Page 133 of The Immortal's One
Adir paces the length of the room, a cell phone pressed against his ear. His voice is too low for me to hear what he says, but his tone is sharp and his features twist with anger.
Whatever he’s talking about isn’t good news for him, but I hope that means it’s good news for me.
It’s been twenty minutes since Adir showed up at the oppressive bedroom and led me to this study. I didn’t know what to expect—what grand scheme he’d lay out before me that would involve me betraying the Immortals who’ve been protecting me from the rebellion.
But almost the moment my foot hit the thick, hand-knotted rug at the entrance, Adir’s phone rang. He’s been on it ever since.
My eyes track his aggravated form across the room. It’s weird seeing an Immortal on a cell phone. I imagined they communicated with each other telepathically. Or used carrier pigeons. I don’t know, something moremagical.
But then my mind stills.Who says he’s talking to an Immortal?
My eyes drift away from my irritated captor to scan the two closed doors to my right. Where they lead is a mystery, but I don’t suspect it’s freedom. Adir doesn’t strike me as careless. I doubt he’d take me anywhere I’d be able to escape.
Throwing myself out of one of the three windows overlooking the dead grass field below is an option. The drop would hurt. And the chances of me being able to outrun an Original Immortal who can transport places at will are less than zero.
Right now, I’m stuck.
And all my focus needs to be on avoiding Adir’s fury billowing into the air like a storm cloud, ready to unleash a torrential downpour on anyone who dares irritate him further.
I'm not going to lie; there’s something terrifying about seeing the God of War angry.
Des and the others aren’t much better…
I pinch my lips together and tug the hem of my borrowed shirt.
The clothes in my new prison are modern. Jeans, leggings, and tops that are designed to show midriff. The top isn’t my style, but I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable wearing it if it weren’t for the way Adir’s gaze lingered on the inch of exposed flesh above my waist. My skin still crawls just thinking about it.
I tuck my legs to my body, relieved that the jeans are flexible enough to let me cover my midsection. I wrap my armsaround my knees and watch the Original Immortal, wondering for the one hundredth time what the hell he has planned for me. And if Des and the others are trying to find me.
“Just take care of it,” Adir barks, eyes narrowing at the phone, “before I remove you and take matters into my own hands!”
The Immortal ends the call and vaults the device into the ground.
I jolt. Plastic and glass shatter, the sound echoing against the stone walls.
Adir stomps in my direction. I stiffen but exhale a stilted sigh of relief when he falls into the chair across from mine.
He runs a tan hand through his blond hair, mutters a curse, then shouts, “Eric!”
One of the doors to my right swings open, and a harried young man steps into the study—the same man who brought food to my room.
I strain my neck to see the room or hall behind him, but he shuts the door before I can make out any details.
“Yes, my lord?” the man, Eric, answers with his head tilted down.
“I need you to contact your kin. The rebellion is underway, and we’ll need your services.”
“Yes, sir.” Eric spares a quick glance in my direction before turning on his heel and rushing out. Once again, he closes the door before I can see what lies behind it.
Adir sighs. I turn and find him staring at me, his expression contemplative.
I tighten my hold on my legs. “Who was that?”
“Who? Eric?” Adir cracks his knuckles, shaking out the hand that had been gripping the phone. “A lesser deity who acts as my messenger. Nothing more.”
I jump at the opportunity to learn more about what’s going on. “He’s a messenger between you and his family?”
“Not family in the way you use the word,” he says, sounding bored.
