Page 104 of Immortal

“I couldn’t sleep. I’m impatient,” I’d said.

Another had smirked. “To become mortal?”

I had not liked his tone. I didn’t know much of the mortals then, but they did not deserve to be disdained that way. Yet I held my tongue; this was not my kingdom. I couldn’t risk them stopping me.

“The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can return,” I’d said.

They had laughed, waving me through. The ground inside was paved with malachite and marble. Mist rose from the center, coiling in the air. Stepping to the brink, I’d hesitated, staring into the chasm beneath. Swirling lights of amber and ruby, ripples of luminescence. The power thrummed like a hundred lutes plucked at once.

As I looked down, a gust of wind tugged at me. Terror spiraled; the unknown looming, far from my loved ones. Yet it was the only way Zhangwei and I could have a future together. What was a mortal lifespan but a handful of decades? My memories and power would be restored once I regained my immortality. How I’d reasoned with myself then—but the truth was, I had done this because I loved him. I could bear whatever the world below had for me; I was strong enough for us both.

As I’d stepped forward, a desperate cry rang out: “Stop!”

Zhangwei was racing toward me, pushing his way past the Celestial guards. There was no time left, my feet moving to the edge.

He called my name, his voice ringing in my ears. Holding my breath, I took the final step—plummeting into the void of emptiness. The air shrouded me, erupting across my skin. Such agony . . . I flinched from the memory. Hairpins tumbled from my head as the coils of my hair unraveled, streaming behind me like lengths of ribbon, my robe twisted into trails of crimson silk. The pitiless wind lashed my face, my neck—any bared part of me till they were raw. Zhangwei’s roar faded, along with the shouts from above.

My eyes had darted up. Zhangwei was struggling against the soldiers who were restraining him. Had he tried to leap after me?

“Only one can go at time,” a Celestial told him harshly. “If you follow her now, she will die—you both will.”

When he had stilled, relief filled me—he would be safe. I’d closed my eyes then, my ears filled with the deafening roar of the wind, slamming into every pore. Pain erupted across my body, my power stripped away like a layer of skin. I had clung to the memories of home, my parents, my love—I didn’t want to forget, struggling instinctively—yet they were plucked from my mind like petals from a flower. Tears spilled, a void opening—all of me, all that mattered, swallowed whole. And then it had ceased abruptly, a loathsome peace stealing over me.

Even now my chest ached at the memory. “I did not want to forget you,” I told him softly.

“I know.” He pulled me to him, holding me tight. “It was a struggle to keep myself in check, to leash my emotions. Your hostility made it a little easier for me to pretend, to remind myself of why I was doing this. Though there were times I doubted whether I could win your heart all over again.”

I smiled through the tears in my eyes. “But you were never one to walk away from a challenge.”

“I would never give up on you,” he said steadily.

I rested my head against his chest. “You plotted everything so elaborately, with the precision of setting out to war.”

“This was the most important battle I’d ever fought. The one for your heart, our lives, our future.”

“I’m not immortal any longer,” I said slowly. “What if I can never return to our home?”

“We will make a new one,” he replied without hesitation.

He kissed me—deeply, searchingly. My lips met his with equal hunger, my hand pressed to his chest as he clasped me tighter. With a swift move, he spun me around until I lay pinned beneath him. One of his arms was coiled around me, his other hand braced against the side of my face. His mouth slanted over my mine with a languid deliberation. Heat surged, scorching bright. His hands moved to the silk folds of my robe, pulling them apart. I was too impatient for tenderness, my lips moving across his throat, eager to taste him. We were breathing heavily, my insides ragged with wanting as my legs twisted and writhed beneath his.

We kissed again, melting into each other. I should stop, draw away—letting reason prevail. But I wanted to be reckless; restraint was hard after our long separation. After all we’d endured, I was greedy and jealous of our time together. I had drunk deep of the well of loss, and had no desire to taste its bitterness again.

38

The skies had blossomed into a radiant rose—beautiful, unexpectedly so. As I got up and pulled on a new robe, Zhangwei heated the water in the teapot, then prepared a cup for me. There was still an edge of newness in seeing him do such mundane things, though he’d done them for me countless times before.

“We must be careful.” I glanced at the doorway. “They think I’m resting, but their patience won’t last much longer. Lord Dalian will want to see me . . . and I don’t know if he’ll believe my lies.”

“I won’t let them hurt you.”

“I don’t want them to hurt you either.” When he stiffened, I squeezed his hand. “You are the God of War; there’s no one your equal in battle. But we’re not in our world anymore. We’re in theirs—and no matter how brave or strong a warrior is, no one can win against such odds.”

“Don’t go to them, it’s too dangerous. We can leave now.” He handed me my sword, the one Dalian had tried to seize.

The sight of our blades together sent a shaft of warmth through me, their similarities threaded between their differences. Mine was of black jade and silver; his of white jade and gold, the scrollwork carvings on the hilts of a similar style.

“You gave this sword to me when we pledged ourselves to each other.” I shook my head. “Anyone else would have offered me a hairpin or bracelet as a token of our promise, but the God of War gifted a sword.”