Shadowland (The Immortals #3)
Shadowland: Chapter 37

I run out the door and head for the beach, heart racing, mind spinning, forgetting to slow down to a more normal speed until I’m already there. Toes tipped toward the water, a cloud of sand and bewildered people left in my wake. Each of them squinting and shaking their heads, telling themselves they imagined it, couldn’t possibly be. No one can run that fast.

No one who appears as normal as me.

I abandon my flip-flops and wade farther in, at first stopping to roll the hem of my jeans, then deciding not to care when a wave comes and wets them to my knees. Just wanting to feel something—something tangible, physical—a problem with an obvious fix. Unlike the kind I’ve been wrestling with.

And though I’m no stranger to loneliness, I’ve never felt quite as lonely as this. I’ve always had someone to go to. Sabine—Riley—Damen—my friends—but now with my entire family gone, Sabine busy with Munoz, my boyfriend on a break, and friends I can’t confide in—what’s the point?

What’s the point of having these powers, the ability to manipulate energy and manifest things, if I can’t manifest the one thing I really want?

What’s the point of seeing ghosts when I can’t see the ones who actually mean something to me?

What’s the point of living forever if I’m forced to live it like this?

I go deeper, ’til I’m up to mid-thigh, never having felt so alone on such an overcrowded beach, so helpless on such a bright and sunny day. Refusing to budge when he comes up from behind, grasping my shoulder and trying to pull me away from the waves. Enjoying the slam of water as it wets my skin, the ceaseless push and pull, luring me in.

“Hey.” His eyes narrowed against the sun as he studies me closely, refusing to loosen his grip ’til he’s sure I’m okay. “What do you say we head back inside?” Voice calm, careful, as though I’m fragile, delicate, capable of doing just about anything.

I swallow hard and hold my ground, gaze fixed on the horizon when I say, “If you were joking—if you were in any way playing me—” I shake my head, unable to finish, but the threat is implied.

“Never.” He squeezes tighter, holding me steady, pulling me up and over a small oncoming wave. “You read me, Ever. That very first day. You know what I can do—what I can see.” I take a deep breath, about to speak when he adds, “And just so you know, she’s been with you several times since. Not every time, but most of them. Though this is the first time she spoke.”

“And why is that?” I turn, gaze meeting his. Having no real reason not to believe, but needing to be as sure as I can.

“I guess she wanted to build a little trust.” He shrugs. “Not unlike you.”

I look at him, gaze into those sea green eyes, the truth laid open, bared for me to see. He’s not lying, not at all playing, certainly not making it up. He really does see Riley, and his only agenda is to help.

“I think this is why we found each other.” He nods, voice lowered to almost a whisper. “I wonder if Riley arranged this?”

Riley or—something else—something greater than us? I stare at the ocean, wondering if he recognizes me like I recognize him. If he feels the ping in the gut, the prickle of skin, the strange yet familiar pull—the same things I feel? And if so, what does it mean? Do we really have unfinished business—karma that must be addressed? Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Is there really no such thing as coincidence?

“I can teach you,” he says, gaze like a promise he wants to fulfill. “There’s no guarantee—but I can try.”

I remove myself from his grip and wade farther in, not caring that my bottom half’s soaking while the rest of me’s dry.

“Everyone has the ability. Just like everyone’s psychic—or at the very least intuitive. It’s just a matter of how open one is, how willing to let go and learn. But with your gifts—there’s no reason why you can’t learn to see her too.”

I glance at him, but only briefly, something’s caught my attention—something that—

“The trick is to raise your vibration—getting it to a level where—”

We don’t see the wave until it’s already cresting, leaving us no time to duck dive or at the very least run. The only thing keeping me from a complete and total wipeout are Jude’s incredibly fast reflexes and the strength of his arms.

“You okay?” he asks, gaze boring into mine.

But my attention’s elsewhere, drawn to that warm wonderful pull, the familiar loving essence that only belongs to one person—only belongs to him—

Watching as Damen cuts through the water, board tucked under his arm, body so sculpted, so bronzed, Rembrandt would weep. Water sluicing behind him like a hot knife through butter, cleanly, fluidly, as though parting the sea.

My lips part, desperate to speak, to call out his name and bring him back to me. But just as I’m about to, my eyes meet his and I see what he sees: me—hair tangled and wet—clothes twisted and clinging—frolicking in the ocean on a hot sunny day with Jude’s tanned strong arms still wrapped around me.

I release myself from Jude’s grip, but it’s too late. Damen’s already seen me.

Already moved on.

Leaving me hollow, breathless, as I watch him retreat.

No tulips, no telepathic message, just a sad, empty void left behind in his place.

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