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Blue Moon
The Immortals Book 2
Alyson Noel
Every man has his own destiny; the only imperative
is to follow it, to accept it, no matter where it
leads him.
—Henry Miller
Chapter One
"Close your eyes and picture it. Can you see it?"
I nod, eyes closed.
"Imagine it right there before you.
See
its texture, shape, and color
—got it?"
I smile, holding the image in my head.
"Good. Now reach out and touch it.
Feel
its contours
with the tips of your fingers,
cradle
its weight
in the palms of your hands, then combine all of your senses —sight, touch, smell, taste—can you
taste it?"
I bite my lip and suppress a giggle.
"Perfect. Now combine that with feeling.
Believe
it
exists right before you. Feel it, see it, touch it,
taste it, accept it,
manifest
it!" he says.
So I do. I do all of those things. And when he groans, I open my eyes to see for myself.
"Ever." He shakes his head. "You were supposed to
think of an
orange.
This isn't even close."
"Nope, nothing fruity about him." I laugh, smiling at
each of my Damens —the replica I manifested
before
me, and the flesh and blood version beside me. Both of them equally tall, dark, and so
devastatinglyhandsome they hardly seem real.
"What am I going to do with you?" the real Damen
asks, attempting a disapproving gaze but
failing miserably. His eyes always betray him, showing nothing but love.
"Hmmm . . ." I glance between my two
boyfriends —one real, one conjured. "I guess you
could just
go ahead and kiss me. Or, if you're too busy, I'll ask him to stand in, I don't think he'd mind."
I motion toward manifest Damen, laughing when he
smiles and winks at me even though his edges
are fading and soon he'll be gone.
But the real Damen doesn't laugh. He just shakes his
head and says, "Ever, please. You need to be
serious.
There's so much to teach you."
"What's the rush?" I fluff my pillow and pat the space
right beside me, hoping he'll move away from
my desk and come join me. "I thought we had nothing
but
time?" I smile. And when he looks at me,
my wholebody grows warm and my breath halts in my throat, and I can't help but wonder if I'll ever
get used to his amazing beauty —his smooth olive skin, brown shiny hair, perfect face, and lean
sculpted body—the perfect dark yin to my pale blond yang. "I think you'll find me a very eager
student," I say, my eyes meeting his—two dark wells of unfathomable depths. "You're insatiable," he
whispers, shaking his head and moving beside me, as drawn to me as I am to him. "Just trying to
make up for lost time," I murmur, always so eager for these moments, the times when it's just us, and
I don't have to share him with anyone else. Even knowing we have all of eternity laid out before us
doesn't make me any less greedy. He leans in to kiss me, forgoing our lesson. All thoughts of
manifesting, remote viewing, telepathy—all of that psychic business replaced by something far more
immediate, as he pushes me back against a pile of pillows and covers my body with his, the two of us
merging like crumbled vines seeking the sun. His fingers snake under my top, sliding along
my
stomach to the edge of my bra as I close my eyes and whisper, "I love you." Words I once kept to
myself.
But after saying it the first time, I've barely said
anything else.
Hearing his soft muffled groan as he releases the
clasp on my bra, so effortlessly, so perfectly,
nothing awkward or fumbling about it.
Every move he makes is so graceful, so perfect, so
—
Maybe too perfect.
"What's wrong?" he asks, as I push him away. His
breath coming in short shallow gasps as his eyes
seek mine, their surrounding skin tense and constricted in the way I've grown used to.
"Nothing's wrong." I turn my back and adjust my top, glad I completed the lesson on shielding my
thoughts
since it's the only thing that allows me to lie.
He sighs and moves away, denying me the tingle of his
touch and the heat of his gaze as he paces
before me.
And when he finally stops and faces me, I press my
lips together, knowing what's next. We've been
here before.
"Ever, I'm not trying to rush you or anything. Really, I'm not," he says, his face creased with concern.
"But at some point you're going to have to get over this and accept who I am. I can manifest anything
you desire, send telepathic thoughts and images whenever we're apart, whisk you away to
Summerland at a moment's notice. But the one tiling I can't ever do is change the past. It just is."
