Page 74 of The Immortal’s Mark

I stiffen.

“What about Darcie?” Eshe’s eyes narrow.

“All of the latest revelations, of course.”

Once again, Thane’s loaded stare lands on me.

This time, I meet it.

“First, let me say, I am glad to see you looking well,” he says. “It’s a relief that the Nightsbane clan was able to sense your distress and come to your aid.”

For the first time since Bella was taken, I glimpse the old Thane. The considerate, steadfast Immortal who dragged me into their world by finding me in Brunswick, but always tried to do what he thought was right by his family and me.

I swallow. “Thank you.”

He lowers his chin. “How are you coping with everything you’ve learned? Did you suspect your mother was Jennifer Bane?”

“Um…no.” My gaze darts to Alex, who gives me an encouraging nod. “I knew her as Jennifer Abernathy.”

Thane’s eyes sharpen. “You had no inkling of her true identity? That she was a witch?”

I scowl. Obviously not.

Alex speaks, “As I have already told you, Jennifer kept her heritage a secret from her mortal husband and Darcie.”

A pang of sadness hits me when I think of Dad. Silently, I thank the Creator that he is spared the pain of seeing his ex-wife again.

“How do you know that?” Lome leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, staring at Alex.

Beside him, Eshe looks equally as curious for Alex’s answer.

“Because I helped Jennifer place the mental mask on Darcie,” Alex answers without blinking.

Mental mask?

A gasp tears from my throat as I’m thrown back in time.

My fingers curl into my mom’s skirt. A man kneels so we’re at eye level. Hair dark as ink, eyes winter blue.

“She’s a beauty, Jen,” the stranger says. “She looks just like you.”

My grip tightens, wary. Mom tells me never to talk to strangers.

“And she’s sweet,” my mother says, stroking my hair. With a sigh, she adds, “Just like John.”

The man looks up at her. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

My mother’s hand stills.

“Yes. I want a normal life for her. For our family.”

“So this is his doing?” The man’s voice chills.

I press closer to my mother’s leg.

He huffs. “He doesn’t approve of what you are.”

“He doesn’t know,” she whispers.