Page 46 of The Immortal’s Curse (Bound to the Immortals #2)

LOME

Greece - Months ago

Thane doesn’t knock. He rarely does.

The office door slams open against the stone wall, a sharp crack that jolts through the quiet.

My pen scratches mid-sentence, tearing the parchment.

The smell of ink and wax lingers heavily in the air, disturbed now by the draft his sudden entrance brings.

His boots echo across the mosaic floor, the rhythm precise, almost military.

“I said I wasn’t to be disturbed,” I mutter, not looking up, irritation still simmering from my earlier confrontation with Eshe. The memory tastes bitter in my mouth—her refusal, her resentment, the gulf between us that refuses to close.

No matter how often I try to mend it, centuries of regret cling to us like a shadow that will not lift.

Thane’s voice cuts through the room, steady, deliberate. “Trust me, you’ll want to hear this.”

Something in his tone sharpens my focus. I finally lift my gaze .

He stands across from me—arms crossed over his chest, jaw locked tight, his eyes gleaming with a strange blend of certainty and restrained excitement. In his hand is a slip of paper, edges crumpled where his grip has nearly crushed it.

I set my pen down, and my chair scrapes against the floor as I push back. “What is it?”

Thane closes the distance between us in long strides. He doesn’t speak until the paper is in my hand. His voice lowers. “It’s her.”

My chest constricts violently, the words striking harder than any blade.

“You’re sure?” My voice is quieter than I intend.

“Yes.”

Damn it.

“Des is going to be pissed.” Our brother has made it abundantly clear what he thinks of our efforts to find his One.

Thane’s expression hardens, shadow cutting across his face. “Do you think pretending she doesn’t exist will save her from her fate?”

I drag in a breath, steadying myself. No. Of course not. But still…

I unfold the paper. My throat goes dry.

A school photo, creased slightly, like it has already been carried too far, studied too often. A girl, seventeen maybe. Blonde hair draped over her shoulders. A shy smile that barely brushes her lips, never reaching those ocean-blue eyes.

Recognition slams into me like a blow. My stomach sinks. It’s her.

Sympathy coils tight inside me. This poor girl is caught in the web of a war she cannot see, branded by a destiny she never asked for. She has no idea what she is. Or what’s coming.

“Her name is Darcie,” Thane says, and this time the excitement creeps into his tone, curling around each word. “She lives in a small town in Maine with her father. Her mother’s not in the picture.”

I close my eyes briefly, exhaling. “Des is not ready for this.”

“He has to be,” Thane snaps, his temper sparking. “I’ll arrange everything. They will meet, and Des will be compelled to protect her.”

“You can’t know that,” I counter, though a shiver works down my spine at the certainty in his voice.

“Our enemies grow bolder every day.” Thane leans forward, both palms braced against my desk. The wood groans faintly under the weight. His eyes flash with the telltale glimmer of blue—power pulsing hot through his veins. “We need her.”

I shake my head. “That doesn’t mean he will agree. You know Des. He hasn’t been able to find those responsible for her deaths. He believes she’s safer without him.”

Another flash of blue arcs in his gaze, brighter this time. The hum of his power raises the hairs on my arms, prickling my skin. Wariness twists in my chest, sharper than I’ve ever felt with him.

“Then I suppose,” he says quietly, dangerously, “we will have to prove him wrong.”

My jaw tightens. “You can’t mean?—”

“I will do what I must,” Thane cuts me off, pushing back from the desk with sudden force. His stare is unrelenting. “Help me, or stay out of my way.”

He pivots sharply, boots striking the floor again as he heads for the door.

I stare at the picture still in my hand—the girl’s smile is faint, her eyes unguarded.

“She deserves a choice,” I call after him, my voice rough.

Thane pauses in the doorframe. His silhouette darkens the hall beyond. He glances back over his shoulder, voice low and razor-sharp. “Like Eshe deserved a choice?”

My wife’s name slams into me, raw and unhealed. My teeth grind. “You’re as responsible for Eshe’s plight as I am. ”

His gaze is unreadable. “We did what we had to do.” No remorse. No hesitation. Time has burned all softness out of him regarding how we tricked my wife into her fate. “Just as we will with Darcie.”

I shake my head slowly, the weight of centuries pressing against my shoulders. “This isn’t right, Thane.”

He turns fully now, power still glinting in his eyes. “But it is Fate, Lome. And I am done allowing our brother to fight it. Not when it puts the rest of us at risk.”