Page 13 of The Immortal’s Trick (Bound to the Immortals)

“Is there anything I can get you before we leave?” Lome asks from the doorway, his silhouette framed by the golden light of the hall’s sconces.

Beyond him, I catch glimpses of the last few guests trickling out of the villa, their laughter fading like the remnants of a dream.

The scent of rosewater and wine still lingers in the air, mingling with the salt on my skin.

Everything feels distant, blurred, like the memory of something too big to absorb all at once.

The day plays in pieces in my head. My knees were trembling as I walked to the altar.

The murmurs of those in attendance. The warmth of Lome’s hand as he took mine.

The exchange of words I barely registered, spoken with a voice that didn’t feel like mine.

And then—the kiss. That part I remember vividly.

How Lome’s eyes caught the light just before he leaned in, his smile full of promise. His lips brushing mine with affection I didn’t expect.

I don’t feel any different, but I am now a married woman. A gold ring rests on my finger. My dress still smells of crushed jasmine and celebration. And Lome—this impossibly beautiful man—is standing in my room like he’s always belonged here. Like I’ve always belonged here.

I exhale, but the breath sticks in my throat. It isn’t relief. Not yet. There’s still more to do.

Well… two more things.

I shake my head, trying to quiet the fluttering in my stomach. I finally answer him, “No, thank you.”

He steps farther into the room, concern softening his features. “Are you sure? Water? Wine?”

I manage a wry smile. He’s already asked me three times tonight.

After the ceremony, Lome and Des pulled me into the center of the celebration, refusing to let me linger at the edges.

Lome had grinned like a boy at a sweets stall in the market, tugging my hand toward every platter and urging me to taste everything.

Spiced lamb. Stewed figs. Honey-dipped cakes. I couldn’t say no to him.

Now, my stomach is full and my lips are stained red, and the idea of another bite makes me want to sink into a cushion and never move again.

“I’m fine,” I say. “Truly.”

He shifts, his expression tightening with guilt. “I’m sorry there’s no time to rest after all the excitement, but my older brother insists we complete the ceremony tonight.”

I nod. I know. He’s apologized before, more than once. It’s not his choice. Whatever this second part of the ceremony entails, it’s something ancient—something important to them .

“Do not trouble yourself,” I say. “I will be happy when it is over.”

Lome takes my cold hands in his and stares deeply into my eyes. “You are safe, Eshe. This ceremony… it is just that. Another ceremony. You have nothing to fear.”

My hands shake ever so slightly. A flash of remorse crosses his face. He bends down and places a gentle kiss on the back of each hand.

“I wish I could take away your unease. I feel complete joy, but all you feel is distress.”

“That’s not true,” I murmur, watching his thumb trace gentle circles on my skin. The sensation raises goosebumps on my arms along with the now-familiar sparks of attraction his touch always elicits.

My tone draws his gaze back to mine. His eyes darken, and his lips part. The expression sends a blast of heat through me. He inches forward. I inhale, eagerly awaiting his next move.

We’re interrupted by a slight tap on the doorframe. I glance toward the sound. Des stands in the entrance.

He clears his throat. “Our family is waiting, brother.”

Then, he turns and offers me a tilt of his head.

Lome never moves his gaze from me. “Are you ready?”

I stare into his eyes, gathering strength from their warm, hazel depths. “Yes.”

Without another word, Lome tightens his grasp, and the world around me falls away. I’m pulled through darkness, whipped through wind, until my feet find purchase on a different marble floor. My head snaps up, and the room spins from the movement.

“Careful there.” Lome’s hands move my shoulders. “You may be a little dizzy from the trip.”

“A little?” I return, the room still not entirely in focus. The feeling makes me uneasy. I didn’t feel this way the first time Lome used this method of transportation on me.

Lome chews his lip. “Des?” He turns and gestures to his brother. I can make out the man’s form, but the details are hazy. “Can you stay with her for a minute? I need to find Thane.”

“Of course.”

Lome promptly fades from view. He literally fades into thin air.

I know my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me. It’s another one of his abilities. I close my eyes and breathe in through my nose, trying to keep nausea at bay.

“You get used to it.” I open my eyes and meet Des’ semi-focused face. The corner of his lips turns up. “I’m surprised you didn’t vomit.”

I release an incredulous laugh. “It was close.”

His smile grows.

He should smile more often, I think.

Seconds pass. Slowly, my vision returns to normal, and I can finally see the details of a landscape painting on the far wall.

“Better?” he asks.

I blink and turn my attention to Des. “Yes.”

“Good. Lome should be back with our brother at any moment.”

“Thane?” I ask to fill the silence, even though I know more about the Original Nine immortals than I do most of the men and women who work our family farm. Lome didn’t shy away from details.

Des nods. “He’s the oldest. You might consider him our keeper,” he says, giving me an uncharacteristic wink. “Lome and I are always keeping him on his toes.”

I can’t help but smile. “You and my husband need a keeper?” I’m surprised how easily the title rolls off my tongue.

