Page 16 of The Immortal’s Curse (Bound to the Immortals #2)

DARCIE

The crowd’s whispers press in on me from all sides, muffled but frantic, like I'm underwater. Charmian’s eyes are still locked on mine—too clear, too real.

I can’t move. Can’t breathe.

“Darcie,” Charmian says, her voice low but vibrating through the stone at my back, sending a tremor through my body.

I wince when a sharp stone scrapes my elbow. “This isn’t real,” I whisper. “This isn’t?—”

Des’s head whips toward me.

No.

No, no, no.

I spin to run?—

—but the moment fractures.

A blinding, soundless crack cleaves the space around me.

Everything vanishes.

I jolt upright, heart slamming against my ribs as the alarm blares from my cellphone on my nightstand. Sheets tangle around my legs, and sweat dampens my hairline. I choke on a breath and stare wildly around the room.

The soft hum of the heater. The glow of morning sunlight filtering through the blinds. The faint slam of someone closing their car door outside.

Home.

I’m home.

Not in an amphitheater. Not surrounded by Immortals and not haunted by eyes that see too much.

My hands tremble as I scrub my face. “It was just a dream,” I tell myself, voice hoarse. “Just a?—”

But I remember the weight of Charmian’s gaze. And the way Des looked at me?—

I exhale shakily and swing my legs over the bed, silencing the obnoxious alarm before it can go off again.

There’s no time to replay the strange nightmare. I have to get to work.

I yank my shirt over my head and drag a brush through my tangled hair, ignoring the dark circles under my eyes in my reflection.

But then I freeze.

My gaze snags on a patch of raw skin on my elbow… angry, red, and right where the stone wall scraped me.

I slap a hand over the wound, pulse pounding in my throat.

It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.

But then what the hell is this?

The café is warm, too warm.

The overactive toasting oven spills heat from behind the counter, but it’s not just that. It’s me. I’m burning from the inside out.

My hands tremble slightly as I punch in the customer’s order, sweat gathering at my temples. I haven’t stopped shaking since I woke up.

The dream clings to me. Evetta’s scream. The blinding light. Charmian’s voice echoes through my bones. How is she with us at this very moment?

I can’t stop hearing it. Can’t stop seeing the way Des looked right at me.

“Medium vanilla latte, extra hot,” the woman says again, and I blink hard, forcing myself to focus on the screen in front of me.

Right. Work. Reality. I’m in the real world now. Right?

“Are you feeling all right, Darcie?” Alex’s voice cuts in from beside me. He frowns, concern etched across his usually relaxed face. “You don’t look so good.”

I try to muster a smile, but it falters halfway. “I’m fine.”

God, how many times have I said that lately?

“Didn’t you clock in at five-thirty?”

“Yeah, but it’s fine. I don’t mind staying a little longer.”

The line snakes past the pastry case. I don’t want to abandon my coworkers in the middle of a rush.

“You’ve got class later, don’t you?” Alex crosses his arms, still frowning.

“Um… yes.”

“Clock out,” he orders. “Get coffee. Sit. We’ll manage without you.”

I hesitate, torn between the chaos behind me and the chaos in my chest. But then he gently nudges me out of the way and takes my spot at the register.

“Okay…” I murmur, the resistance leaving me in a gust of air.

If only stepping away from the register could also mean stepping away from whatever is happening to me.

I clock out on the second register and grab my purse from under the counter. I start to walk away when Alex clears his throat.

I meet his gaze.

He lifts a brow. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

I frown .

He sighs and holds out an empty cup. “Get coffee. It doesn’t look like you’ll make it the rest of the day without it.”

I take the cup with a sheepish look. “Thanks.”

Alex is an awesome manager.

By the time I settle into a booth with a steaming cup of dark roast, I’ve convinced myself to stop freaking out about the dream. The vivid, awful dream.

And my elbow? I probably scraped it on the nightstand or something stupid while asleep. I wrap both hands around the cup, soaking in the warmth.

Outside, the sun filters through the windows. People laugh. The smell of cinnamon rolls wafts from the toaster oven. I take a deep breath.

I’m fine. I’m totally fine.

A shadow falls across the table. “Is this seat taken?”

I look up, and all that hard-won calm disintegrates the second I see Lome’s face.

The ever-charming Immortal slides into the booth across from me with a grin, unaware of the turmoil swirling within me.

“Hey, Darcie.”

“Hi.”

“I’m surprised to find you still here.” He tilts his head. “I thought your shift ended an hour ago.”

My tired brain takes a second to register his words. My brow lifts. “How do you know when my shift ends?”

He shrugs. “The usual way.”

“So you just happened to come to Bean Bazaar even knowing I’m supposed to be off?” I ask with a sharp look.

“Well, their coffee is the best in Brunswick.”

I sip mine, unconvinced, but I don’t press. I’m too exhausted.

It’s not like I didn’t assume the Immortals were keeping tabs on me. How else would they keep me safe? Still, the casual admission grates.

“Lome! Hi! ”

I follow the excited outburst to the coffee counter. Susie waves enthusiastically at Lome, almost knocking over the drinks she set out for customer pickup.

Lome lifts a hand in greeting, but his smile is tight.

I snicker behind my cup. “Don’t tell me you’re here to see Susie.”

His gaze slides to me, and his lips curl. “As attentive as the staff here is, I will confess I am here to check on you.”