I stare at the floor, feeling small, needy, and completely ashamed. Hating that I'm so incapable of
hiding my jealousies and insecurities, hating that they're so transparent and clearly displayed.
Because no matter what sort of psychic shield I create, it's no use. He's had six hundred years to
study human behavior (to study
my
behavior), versus my sixteen. "Just
—just give me a little more
time to get used to all this," I say, picking at a frayed seam on my pillowcase. "It's only been a few
weeks." I shrug, remembering how I killed his ex-wife, told him I loved him, and sealed my
immortal fate, less than three weeks ago.
He looks at me, his lips pressed together, his eyes tinged with doubt. And even though we're merely
a
few feet apart, the space that divides us is so heavy and fraught —it feels like an ocean.
"I'm referring to
this
lifetime," I say, my voice
quickening, rising, hoping to fill up the void
and lighten the mood. "And since I can't recall any of the others, it's all I have. I just need a little
more
time,
okay?" I smile nervously, my lips feeling clumsy and loose as I hold them in place,
exhaling in relief when he sits down beside me, lifts his fingers to my forehead, and seeks the space
where my scar used to be.
"Well, that's one thing we'll never run out of." He
sighs, trailing his fingers along the curve of my
jaw as he leans in to kiss me, his lips making a series of stops from my forehead, to my nose, to my
mouth.
And just when I think he's about to kiss me again, he
squeezes my hand and moves away. Heading
straight for the door and leaving a beautiful red tulip behind in his place.
Chapter Two
Even though Damen can sense the exact moment
my Aunt Sabine turns onto our street and
approaches the drive, that's not why he left.
He left because of me.
Because of the simple fact that he's been after me for
hundreds of years, seeking me out in all of
my incarnations, just so we could be together.
Only we never got
together.
Which means
it
never happened.
Apparently every time we were about to take the next
step and consummate our love, his ex-wife
Drina managed to show up and kill me.
But now that I've killed her, eliminated her with one
well-placed though admittedly feeble swipe to
her rather compromised heart chakra, there's absolutely nothing or no one blocking our way.
Except me.
Because even though I love Damen with all of my
being, and definitely want to take the next step —
I
can't stop thinking about those last six hundred years.
And how he chose to live them. (Outlandishly, according to him.)
And
whom
he chose to live them with. (Besides his
ex-wife Drina, many others have been alluded
to.)
And, well, as much as I hate to admit it, knowing all
of that makes me feel a little insecure.
Okay, maybe
a lot
insecure. I mean, it's not like my
pathetically meager list of guys I've kissed could
ever compare to his six centuries' worth of conquests.
And even though I know it's ridiculous, even though I
know Damen has loved me for centuries, the
fact is, the heart and mind aren't always friendly.
And in my case, they're barely speaking.
Yet still, every time Damen comes over for my lesson, I always manage to turn it into a prolonged
make-out
session, each time starting out thinking:
This is it!
It's
really going to happen this time!
Only to push him away like the worst kind of tease.
And the truth is, it's exactly like he said. He can't
change his past,
it just is.
Once something is done
it can't be undone. There's no rewind. No going back.
The only thing a person can ever really do is keep
moving forward.
And that's exactly what I need to do.
Take that big leap forward without hesitation, without
once looking back.
Simply forget the past and forge toward the future.
I just wish it were really that easy.
"Ever?" Sabine makes her way up the stairs as I run frantically around my room, trying to straighten
it up before plopping in front of my desk and scrambling to look like I'm busy. "You still up?" she
asks, poking her head inside. And even though her suit is wrinkled, her hair limp, and her eyes a little
red and tired, her aura's hanging in there, beaming a nice shade of green.
"I was just finishing up some homework," I say, pushing my laptop away as though I'd been using it.
"Did you eat?" She leans against the doorjamb, her
eyes narrowed and suspicious, as her aura reaches
right toward me —the portable lie detector she unknowingly carries wherever she goes. "Of course,"
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