Page 92 of The Immortal’s Mark

Those seated around him do the same.

The lights over their seats dim.

Paige reaches up to turn off hers, as well.

She curls into her chair, resting her feet over the armrest of the seat next to her, but I don’t think she’s sleeping.

Anxious energy pulses through me. I reread the same paragraph five times before giving up and turning off my phone.

I look outside the window, staring at the stars, and try not to think of Greece or the Immortal family I left behind.

And certainly not a pair of emerald eyes that will never stop haunting me.

24

DARCIE

By the time we land, I’ve only managed a couple of hours of intermittent sleep.

My body desperately needs more, but I couldn’t shut off my mind long enough to rest. Not with so many questions swirling and my mother’s probing gaze leveled on me nearly the entire flight.

I shuffle through the airport after the others, bleary-eyed, grateful Gregory continues to carry my larger bag, until I practically fall into the third row of the oversized SUV Alex rented for our drive to the safehouse. Gregory slides in next to me, folding up his long legs with impressive flexibility.

Paige, Mistress Lola, and my mother sit in the second row. Alex drives, and Lucas takes shotgun. With the help of the witches' magic, all of our luggage miraculously fits in the trunk space.

As we drive, I try to take in the sights of Miami, but my need for sleep overcomes my curiosity, and I doze.

I wake with a jolt, bolting up from where my head rested on Gregory’s arm. Drool stains his sleeve.

“Sorry,” I mutter, wiping my cheeks.

“Don’t be. You needed rest.”

I turn my head and stare out the small window next to me. “Where are we?”

“The safehouse.”

The safehouse turns out to be a Tuscan-style villa tucked between lush green bushes with tall palm trees soaring into the sky. It’s three stories. Ivy creeps up the stone walls, and the terracotta roof gleams in the sun.

My jaw drops.

I don’t know what I was expecting.

An underground bunker?

A concrete building with no windows and a barbed-wire fence?

Certainly not something so…pretty.

“All right, everyone.” Alex kills the engine. “Go inside, find a bedroom, and get settled. We will meet in the dining room in one hour to discuss today’s mission.”

Mumbles of assent fill the vehicle before the doors swing open and everyone stumbles out.

Gregory pulls the strand that collapses the seat in front of us, then climbs out. He turns around and extends a helping hand.

“Thanks.” He helps me out, gripping my hand when my legs wobble.

His eyebrows furrow. “Come. You should rest more.”