Just days ago, I’d been eager for him to drop by so I could ask about my hand. Now, I’m not so sure…

Not after last night’s dream when Charmian looked right at me…

I take another sip of coffee, hoping to hide the nervousness his words stoke to life. “Any reason why?”

Lome cocks his head to the side. “Is ensuring your safety not enough reason to check on you?”

“I thought the wards were powerful enough to protect me,” I counter.

“They are.”

An unspoken but hangs in the space between us.

I stare at the dark liquid in my cup, trying but failing to be reassured. “Did Des ever find out how Adir knew I’m in Maine?”

If the Original rebel knows where I am, his supporters might. Is that fear what has me on edge? Is that what’s causing these realistic, unnerving dreams every night?

From the corner of my eye, Lome stiffens. “How did you know Des spoke to Adir?”

My head snaps up. Blood drains from my face.

Shit.

I just asked him about a dream .

He’s going to think I’m crazy.

My lips part to tell him to forget what I said, that I’m just tired, but his tense expression makes me hesitate .

Lome’s gaze darts left and right. The hands resting on the table tap against the surface in rapid rhythm.

I frown. Is he nervous?

“Darcie?” Lome presses, his voice low as his eyes refocus on me. “How did you know about Adir?”

“You told me,” I lie.

“No.” He shakes his head. Lips press into a hard line. “I did not .”

My anxiety spikes. Damnit. I flounder for a response.

Seconds pass. Lome’s stern gaze remains locked with mine, but he doesn’t speak. He’s waiting me out.

I sigh.

You know what? Never mind. I’m too tired to lie.

“Okay, fine.” I shift in my seat, my face heating as I confess, “No one told me about Des talking to Adir, but I had a dream about them recently.”

I wait for him to tease me for dreaming about Des. Instead, Lome’s eyes go wide.

“You dreamed of their conversation?”

“Well… no.” I frown. “I just had a dream about them. I don’t know what they talked about in real life.”

“What happened in the dream?” His rigid demeanor sends alarm bells ringing in my head.

Why is he so worked up?

“Darcie,” Lome clips when I don’t respond. I press my back against the booth, caught off guard by his intense stare. “What happened in your dream?”

“N-nothing.” I shake my head. “Des and Adir were just talking. They were threatening one another.”

“Where was the dream?”

“It looked like a dungeon.”

He mutters a curse. “Describe it to me.”

Heart racing, I do my best to remember details of my dream.

I tell Lome about the stone steps leading down to the old- fashioned prison, about Adir sitting in a chair while Des spoke to him, and about the stones I dislodged when I stood.

I tell him everything I can remember, leaving out Adir’s threat to make a move on me to rile up my imagined version of Des. Lome would have too much fun reading into that .

As I talk, Lome’s body grows rigid. His jaw locks. His shoulders tense. And his pupils dilate like I’ve just confessed to a murder.

“And then I woke up,” I finish quietly.

He swallows, then licks his lips. “And when was this?”

“The night after you first came to the café.”

He groans and drags a hand down his face. “ Fuck .”

“What is?—”

“Here you go!” Susie appears beside us, full of bounce and smiles. “Medium roast, almond milk. Just how you like it.”

She places the drink in front of Lome, but he doesn’t even glance her way. His eyes remain fixed on me, troubled and intense.

“Thanks, Susie,” I say quickly, trying to fill the awkward silence.

“You’re welcome.” Her lips turn down when Lome still doesn’t look her way. She clears her throat and mutters an embarrassed, “Enjoy.”

I watch her go, surprised when I notice Carl working at the register. The line is still to the door. Where did Alex go?

“How is your hand?”

I jolt, and my gaze snaps back to Lome. “W-what?”

“Your hand. The cut,” he presses, an urgent undercurrent in his tone. “How is it?”

My stomach rolls. “It’s, uh… It’s fine.”

I gasp when Lome’s hand shoots out and takes mine. He pulls it to the middle of the table, turns it over, and examines my palm closely. My hand shows no sign that a cut ever existed.

“Damn it,” he curses again, releasing my hand and leaning back against the booth, shaking his head over and over. “She was right.”

“Who was right? What’s going on, Lome?” My voice trembles. “You’re freaking me out.”

“I’m sorry.” He closes his eyes, breathes deep. When he opens them again, the panic is dulled, but something far worse is there—resignation. “Have you told anyone else about the cut?”

“No.” I study him. Who would I tell? “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

He blows out a heavy breath. “I’m not sure it’s my business.”

Anger flares in my chest. “I thought we were past you keeping me in the dark about things that directly involve me?”

Remorse flickers in his eyes. “I am… but I can’t be sure what I believe is actually true .”

“I don’t care. I still want to know.”

“Very well.” He shoves his coffee to the side of the table without taking a single sip. He rests his elbows on the table, interlocking his fingers, and stares at me.

I return the stare, watching the shadows shift behind his eyes as the secrets start to surface, revealing truths he’s not sure I’m ready for.

Dread coils in my stomach, slow and cold. Maybe pressing for answers is a mistake. But I’ve already stepped off the edge of this cliff. There’s no turning back now.

Lome exhales, slow and controlled, like he’s bracing for impact.

“The scene you described, the one between Des and Adir…” He hesitates but holds my stare. “It wasn’t your imagination.”

My pulse stutters. “Then what was it?”

His eyes darken, full of something ancient and afraid.

“A vision,” he says. “And the fact that you had one…”

A beat of silence.

“…is a big fucking problem.”