Page 25 of The Immortal's One
“Darcie?” Thane’s voice is low, tight with concern.
I lift my head, meeting his worried gaze. I press my lips together, a knot of discomfort tightening my chest from seeing him again. Especially under these circumstances.
“You shouldn’t be up,” he says, voice soft, yet there’s an undeniable edge to it. “The healers haven’t seen to your injuries yet.”
His words settle over me, but they only make the tightness grow. Before I can even take a breath, his arms move around me, and I’m lifted effortlessly and carried inside the room.
A sharp exhale leaves me as I take in the space. One wall is lined with a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf crammed with thick leatherbound books. Each one gleams, gold lettering catching the light. Stunning and vibrant oil paintings hang betweentowering windows stretching high above me, framing a view of the lush lawn below.
My mind darts back to years spent traveling with my dad, who was studying ancient cultures. I scan the room, noting the priceless artifacts displayed like treasures on pedestals. My gaze lingers on them, searching for meaning, but all I can feel is the gnawing, insistent question:Where the hell am I?
Thane lowers me into a chair opposite one that’s already occupied. I wince as I settle. My ribs ache at every movement. The stranger across from me watches, his warm hazel eyes sharp and unwavering. They remind me of Thane’s, though they are slightly different shades.
I snatch the pillow next to me and clutch it to my chest, my fingers digging into the soft fabric, searching for some feeble way to put distance between me and them.
The man whistles low, disbelief thick in his tone. “I… I can’t believe it.”
“Don’t,” comes Des’s voice, cutting through the air with sharp irritation. “She is not her.”
I freeze. That phrase.I’ve heard it before… back at the club. My stomach churns, unease coiling tighter.
Before I can react, the man across from me raises a brow, slow and amused. “No? You could’ve fooled me.”
The confusion inside me deepens, filling my mind with something that feels too much like panic. I shift my gaze, desperate for something to steady me. My eyes land on the two women seated on the sofa.
One is fair-skinned with wavy brown hair, her lips curved in a smile that borders on wistful, almost sad. The other, with rich tan skin, exudes an aura of sharpness. Her hair falls like dark curtains, framing a face that is striking but cold. She looks like she’d rather be anywhere else.
Both women remain silent, their eyes flicking between me and the men, but they don’t say a word.
I swallow thickly, my throat dry as I turn back to Thane.
“Where am I?” The words spill out, brittle and shaky. I glance at Des, who stands near the bookshelf. His glare burns into me, contradicting the chill that settles over my skin. “What’s going on?”
“You’re in our home,” Thane responds steadily.
Yes, butwhereexactly?
My chest tightens as I lift my chin. “And why am I in your home?”
You rescued me from that parking lot, didn’t you?
Why did you bring me here and not just call the police?
I bite my lip to hold in the panicked questions. My gut screams to demand answers, but something holds me back. I can't afford to freak out. Not yet.
“You’re here to recover.” Thane’s tone softens, but his jaw tightens. “We’ve summoned a healer. Once they arrive, they’ll tend to your injuries.”
His words are a sharp reminder of the pain I’ve been pushing down. A vice-like grip wraps around my ribs, squeezing with every word I say. “I’d rather recover in a hospital. If you could take me back to Maine, I’d appreciate it.”
The man in the chair laughs. “Ah, she’s a feisty one. I like her already.”
“Of course you do, dear,” the woman with ebony hair says with a sigh. “You never shy away from admiring women.”
The man scowls, but Thane interrupts before he can speak.
“Taking you to the hospital would raise too many questions,” he says. “And recovery would be slower there. Our healers will get you back on your feet faster.”
“Don’t you mean doctors?” I ask, furrowing my brow.
