Page 43 of The Immortal’s Mark

“You presume to know her well,” Des says without so much as a blink.

With great care to remain silent, I climb the curving stone stairs until I stand on the landing. Now that I’m less than ten feet from Des, the dullness clouding his features is more obvious.

Something has happened.

Something bad.

Alex moves to stand next to the Immortal, mouth set in a stern line.

Argos lifts his head, sniffs the air, and flops back down.

“Quite a guard dog,” Alex murmurs.

Des doesn’t respond.

The joke crumbles between them.

Alex sighs and drops into the chair beside Des, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“Darcie will get better,” he says.

“She is in agony.” His knuckles pale as he grips the armrests. “I felt her pain.”

I glance down at my hands. At my legs. I rotate my wrists and tilt my head from side to side.

Nothing hurts.

In fact, I feel…untethered.

Like I'm made of air, too unsubstantial for pain to grip.

Alex leans closer. The move forces the Immortal to focus his distant gaze on the vampire.

“Darcie feels nothing at the moment,” he says, each word measured. “I compelled her mind into detachment. She is not in pain.”

Compelled?

Detachment?

The words ring familiar yet wrong.

Des turns away, breath leaving him in a low, unsteady exhale. “Thank you.”

Pieces fall into place as fast as a shuffled deck of cards.

I’m not really standing here in satin under sunlight.

I’m unconscious in my guest bed, vision-walking the estate like a ghost with nowhere else to go.

Alex unplugged my body from its pain. My mind escaped and ran to the one my soul craves.

Stop it, Darcie.

I shake my head.

Both Alex and Des wear the same clothes from the bedroom confrontation, but have minutes passed? Or hours?

Judging by the shadows under Des’s eyes, I’m betting on the latter.