Page 90 of The Immortal’s Mark

An hour later, we arrive at a private airfield located just outside of Athens. A sleek, silver jet waits for us on the tarmac, gleaming under the sun that nears the horizon.

Alex, Gregory, Lucas, and Paige walk ahead of me. My mother and Mistress Lola hang back, speaking with the Immortal brothers who stand by the edge of the tarmac, beside their black SUVs.

My steps slow.

Don’t do it, Darcie.

I tell my feet to move, but they refuse.

They are glued to the ground, the rubber melted under the heat of the stare burning the center of my back.

And I know exactly who the stare belongs to.

Against my better judgment, I turn.

Even from twenty feet away, the storm in Des’s gaze hits me.

I take a staggered breath.

I didn’t expect him to come see us off, not after he disappeared when we returned to the garage. Not after he agreed to keep his distance.

But when the rest of us piled into one of two black SUVs to take us to the airport, he reappeared and sat in the passenger seat of the vehicle Lome drove. The same one I rode in. But he didn’t say a word.

Not that the others did either.

I don’t know if everyone picked up on the tension brimming between me and the Original Immortal, but Gregory, Lucas and Paige kept quiet during the drive.

I imagine the other car with Alex, Thane, Mistress Lola, and my mother wasn’t too lively, either.

There’s tension between my mother and her former friend. It’s obvious every time they stand within a foot of each other. I don’t know who is angry or upset with whom, but if they don’t fix their problems, the task force is going to be awkward as hell.

Des stands apart from the rest. The wind tugs at his dark hair, and the setting sun paints him in gold.

My throat tightens.

For the thousandth time, I wish things could be different.

I wish Des’s past soulmates weren’t viciously murdered before they could bond…that he didn’t hold himself responsible for their deaths.

That the connection between us wouldn’t always exist, no matter what either of us wants.

Whatever conversation the Nightsbane witches have with Lome and Thane comes to an end. They begin to walk to the jet, heading my direction.

A new set of eyes lands on me. I don’t have to look to know they belong to my mother.

I ignore her.

My mother has had two days to speak with me—to acknowledge me. And I’m not about to let our first interaction occur in front of an audience.

Her violet cloak billows in the breeze as she walks by, and the scent of her rose perfume flows into my nostrils—the same as the half-used bottle Dad keeps in his bathroom, next to the vanity he never uses.

I take a steadying breath.

Des’s gaze softens, and he lifts a hand in farewell.

My heart hurts.

I bite the inside of my cheek and lift my hand in a quick wave, extending it to Lome and Thane, who are now watching me with knowing eyes.