Page 64 of The Immortal’s Mark

“Now,” he continues. “Close your eyes.”

I give him one last you’re impossible look, then let my lashes fall.

“Good. Now, relax.”

I shift my hips down so I lie on the bed, and I let my body sink back.

“Perfect,” he murmurs. His breath brushes my cheeks. “Now, picture me.”

Easy.

My mind supplies him instantly. Crisp uniform. Measured stance. The way his presence takes up space without trying.

God, I have it so bad.

“Once you see me,” he says, “imagine viewing the pace through my eyes. Switch perspectives.”

I want to crack an eye and tell him that’s ridiculous.

Then, something curls around the edges of my mind.

Fog. A cloud?

It hovers at the edge of my sight before slowly beginning to creep forward.

I suck in a tiny breath.

“Focus, Darcie,” Des’s encouraging words fade into the distance.

I am…

The cloud wraps me up in its delicate embrace.

Air leaves my lungs in a small, shocked sound as the room, the pillows, the present, everything, tilts.

And I am pulled back into the past.

17

DARCIE

The ballroom is the same as I remember.

The wood floor is spotless. Polished. The ornately decorated walls echo the silence that’s descended over the room. Though the chandelier above seems dimmer than before.

And I can hear the rapid heartbeats of the seven cloaked figures fanned out in front of where I stand in the dais.

Wait… what?

I try to look at my hands, but I am not in control of my eyes.

Because they are not my eyes.

Back in my room, I’m sure my physical body gasps.

I did it…I am in Des’s head. I know it from my position on the dais, standing between Lome and Thane with my strong jaw clenched.

My vision is limited to what Des sees. And right now, his attention is focused on the warlock, Master Ben, who rambles.