Page 11 of The Immortal’s Mark

The air around me thickens.

The doors behind me swing wide with a screech of iron hinges, and a soft rush of cool air spills over my head.

Charmian’s auburn hair shimmers under the chandelier, waves falling down her back like ribbons of copper, as she struts into the room. The dark green dress she wears brushes against her calves, the fabric whispering as she walks. There’s something deliberately unhurried about her steps.

I study the Original’s face, searching for any resemblance to mine, only to find nothing.

Nothing except the ache in my head that always blooms when I think of the Original Immortal, my alleged ancestor, and her connection to my mother.

Charmian’s eyes flick in my direction as she walks by my chair, and the corner of her mouth curves. Her fingers twitch subtly.

She knows I’m here.

My breath catches, but no one else notices.

“You’re late,” Thane snaps.

Lome gives him a warning scowl.

He ignores it. “Where were you?”

Charmian stops near the center of the room, posture impeccable.

“I’m not your servant, Thane. You’re lucky I found the time to come at all.” Her voice is smooth as silk, but there’s danger slithering underneath. “If you’d like faster responses, I suggest you start sending proper invitations instead of barking orders.”

Thane leans forward in his chair, elbows braced on the table like he’s restraining himself from flipping it.

“You serve the alliance,” he grits out. “And this is important.”

Charmian arches a brow.

“Oh? Is this an official meeting?” She glances around the table, eyes glinting with amusement. “Strange. I don’t see anyone taking minutes.”

A low, dangerous growl escapes Thane’s throat. “We need your assistance.”

“With what?”

“Your offspring.” Thane’s nostrils flare. “We need to know which half-breeds helped Adir escape the dungeon. You’ll interrogate them and report back what you find.”

He’s talking about the ward that was meant to hold Adir in the brother’s dungeon. Apparently, only a warlock or witch would’ve had the ability to dismantle the security measures they put in place to hold the Immortal of War prisoner.

A slow exhale flows past her delicate lips. “That is why you called me here?”

“Yes.”

Charmian scoffs, but the sound is sharp enough to draw blood. “An investigation is already underway.”

Thane’s eyes narrow. “Who leads it?”

“Me.” The single syllable drips with challenge.

Finally, Thane backs down.

“Good.”

“Wonderful.” Charmian flicks her hand as though brushing dust from her skirt. “Are we done here?”

“Actually,” Des interrupts, “I’d like to make a request.”