Chapter 5
DARCIE
I never do get to train the next day.
The night passes with my mind caught in the trappings of another vision. Another irrelevant vision.
Back when they first began, the peeks into situations and conversations halfway across the world revealed snippets of information pertaining to Adir, the rebellion, and my connection to Des.
Now? They’re nonsense.
I don’t care to listen to the Immortals’ cook agonizing over which side dishes to serve with my evening meals. Or watch a maid sneakily clean my room when I’m out at the training yard, trying but failing to master the powers manifesting in my veins.
The visions that have been ruining my sleep for days on end are useless. My once enlightening gift has been downgraded to bland reality TV.
I try to sit up, but the room tilts, and my stomach protests so hard I fall back against the pillow with a groan.
“I thought this was over,” I whisper to no one, squeezing my eyes shut.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The pounding in my head syncs with the sound. I squeeze my eyes closed.
“Come in,” I croak.
The door swings open.
“Good morning, Sunsh—Darcie?” Concern tears through Alex’s voice.
A gust of air hits me a second before his voice hovers over me. “What’s wrong?”
I crack an eyelid, fisting my hands in the twisted sheets when a jolt of pain lances through my head.
“I had another vision,” I rasp. My throat scrapes raw, as if I’d been screaming. Maybe I was.
He mutters a curse.
Cool fingers brush my forehead. “You don’t have a fever.”
“That’s good,” I manage. “Help me sit up?”
He hesitates for only a heartbeat before sliding an arm behind my shoulders. I can’t suppress my pained moan as he guides me upright until I’m propped against the carved headboard.
“Better?” His hand hovers near my shoulder like he’s afraid I’ll topple.
“Define better.” My voice comes out thin.
He sits on the edge of the bed instead of stepping back, the weight dipping the mattress. “How long have your visions affected you this way?”
I tilt my head back and close my eyes, unable to bear the dim light shining in through the windows with parted lace curtains. “Ever since I first forced a vision back in Maine.”
When I proved to myself that the visions I thought were dreams or imaginings were actually real.
“And how often are you having visions?”
I attempt a half-laugh, but the movement jars my head, making me wince. “Almost every night.”
Alex releases a low hiss. “That is too frequent.”
“You’re telling me,” I mumble, eyes still closed. “And they aren’t even important visions.”
He shifts closer. His palm rests against my forehead.
“You already confirmed I don’t have a fever,” I say, one eye cracking open in mild amusement.
“I wanted to double-check.” His brow furrows, and he pulls his hand back.
“Something must be changing,” he says, voice low and thoughtful. “Perhaps you are nearing the full manifestation of your abilities.”
“Lucky me.” I manage a faint smirk. “Let’s hope this is as bad as it gets.”
He doesn’t return the smile. His jaw tightens instead, eyes sweeping my face.
“You’re too pale.”
“Look who’s talking.”
Nothing. No laugh, no smirk. Just quiet worry.
He stands abruptly, tension vibrating through him. “I will fetch Henry and a Healer. Between them, we will find a solution.”
“Sounds good to me,” I whisper, because honestly, arguing requires energy I don’t have.
With one last searching glance, the vampire vanishes through the door in a rush of air.
I sink back into the pillows, counting my heartbeats, praying for this agony to end.
I’ve fallen into a light, non-restorative doze by the time Alex returns with both Henry and a Healer.
It’s the first time I’ve been conscious when one of the Immortals’ favored healers has visited me. I don’t know what I expected, but the attractive young man isn’t it.
Chiseled jaw locked in focus, the Healer’s hands hover inches above my skin, palms glowing faintly with light the color of a candle flame.
He traces invisible lines down my arms, chest, legs, like he’s mapping my veins and arteries.
Alex and Henry stand back at first, silent observers. But when minutes pass with no information, both fidget with impatience.
Henry finally breaks.
“She suffers from overstimulation of the mind,” he says briskly. “She needs to release the pressure.”
