn, eyes blazing on Jude. “How could you do such a thing?” Watching as he struggles to stand, face blanched, hand rubbing at his back. “You’ve destroyed everything. Everything! I was so close—so close to getting the antidote—and you wrecked it! Forever!”

Jude looks at me, hands on his knees, brow merged, struggling to catch his breath when he says, “Ever—I—I didn’t mean to—” He shakes his head. “You have to believe me. I thought you were in trouble—you looked like you were in trouble! You didn’t see what I saw—you were—he was all over you—” He shakes his head. “And it seemed like you were struggling—internally, like you couldn’t handle it, couldn’t fight your attraction to him. And that’s why I came. That’s the only reason I’m here. I knew where you were heading when you left the store and I didn’t think you were ready to try this again. And when I got here just now—and saw you like that—well, I didn’t want it to end up like that last time and so—I just—I—”

“And so you killed him?” My eyes gape as my throat goes dry. “You used everything I shared with you against me, and you killed him?”

He shakes his head and stands before me, his T-shirt torn from when I grabbed him and flung him across the room, his aura flaring in distress as he fiddles with the green malachite ring on the hand he used to kill Roman with. “You’re always going on and on about how bad he is—how evil—how he runs an evil tribe of rogues—and how because of the spell you cast, you can’t seem to resist him. You came to me for help. You confided in me first—not Damen. You chose me, Ever, whether you like it or not! And all I wanted to do was to save you—from Roman—from yourself. That was my only intention—to look after you—to take care of you!”

“Was it?” I narrow my gaze, as a new idea begins to take shape. “Was that really your only intention? Truly?”

“What are you talking about?” He squints, rubbing his lips together, trying to decipher my words.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” I say, body trembling with fury, outrage, and defeat, as I clutch Roman’s shirt, his antidote-stained shirt. “You did this on purpose.” I glare at him, having no real proof that it’s true, but still, once the words are out there, spoken aloud, the idea begins to gain strength and build, so much so that I quickly repeat it, venturing even further when I add, “You did this on purpose. This is no mistake. You knew exactly what you were doing when you came here. So, is this it then? Is this how you figure you’ll win the game of four hundred years? Is this your big move? Robbing me, the girl you supposedly love, of the one thing I want most in this world? Ensuring that I’ll never, ever get to be with Damen? Is that how you’re playing it, Jude? You honestly think that this’ll make me give up on my soul mate and choose you?”