Page 70 of The Immortal's One
I stop and watch him leave with a frown, not because his behavior is strange—though it is—but because, for the first time, I realize I haven't dreamed of haunting green eyes in days.
Seven days, to be exact.
My stomach drops, unease settling in like a thick fog.
What could that mean?
My gut says nothing good.
“Don’t be offended.” Eshe’s voice pulls me out of my troubling thoughts. She glances over her shoulder to where the stranger moves out of sight on the second floor. “Des instructed all servants to keep their distance from you.”
Unease morphs into confusion. “He has?”
She nods.
I scowl. “Why?”
“No idea.” She shrugs, but her tone is a little too light for me to believe her.
I bite my lip.
I don’t want to risk losing any goodwill I may have with Eshe, especially not before I ask about a phone. But damn, the subtle smirk tugging at her lips kills me. It’s almost like she knows something, and I’m dying to figure out what it is.
We reach the grand foyer. Eshe and I walk toward an unassuming white door that stands out against the opulence of the mansion. I’ve seen it before. It looks like a coat closet, but the sound of muffled conversation beyond makes it clear that’s not the case.
Without hesitation, Eshe opens the door, stepping inside with a fluid grace. The room is empty, devoid of any furniture. Black marble floors glimmer under the sunlight streaming through an unseen window.
I follow, excited to see the rare da Vinci paintings. I don’t notice the conversation inside has stopped.
“Eshe?” Lome’s voice rings out from somewhere out of sight. “Is something wrong?”
I cross the threshold. The air shifts, and eight pairs of eyes lock onto me.
It’s like I become paralyzed. My muscles lock into place.
Thick silence settles over the room. And in that silence, everything becomes clear: I shouldn’t be here.
I should’ve noticed the surprise, and the disapproval, in Lome’s voice when he addressed Eshe. I should’ve seen the gleam of triumph in Eshe’s eyes when I crossed the threshold.
But I didn’t.
Now, I’m a pawn in another unknown Immortal game.
Shit.
I gaze from one stunning face to the next, my apprehension growing like a storm cloud with each passing second.
Then, I spot a familiar face. Three faces, in fact.
Shock widens Lome’s eyes, though they lack the anger I expected after realizing I’ve crashed a secret meeting of some kind. Thane, however, is another story. The Immortal leader’s glare is hard, his nostrils flaring. His narrowed eyes lock on Eshe as though she’s committed an unforgivable sin by bringing me into this room.
And then there’s Des. His face is as unreadable as ever, a mask of calm that hides whatever tempest brews underneath.
A slow, mocking clap breaks the tension simmering between Eshe and the brothers.
A blond man steps forward, separating himself from the group of attractive, living statues. He’s tall, with a chiseled jaw and an air of arrogance that immediately unsettles me.
“Well, well, well…” the man draws out the words, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Who do we have here?”