“Probably more than one,” he chuckles. “Lucky for Thane, the job fell to him.”

“Maybe I’ll offer him assistance,” I say. “I helped wrangle two brothers of my own, after all.”

“I’m positive Thane would be overjoyed by the offer.”

“What offer?” an unfamiliar voice questions from the far corner of the room.

Des and I turn to see Lome walk in behind a stranger. It takes me one second to conclude the newcomer is Thane. The brothers share enough features that a resemblance is easily seen, though Lome insists nothing as uninspiring as blood links them together.

“That’s my cue.” Des approaches and surprises me yet again when he places a small kiss on my right cheek. “Good luck, Eshe. And welcome to the family.”

Speechless, I can only watch him walk toward his brothers. Des gives each a firm pat on the back before vanishing through the doors behind them.

“You must be Eshe.” Thane steps forward and introduces himself, “I’m Thane. It is a pleasure to meet you. My brother is very lucky to have such a beautiful bride.”

I dip my knees slightly, lowering my head. When I rise, Lome is at my side.

He smiles down at me, overjoyed. “Ready?”

The nerves return full force. “What, exactly, should I be ready for?”

Lome takes my arm and loops it around his. We start walking toward the doors that Des used moments earlier. “A ritual to alter your mortality.”

I know it’s coming. I haven’t forgotten how Lome professed we would be together forever, but hearing him say it makes the reality hit me with full force. I stumble. My husband quickly steadies me.

“Do not worry. It will be over quickly.”

“Will it hurt?” I ask. Surely extending someone’s soul for an eternity would hurt?

His lips turn down. “I do not know,” he says with regret. “It has never been done before.”

My heart pounds. “But Des…” I trail off. Didn’t Des love someone?

Then it hits me. Lome said the woman Des loved was dead—an impossible state for an immortal.

I grip his arm with my other hand. Lome immediately covers it with his own.

“I will not let anything bad happen to you,” he says fervently. His eyes shine with truth. “I promise.”

Unable to doubt him, knowing I cannot escape what’s to come, I look forward to where Thane leads us into a different room.

The lighting is much the same, but I find myself blinking to take in the scene before me. Not because it’s bright, but because of the people standing inside it, staring at me. Their beauty and perfection are breathtaking. With what I know, I surmise the room’s occupants are immortals.

Lome tightens his hold and whispers in my ear, “Do not cower. You will be stronger than all of them. They know it. You need to know it.”

His words are strange. How could I be stronger than men? I’m thin from years of barely having enough to eat.

Lome continues to escort me past the group of immortals.

Each one lowers their eyes in deference as we move.

Some even bow or curtsy. I can’t help but observe each of them, taking in their striking features and skin that seems to glow.

The women in the group are the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.

The men are just as good-looking. Though not as handsome as Lome.

One blonde male meets my gaze and shoots me a flirtatious wink. That’s all it takes to wash away my curiosity. I return my concentration to the safety of Thane’s back and beyond.

We approach an altar. Behind it, tall pillars loom, wrapped in vines and flowers that mimic those from our wedding, but any comfort they might offer shrivels under the weight of the moment.

A figure steps out from behind one of the pillars, robes pooling like shadows around his feet.

He moves slowly, deliberately, as though every step costs him something.

Though I can’t see his face beneath the heavy hood, I know he is old, not just in the way mortals age, but ancient in the way stone crumbles under centuries of wind.

Something about him is wrong. Off. The air itself seems to shift away from him, and I fight the instinct to do the same.

Des and Thane fall into place at his sides, silent sentinels. Des no longer wears the warm smile he so often offered me. His face is a mask now—stoic, unreadable. He won’t even look at me.

Lome taps my hand, grounding me. “Ready?”

I’m not ready. I will never be ready. But what does that matter?

I force a nod.

Lome guides me up the steps, my legs barely holding me steady.

At the top, the hooded man lifts his arms. The motion is fluid, graceful even, and somehow all the more terrifying for it. Then he begins to speak.

No, chant .

The sound curls through the air like smoke. The words are unlike anything I’ve ever heard. Ancient. Hollowed out with age, yet pulsing with power. They scrape against my bones, dredging up some primal fear buried deep in my blood.

He raises one palm over my head.

The temperature drops. My skin prickles. Every hair on my body lifts like I’m standing in the heart of a storm. His voice grows stronger, deeper, inhuman. Each syllable sinks into my chest and coils around my lungs.

And then the pressure starts.

Not physical—no, this is something else. A force I can’t see begins to press down on me, like invisible hands pushing on my shoulders, shoving my spirit out of place. The air thickens. My vision blurs. I try to suck in a breath, but it’s like inhaling fog. It clings, it chokes?—

And then, everything stops.

The voice. The pressure. The cold.

Silence folds around me like a feathered blanket.

And I drift away from the altar, away from the hooded man and the ceremony I barely understand—falling weightlessly into a hush as deep and endless as the void.

Into darkness.