Элисон Ноэль - Blue Moon

All she knows is what I told her —that I've a very strong suspicion that Damen is being poisoned. What I didn't tell her is that he's being poisoned in a way that's breaking down all of his psychic abilities, his enhanced physical strength, his vast intelligence, his carefully honed talents and skills, even his long-term memories of what went before —all of it's being slowly erased, as he returns to mortal form. But while he may appear to be just your average high school junior—well, one with screamin' good looks, fistfuls of money, and his own parent-free, multimillion-dollar pad—it's just a matter of time before he begins to age. And then deteriorate.

And then —ultimately— die, like I saw on that screen. And that's exactly why I need to switch out these drinks. I need to get him back on the good juice so he can start building up his strength and hopefully repair some of the damage that's already been done. While I try to figure out an antidote that'll hopefully save him and return him to the way he once was. And if his messy house, remodeled room, and well-stocked fridge are any indication, Damen's progressing much more quickly than I assumed. "I don't even see these bottles you're talking about,"

Ava says, peering over my shoulder and squinting into the refrigerator light. "Are you sure this is where he keeps them?"

"Trust me, they're there." I rummage through the world's largest condiment collection, before spotting the elixir. Sliding my fingers around the necks of several bottles, which I then hand to Ava. "Just as I thought." I nod, finally making some headway.

Ava looks at me, her brow raised as she says, "Don't you think it's weird he's still drinking it? Because if it really is poisoned, don't you think the flavor must've changed?"

And just like that, I begin to doubt.

I mean, what if I'm wrong?

What if this isn't it at all?

What if Damen just grew tired of me, if everyone just grew tired of me, and Roman has nothing to do with it?

I grab a bottle and bring it to my lips, stopping only when Ava cries, "You're not going to drink that, are you?"

But I just shrug and take a sip, figuring there's only one way to know for sure if it's poisoned, and hoping one tiny taste won't do any harm. Knowing the second I taste it why Damen didn't notice a difference —because there isn't one. At least not until the aftertaste makes itself known. "Water!" I gasp, rushing toward the sink and sticking my head under the faucet, gulping all the tap water I can until that awful taste is diluted. "That bad?"

I nod, wiping my mouth with my sleeve. "Worse. But if you've ever seen Damen drink it, you'd know why he didn't notice. He gulps that stuff like —" I start to say like a dying man, but it hits too close to home. So I swallow hard and say, "Like someone who's very thirsty."

Then I hand Ava the remaining bottles so she can set them beside the sink, positioning the poisoned ones along the edge, after pushing all the dirty dishes aside to make room. Both of us working in such smooth seamless tandem I've barely given the last bottle to her, when I'm already bending down to retrieve the "safe" bottles from my bag. Knowing they're safe since Damen last supplied me a few weeks ago, long before Roman appeared. Intending to place them right where the others once were, so Damen will never suspect I was here.

"So what should I do with these old ones?" Ava asks. "Throw them out? Or save them for evidence?" And just as I look up to answer, Damen walks through the side door and says, "What the hell are you doing in my kitchen?"

CHAPTER 34

I freeze. Two bottles of untainted brew dangling halfway between the fridge and me. Realizing I'd been so preoccupied with thinking about Damen that I forgot to tune in and sense if he was anywhere near.

Ava gapes, her face displaying the same wide-eyed, openmouthed mask of sheer panic I'm trying to hide.

Then I look at Damen and clear my throat before saying, "It's not what you think!"

Which is pretty much the lamest, most ridiculous thing I could've said since it's exactly what he thinks.

Ava and I broke into his house so we could tamper with his food supply. Pure and simple.

He drops his bag and moves toward me, his eyes focused on mine. "You have no idea what I'm thinking."

Oh, but I do. Wincing at the horrible thoughts scrolling through his head, his mental accusation of:

Stalker! Freak! And things far worse than that.

"And how the hell did you even get in here?" he asks, glancing between us.

"Um, Sheila let me in," I say, not quite sure what to do with the bottle I still hold in my hand.

A vein throbs in his temple as he shakes his head and clenches his fists, and I realize I've never seen him this angry before, didn't even know he was capable of it, and feel pretty cruddy to know I inspired it.

"I'll deal with Sheila," he says, his temper barely in check. "What I meant was, what are you doing in here? In my house ? Messing around in my fridge —"

His eyes narrow. "What the hell do you think you're up to?"

I glance at Ava, embarrassed to have her witness my one true love talking to me in this way.

"And what's up with her?" He points at Ava. "You bring your party psychic along to cast some kind of spell?"

"You remember that?" I lower the bottle to my side.

I'd been wondering what he might've retained from our past, and even though it's dumb, the fact that he remembers meeting Ava fills me with hope. "You remember Halloween night?" I whisper, recalling the first time we kissed, out by the pool, both of us dressed in perfectly matching costumes of Marie Antoinette and her lover, Count Fersen, without having planned it.

"Yeah, I remember." He shakes his head. "And I hate to break it to you, but it was a moment of weakness that'll never happen again. One you took far too seriously. And believe me, if I'd known what a freak you'd turn out to be, I wouldn't have bothered. It wasn't worth it."

I swallow hard and blink back the tears. Feeling empty, hollowed out, my insides excavated and tossed aside, as any chance of reclaiming our love —the only thing that makes this particular life worth living—slips out of reach. And even though I remind myself that those are Roman's words not his—that the real Damen isn't capable of treating anyone like this—it doesn't make it hurt any less.

"Damen, please, " I finally manage. "I know it looks bad. Really, I do. But I can explain. You see, we're only trying to help you."

He looks at me, his gaze so derisive it fills me with shame. But I force myself to continue, knowing I at least have to try. "Someone is trying to poison you." I swallow, meeting his eyes. "Someone you know." He shakes his head, not buying a word of it. Convinced that I'm stark raving mental and should be locked up immediately.

"And this person responsible for poisoning me, this person I happen to know, would that, by any chance, be you ?" He takes another step toward me. "Because you're the one breaking into my home. You re the one getting all up in my fridge and messing with my drinks. I think the evidence speaks for itself." I shake my head, talking past the searing heat in my throat when I say, "I know how it looks, but you've got to believe me! It's all true, I'm not making it up!" He takes another step closer, advancing on me in a way so intentional, so slow and deliberate, it's like he's stalking his prey. So I decide to just go for it, to let it all out. I mean, I've got nothing to lose anyway. "It's Roman, okay?" I suck in my breath, watching his expression change from accusatory to outraged.