Page 28 of Whispers of Torment

She laughed with true mirth. “I know, Will Cochran.”

He studied her a long time as if judging her sanity. “Have you ever met another immortal before?”

“Yes.” She clasped his hand and thrust the rose into it. “What do you know about this?” She willed him to spill all he knew of Nathan, and fast.

Her pores were slowly opening like buds to the sun. John was coming for her.

Will shook himself at her subject change. “Nathan Halbrook is the sculptor.”

“And you know him?”

He examined her closely. “Yes, Lillian. He’s the sculptor friend of mine. He lives in Vermont, not far from me. We have mutual friends.” Abruptly, he stood and dragged her in his wake, his voice insistent at her ear. “What’s going on? I’ve never run across another immortal in my wanderings.”

“Maybe it’s destiny.”

“What link do you have to Nathan?” His tone was even more urgent.

She was shaking her head, but Will stopped her. “Don’t give me that. I see his mark on you.”

His words fell like knives, pointed and cutting, dropping one at a time.

I see his mark on you.

The blood rushed in her ears again. Will shook her by the shoulders. “Lillian. God, you look as though you’re about to faint, but that’s impossible. You need to answer me. Are you Nathan’s?”

She wrenched from his hold and stumbled away, extending a hand to hold him off. “Will, I can’t do this now. He’s coming.”

He shook his head. He reached for her.

“I can’t talk!”

And then John was there, encircling her waist with an arm. “Have you been enjoying yourself?”

She managed a weak reply and allowed John to sweep her off to another room of the museum. The canvases blurred past her vision.

She saw only the points of Will Cochran’s words. I see his mark on you.

She threw a desperate glance over her shoulder to where Will stood frozen. As she rounded the corner, she saw him whip out a cell phone.

Oh, my God. Oh no. Oh no. Oh God.

Her heart tripped and fluttered crazily. Will was making a call to Nathan. She knew it. As John towed her along, she prayed for something—anything—to distract him and allow her to return to that modern art exhibit.

“Ah,” he said suddenly. “Lily, there is that gallery owner we met last visit. Do you remember?”

She nodded, knees weak, heart hammering. “Do you mind if I?—”

She flapped him away with a wobbly smile, then spun and nearly sprinted back to Will, who was pocketing his phone with a stunned expression.

He grabbed her up again, pacing her off. “Who was that man with you?”

“John.”

“Your mate?”

“Yes.”

“But how—” He broke off and looked over his shoulder. “Will he follow you?”

---