The warlock may not be gifted with clairvoyant abilities, but he is well-versed in the particulars of the coveted skill I inherited from my mother’s bloodline. Which is why Alex brought him here to train me.
The Healer doesn’t look up. His hands move down my left leg, ignoring the warlock’s words.
I shift my eyes to Henry. He glares at the man’s bowed head, then looks at Alex.
When Alex only shrugs, the warlock curses under his breath. “Excuse me.”
He strides toward the door. The heavy fabric of his robe swishes as he leaves, muttering something under his breath about uncooperative Immortals.
I lock eyes with Alex, and his strained smile fails to conceal his worry.
“I’m going to be fine,” I tell him, voice steadier than I feel. “Trust me. This happens all the time.”
“That is not comforting.”
I open my mouth for a sarcastic comeback, but another voice fills the room instead.
“No, it is not.”
Des.
My pulse trips, and warmth flows through me.
Des strides into the room, tall, composed, looking every inch the powerful, formidable Immortal he is known to be.
His gaze trails over me, and for a heartbeat, he falters.
His lips part slightly before snapping back into a line. Then that hard, commanding look I know too well settles in.
“What are you doing?” He demands of the male kneeling beside me. His tone is sharp, laced with threat.
The man doesn’t flinch. His hands hover over my chest, still moving in that eerie, methodical rhythm. “I am preparing to place her in a healing sleep.”
“Wait, what?” I start.
Des’s voice cuts through mine like thunder, “Did you not hear the warlock suggest an alternative treatment?”
He motions toward the door.
Henry has returned, standing at the threshold.
Did he summon Des?
“You will answer me, Healer Mark,” Des grits out. The authority in his tone isn’t loud, but it fills the space, impossible to ignore.
“This treatment worked well last time,” the healer replies, still not lifting his eyes. His palms continue to glow faintly as he moves them lower, toward my shin.
“We did not know the source of her ailment last time.” A pulse of his power makes the lights flicker. “Now that we are aware, you will defer to the warlock on the proper course of treatment.”
Henry steps forward right on cue, folding his hands calmly.
The healer hesitates. For a moment, I think he’ll continue to ignore them both. His fingers press lightly against my leg.
A low growl rumbles from Des’s chest, barely audible but primal enough to send a chill down my spine.
Healer Mark pushes to his feet, muttering something sharp under his breath as he strides out, avoiding everyone’s eyes. The door shuts with a dull click.
Henry exhales and takes the healer’s vacated spot beside me.
“Darcie?” He speaks gently. “Will you look at me?”
I do, focusing on the faint wrinkle between his brows.
His hands come up to frame my face, cool and steady but not cold like Alex’s. “The visions have accumulated pressure in your mind. I’m going to release it, but I’ll need you to breathe evenly, slow and steady, while I work. Can you do that?”
I nod, though even that motion spikes the ache in my head.
“Good.” His confident tone eases some of my anxiety. “Try not to move.”
I take a deep breath.
He begins to murmur soft syllables that slip through the air like a current. The language sounds old, melodic, threaded with power. I can’t understand a word, but the tone soothes something raw inside me.
My heartbeat syncs to the rhythm of his voice. I focus on that: inhale, exhale, listen.
Heat blooms where his palms touch my skin. Not the painful kind, more like sunlight through a window. The pressure inside my skull slowly eases, the pulsing pain dimming to a steady hum.
It feels…familiar.
Like I’ve been in this position before.
The thought slips away before I can grasp it.
Henry’s voice grows softer, the chant wrapping around me like a blanket.
My body sinks against the headboard, the world narrowing to the sound of Henry’s voice and the warmth of his touch.
Somewhere in the room, boots shift against the carpet.
I force my eyes open just enough to see Des lingering by the door, expression unreadable. His posture is all control, but his gaze on me burns with worry, frustration, and something else I can’t name.
Henry’s spell deepens, and the air in the room thickens with quiet power.
Swift and silent, Des steps backward into the shadowed hall.
By the time my eyes slide shut again, he’s gone.
Like he was never there at all.