Page 22 of The Immortal’s Mark

I tilt my head back and close my eyes, unable to bear the dim light shining in through the windows with parted lace curtains. “Ever since I first forced a vision back in Maine.”

When I proved to myself that the visions I thought were dreams or imaginings were actually real.

“And how often are you having visions?”

I attempt a half-laugh, but the movement jars my head, making me wince. “Almost every night.”

Alex releases a low hiss. “That is too frequent.”

“You’re telling me,” I mumble, eyes still closed. “And they aren’t even important visions.”

He shifts closer. His palm rests against my forehead.

“You already confirmed I don’t have a fever,” I say, one eye cracking open in mild amusement.

“I wanted to double-check.” His brow furrows, and he pulls his hand back.

“Something must be changing,” he says, voice low and thoughtful. “Perhaps you are nearing the full manifestation of your abilities.”

“Lucky me.” I manage a faint smirk. “Let’s hope this is as bad as it gets.”

He doesn’t return the smile. His jaw tightens instead, eyes sweeping my face.

“You’re too pale.”

“Look who’s talking.”

Nothing. No laugh, no smirk. Just quiet worry.

He stands abruptly, tension vibrating through him. “I will fetch Henry and a Healer. Between them, we will find a solution.”

“Sounds good to me,” I whisper, because honestly, arguing requires energy I don’t have.

With one last searching glance, the vampire vanishes through the door in a rush of air.

I sink back into the pillows, counting my heartbeats, praying for this agony to end.

I’ve fallen into a light, non-restorative doze by the time Alex returns with both Henry and a Healer.

It’s the first time I’ve been conscious when one of the Immortals’ favored healers has visited me. I don’t know what I expected, but the attractive young man isn’t it.

Chiseled jaw locked in focus, the Healer’s hands hover inches above my skin, palms glowing faintly with light the color of a candle flame.

He traces invisible lines down my arms, chest, legs, like he’s mapping my veins and arteries.

Alex and Henry stand back at first, silent observers. But when minutes pass with no information, both fidget with impatience.

Henry finally breaks.

“She suffers from overstimulation of the mind,” he says briskly. “She needs to release the pressure.”

The warlock may not be gifted with clairvoyant abilities, but he is well-versed in the particulars of the coveted skill I inherited from my mother’s bloodline. Which is why Alex brought him here to train me.

The Healer doesn’t look up. His hands move down my left leg, ignoring the warlock’s words.

I shift my eyes to Henry. He glares at the man’s bowed head, then looks at Alex.

When Alex only shrugs, the warlock curses under his breath. “Excuse me.”