Page 5 of The Immortal’s Curse (Bound to the Immortals #2)

THANE

Des leaves, and I watch him go, jaw clenched as tension bleeds from my shoulders in slow, reluctant drips. The echo of the door shutting seems louder than it should, reverberating in the chamber like an omen. The weight of the conversation settles heavily on my chest—too heavy, even for me.

“He won’t stop, you know,” Lome says beside me, his voice low, roughened by certainty. His eyes stay fixed on the exit, brows furrowed as if he can still see Des’s shadow there. “Des wants Adir dead for what he did.”

A groan slips from me before I can stifle it. I drag a tired hand down my face, fingers scraping over stubble I need to shave. “I just don’t understand why he can’t be patient. One wrong move, and we can destroy everything we’ve spent centuries protecting.”

Lome’s gaze finally cuts to me. His eyes catch the light, sharp as flint. “I think his impatience has something to do with who recently suffered at the rebels’ hands.”

“Darcie?”

He nods once. “That’s the only thing that makes sense. Des is usually more controlled than… that. ”

“I agree.” Bella steps closer from the corner where she’s been standing silent, her skirts whispering against the stone floor. Her eyes are still narrowed, fixed on me like a blade’s point. “Not that I know much, considering I was excluded from most of the meeting.”

“Darling, I told you, this didn’t concern?—”

“It concerned Darcie,” she cuts in, voice sharp enough to slice through my excuse. “And Des regrets what happened to her. He clearly blames himself.”

“That’s nonsense,” I huff. My arms fold tightly across my chest, and I tilt my head back, staring at the vaulted ceiling. “If anything, he blames me.”

“And I can’t say I disagree with him,” Lome mutters.

A pang of guilt digs in like a thorn. My gaze drops, shoulders heavy under its weight. “I truly believed if we kept Darcie close, Des would acknowledge her as his One.”

Lome snorts, though there’s no humor in it. “You underestimated how stubborn he can be.”

“I’m aware.” My feet carry me to the tall window, though I hardly register the beautiful stretch of countryside beyond—rolling hills and olive groves dulled beneath a gray sky.

Normally, the view steadies me. Now, it’s only background to the chaos thrumming in my chest. “The rebellion grows bolder. We need every advantage if we hope to defeat them this time. And Darcie could have helped us. She could have strengthened us.”

“Darcie is not a pawn, Thane.” Bella scolds.

My jaw tightens, and I snap my gaze to her. “And what would you have had me do? Let Des run from his fate? Let him keep making reckless decisions that could cost us everything?”

“Yes.” Her answer is unwavering. “Because it’s his fate to accept or deny. Forcing the issue only pushes him away, and it nearly got an innocent mortal girl killed.”

I shake my head, though the motion feels slow, dragged down by her truth. “Bonding with his One would have brought Des closer to us.”

“But not like this.” My wife softens her voice. Her expression turns gentler, almost pitying. Bella understands Des in a way I’ve never managed, though I’ve known him millennia longer. “You can’t make Des do anything he doesn’t want to do.”

“Or stop him from doing what he does,” Lome adds, motioning toward the door. His rings glint in the low light. “Des is going to find a way to speak with Adir. It might be best to allow it as long as one of us is present.”

I frown. “And if Adir provokes him? If Des snaps? Attacking an unarmed prisoner would only prove the rebels right.”

“We won’t let it come to that.”

I scoff. “You forget how powerful Des is. Even if we both tried, I’m not sure we could stop him.”

Silence presses in, thick as fog. We all know it’s true. Des doesn’t flaunt his strength, but we’ve seen what he can do. If he wants vengeance, there’s little we can do to prevent it. Except keep him away from Adir.

But how in Creator’s name am I going to do that?

My gaze drifts back to the window, desperate to escape their stares. Outside, the bare gardens stretch below, their twisted branches clawing at the ashen sky. The emptiness mirrors the unease twisting in my gut.

The Creator hasn’t spoken to me since the day I was made, but I still believe in the divine whispers. I feel them. Sometimes soft. Sometimes urgent. Always inescapable.

And right now, every whisper I hear screams the same thing: More Immortals will fall. More innocents will die.

A fear I dare not voice rises in my chest, cold and relentless. A fear that’s been growing steadily every day for the past months.

My family may not survive what’s coming.

Not like this.

Not with just the five of us.