Page 1 of The Immortal’s Curse (Bound to the Immortals #2)

DES

My black cape catches the wind, flaring behind as I watch Carnevale revelers stumble across the stone bridge ahead in bursts of color and laughter.

The gondola bobs beneath my polished boots as I step off the wooden vessel and onto the slick stone path that snakes toward Piazza San Marco.

The sweet scent of wine dances with the tang of sweat permeating the air.

Once, I would’ve joined the festivities. I would’ve indulged in vice and extravagance. Silk masks, whispered names, bodies pressed close under moonlight… There was a time I reveled in it— distracted myself with it.

But that time has passed.

Now, I walk with purpose. Every step weighs heavy with consequence.

The Council’s enemies have grown bold, slithering like smoke through the cracks of human civilization. They manipulate from the shadows, disrupting the delicate balance that ensures Immortals remain myth and not memory .

Their influence on humanity reaches a level impossible to ignore—a level that risks the successful continuation of civilizations around the world.

So, the Council sent us . Thane, Lome, and I have been charged with uprooting this rebellion before it can fester and spread. Before they destroy everything.

Thane emerges at my side, a shadow among shadows.

“The Doge’s Palazzi is just ahead,” he murmurs, voice low and edged with steel. “Are you certain he’ll be there?”

“I am.”

Lome appears at my other side, wearing a crimson cloak that is as loud as his presence.

“You trust him?” he asks.

My gaze slides to his. “I do.”

He exhales through his nose.

Lome’s skepticism is warranted. There’s not a soul in the world my brothers and I trust more than each other.

Not even our fellow Originals make it into our inner circle.

They’re too self-serving—their powers too dependent on the mortal condition for us to believe they have the fragile souls’ best interests at heart.

But their offspring… they are something else entirely. Not weaker. Not lesser. Just… different. And perhaps, more capable of change.

We veer left to avoid a crowd gathered around street musicians. Their song cuts through the night—frenetic strings over a mournful melody. I toss a gold coin into the violin case.

“Generous,” Thane says. “Shall we stop?—”

“No.” I keep walking.

Anticipation builds with each step.

The moment is near. The contact I’ve been cultivating for months—carefully, quietly—is finally ready to speak. If anyone discovers his betrayal, he won’t survive the day. Or worse, he will. Eternity offers endless ways to suffer.

No .

I reject the thought.

He will not be discovered. I’ve made sure of it.

We round a marble facade etched in Gothic flourishes and arrive before the Doge’s Palace—its colonnades gleaming with candlelight and wealth. On the balconies above, masked figures drift, laughter and music spilling into the night.

But my attention rises to the third floor—the window farthest left.

I plant my feet on the ground.

Thane and Lome pull up short, spreading out behind me.

A shadow steps into the window, blocking out the room’s light. Adrenaline floods my veins. I raise my fist and count.

One. Two. Three. Four?—

The window opens. A single candle tumbles through the air, striking a jester’s belled hat below.

The entertainer’s companion bats at the singed fabric, extinguishing the flame. My Immortal hearing pick up his incredulous cries and demands for explanation, but no one pays him any mind.

Thank the Creator for the chaos of Carnevale.

“Is that the signal?” Thane asks.

I nod. “Let’s move.”

We slip into the drunken crowd. Courtesans brush our arms, attempting to lure us to purchase their companionship for the evening. Lome is the only one who appears to contemplate their offer, but I don’t fall for the act.

It’s been over a millennium since he and Eshe bonded, and I know he yearns for things between them to be different. While the vitriol that once swirled between them has diminished with time, the mistrust remains. It’s a wound I suspect only the Creator can mend.

At the palace entrance, I lift my simple black mask.

“Signor Desmond,” the guard greets, dipping his head. “Buona sera. ”

I lower the mask, eager to conceal my face from curious eyes. “Buona sera, Michael.”

The guard steps aside. “Enjoy the party.”

“Oh, we will,” Lome says, clapping the man’s shoulder.

Michael chuckles good-naturedly before his stoic mask falls back into place. He resumes scanning the approaching crowd, controlling who enters the Venetian leader’s luxurious palace.

I visited the Doge’s home once, weeks ago, when I visited the elected official and the Council of Ten, Venice’s ruling party.

Acting as a wealthy merchant, I charmed and dazzled the greedy Venetians with details of a thriving silk enterprise my brothers and I had undertaken in Asia. In less than an hour, the city's rulers issued us a prestigious invitation to their private Carnevale party.

And tonight, the Doge’s palace is transformed.

Silks float from vaulted ceilings. Firelight dances in glass. Each room we pass is a stage: tumblers vaulting through air, dancers gliding like whispers, songs sung in voices soaked with longing.

We pause at the ballroom’s threshold. Inside is a riot of color and motion—spinning gowns, glittering masks, lives burning bright and brief.

Lome whistles. “Incredible.”

“Mortals never fail to impress,” Thane agrees.

“No,” I murmur, gaze sweeping the room. “They don’t.”

Humans create masterpieces, advance technologies, and deepen their knowledge of the physical world—all within the limitations of a lifespan that rarely exceeds seven decades. Immortals have achievements, but none will ever impress me the way mortals do.

A group of women giggle behind feathered fans, their eyes trained on us. I turn away.

I have a job to do. I don’t need any distractions. I don’t want any distractions. I haven’t in a very, very long time .

Thane steps into the ballroom. I follow. Lome keeps pace at my side. We approach the long table filled with crystal flutes.

Thane hands each of us a drink, then raises his. “To tonight. May it bring order back to our kind.”

“Here, here!” Lome lifts his glass, clinking it against Thane’s.

They look at me. With a twitch of my lips, I raise my glass and drain it in one motion.

Lome nudges my side. “Look out, Venice. Desmond’s out to play.”

Hardly. I smile anyway. “You could say that.”

Then a smooth, delicate voice pours into my ear like honey.

“Lucky for me,” she says, “I love to play games.”

My spine stiffens. That voice is a hook in my gut, a tremor in my soul.

I grab another flute, determined to ignore the woman, hoping she leaves to find another man to entangle in her web of feminine wiles.

A hand lands on my back. Light. Dangerous .

“Signore,” the mysterious woman purrs. “Did you hear me?”

A shiver races down my spine.

Thane and Lome gape at the stranger over my shoulder, stunned by her brash behavior.

Then again, this is Carnevale—a rare time when class barriers soften and identities shift. Anonymity leads to bravery as the city turns into a stage, each of us is an actor in our own right.

But I’m not here to act.

I shift forward, and the woman’s touch falls away. I pivot. “Forgive me, Signorina, but I am not?—”

Words fade from my lips.

Time stops.

My heartbeat stalls.

Then, it beats as rapidly as Eshe’s prized Arabian that Lome gifted her last year .

Blonde curls. Pale lips. A familiar ache roars to life in my chest.

No. It can’t be. It shouldn't be.

But as I stare into the beautiful woman’s ocean blue eyes—eyes that have possessed me, body and soul, since the moment I first saw them all those years ago—there can be no doubt. Not even the gilded filigree mask she wears could hide who she is.

“It’s you.” The words leave my mouth on a throaty growl, the depth of my emotion deepening the timbre of my voice.

Her lips curl into a flirtatious smile. “Yes, it’s me .”

The world around us disappears. There is no music. No dancing. Only her .

She is light. She is gravity.

She is every missing piece of me that I’ve been yearning to find for most of my existence.

She is my One.