Even though I’m pretty dang sure she has no idea of the promise it holds for me.

But that’s hardly the point. As far as Haven’s concerned, the fact that I want it, the fact that I was willing to bargain for it, is reason enough to destroy it.

I could tell by the way she looked at me. She may have been shaky, more than a little unsteady, but she’d had just enough elixir to allow her to think and act somewhat logically.

So when I offered to provide her with a nice supply of juice if she gave me something in return, she just shrugged and said, “Fine. Whatever. Just go ahead and spill it already. What’s this big thing you so desperately need?”

“I want the shirt,” I’d said, moving until I was standing right before her, seeing her squint in reply as I added, “the one Roman wore on his very last night. The one you snatched right out of my hand before you threatened me and told me to leave.”

Her gaze narrowed, and the way she looked at me, well, it was clear she still had it. But it was also clear she had no idea why I’d want it, what the significance could possibly be. And I can only hope it stays that way, at least until I can get the shirt safely within my possession.

“You mean, the shirt he was wearing on the night whenyou killed him ?” she’d said, brow quirking crazily.

“No.” I shook my head, keeping my voice steady and sure, my gaze focused on hers. “I mean the shirt he wore on the night he so tragically diedan accidental death at Jude’s hands.” My gaze holding, making sure I had her full attention, when I added, “You hand over that white linen shirt he was wearing, and I mean thatvery same one , because trust me, Haven, I will know if you try to swap it for a fake, but anyway, you give me that and in exchange I’ll give you all the elixir you need.”

She glanced between the box of elixir I’d just filled—the box I referred to as a good-faith down payment, since it was all that I had on hand—and me. Wanting so badly to deny me, but so completely overcome by her own de pen den cy, her own raging need, in the end, she was unable to do anything but reluctantly agree.

Finally nodding her consent when she said, “Fine. Deal. Whatever. Let’s just get this over with, okay?”

And that’s when we headed downstairs. Haven carrying a fresh new bottle she was well on her way to draining, and me lugging the box for safekeeping, determined to keep it from her until the exchange was complete.

But then Sabine came home and wrecked everything.

I sigh, switching my focus back to the present, just about to stop by her old house, the one where her parents and little brother still live, wondering if she might’ve stashed it there for some reason, primarily because it seems like the last place anyone would look, when I have this overwhelming urge to head somewhere else instead.

Not knowing if it’s a message of some sort, a sign of some kind, or maybe even just some crazy powerful intuition, I follow it anyway. Every time I ignore one of my stronger instincts I live to regret it, so this time I pull a quick U-turn and follow its lead.

Disappointed when I find myself at a place I’ve already checked. That Miles and I already checked, but still going ahead with it anyway. I approach the door, thinking how even though she claims it’s hers, having lived here for months now, I can’t help but think of it as Roman’s, as a flood of memories come rushing back.

Remembering all the times I came here before—the times I knocked down the door, the times I fought with him, nearly succumbed to him, the time I watched Jude kill him—then pushing the thoughts aside as I make my way around a confusing maze of furniture. Stuff that up until recently lived in the store, and now that it’s been moved here, allows for only the slimmest path down the hall and into a den that’s also so jam-packed it requires a moment to take it all in.

My gaze roaming among the antique armoires, the silk and velvet settees, the shiny Lucite coffee table that looks like a reject from the eighties, and over to the huge stack of oil paintings in ornate gold frames, all piled up against each other, leaning against the far wall, while various items of clothing, from all different time periods stretching back hundreds of years, are strewn over practically every available surface, including the bar where Roman kept the crystal goblets he filled with elixir, as well as the couch where I, ruled by the dark flame within me, tried to shamelessly seduce him while wearing a façade that made me appear to be Drina. The same couch where everything changed the night I made Haven drink Roman’s special brew.

My gaze traveling past all of that and all the way over to the blazing, stone hearth, where Jude cowers.

Looking scared, shocked, defeated, and confused, while Haven stands before him, clutching the stained white linen shirt in one hand and Jude’s arm in the other. Having made the transformation back to a slightly healed version of herself, or at least where her teeth are concerned, though she’s still a long way from the old Haven, still completely ruled by her own overwhelming addictions and anger.

“Well, well,” she says, turning to me, her eyes red and squinty. “Did you actually think you could trick me?”

I shake my head. I’m as confused as she is as to what’s really going on here.

My gaze darting between them, seeing the way Jude cowers, caught in her grip, clearly horrified at having been caught doing—well, doing what I’m not sure. I can’t quite make sense of what I’m looking at or what his goal could’ve possibly been.

Has he figured out the truth behind the shirt—the promise it holds—and he’s trying to obtain it as a sort of peace offering for Damen and me?