Extraordinarily Yours: Collection 1 (An Extraordinarily Yours Romance Book 8)

by J. Kenner

  “The treaty negotiations have been pushed forward to tomorrow morning,” Bilius said. “The mortals are anxious, particularly after the school bus incident. Their ambassadors want to use that incident as a rallying cry to gain mortal support for the treaty.”

  “I see,” Izzy said, though she didn’t see what that had to do with her.

  “Obviously, we will also be pushing up the schedule for Hieronymous’s re-assimilation,” Armistand added.

  “Oh.” Now she understood. “Yes, er, well . . .”

  “You do have a positive opinion at this point, do you not?” That came from Bilius, along with a significant scent of hope. She frowned, once again remembering how he’d come a full 180 degrees from his original point of view.

  “Well, child?” Dionys said. “We would like your recommendation.”

  “You can file the formal papers later, of course,” Trystan added.

  Izzy swallowed. The elders hadn’t moved, but it seemed as though they were surrounding her, a tight circle moving closer and closer. She thought about Mordi’s doubts and about Bilius’s previous distaste for Hieronymous. She remembered the odd metallic smell she’d scented earlier on Patel . . . then remembered smelling the same scent on Hieronymus himself. Did that mean something?

  And then, again, she thought about Mordi. He might not trust her, but she was beginning to wonder if she’d made a mistake by not trusting him. Hadn’t he known his father better than anyone else? Wasn’t this re-assimilation coming along a little too easily?

  She couldn’t know for sure, and that’s what finally fueled her answer. “My recommendation is for further testing,” she said. “It would be imprudent to admit Hiernoymous to the Council at this point. He hasn’t completed the tests, and politics should not be the deciding factor.”

  The elders looked at each other, then Bilius said, “Thank you, child. We shall certainly give your recommendation the utmost weight.” He smiled, and though she tried to read his emotions, she couldn’t. All she could pick up on was a keen desire for Hieronymous’s return. The elder waved dismissively. “That will be all.”

  45

  When she got back to her office, Izzy found Hieronymous already waiting for her. He looked up, a charming smile on his features, nothing menacing at all.

  Even so, she heard Mordi’s voice telling her she was wrong. Telling her the man was bad.

  This time, she believed him.

  She waited for Hieronymous to say something, about his meeting with the elders, but when the silence continued to hang heavy between them, she had to assume he was going to keep those details to himself.

  “Mr. Black,” she said, moving to sit behind her desk. “I think it’s time we had a little talk.”

  “My dear, I don’t know what you mean.” He rose from the sofa and moved across the room, finally pulling the guest chair up so that he was only inches away from her desk, his hand resting on its oak veneer. He started drumming a rhythm on the desk. She frowned at his hand, the noise irritating, but he didn’t seem to notice her consternation. “Everything is going exactly as planned.”

  “As planned? Whose plan?”

  His smile chilled her to the bone. “Mine, of course,” he said, and then began that damn finger-tapping again.

  She slammed her hand down onto her desktop, startling him into silence. “Cut the cryptic bullshit, Mr. Black. Tell me what’s going on.”

  A moment passed, and then another, before Hieronymous finally spoke. “I should thank you,” he said simply.

  Izzy frowned. She didn’t want to ask, but her curiosity got the better of her. “Thank me for what?”

  “Why, for believing in me, of course. It made everything so much easier.” His broad smile transformed the hard lines of his face, making it almost handsome. She stifled a shudder. This was bad. Though she didn’t know what, exactly, this was. But she did know with absolute certainty that it wasn’t good. And she knew that she’d screwed up. Mordi had been right, and the world was about to cave in around her shoulders.

  Hieronymous watched her, apparently expecting her to speak. She didn’t. It was a tiny defiance, but she took a small amount of pride in it. He might be taking her down, but she wasn’t going willingly.

  After a moment, he continued. “And, of course, I should thank you for being good at your job. Your promotion was most unexpected, but quite useful to my plan.”

  She couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “I’m not so sure I am good at my job. I’m pretty sure I got you completely wrong.”

  He laughed, the sound utterly without mirth. “Well, my dear. I suppose that depends entirely on your point of view, yes?”

  “And what’s your point of view?”

  “At this point, my only interest is in saving the Council from its own foolishness.”

  She snorted. “Tell me another one.”

  He turned and walked toward the wall, stopping in front of her bookcase and picking up a glass snow globe with a miniature of Manhattan inside. “What have I done?” he asked, looking at the globe rather than her.

  “Excuse me?”

  He turned, his near-black eyes trapping her in their steady gaze. “You were convinced of my sincerity. Of my motives. What has changed? Why are you no longer my friend, my ally? Your job is to assist my re-assimilation, is it not? Why have you suddenly prejudiced yourself against me?”

  “My job isn’t to assist you in anything. I’m to evaluate you.”

  “And something has happened to make you doubt my sincerity? Was it perhaps the rescue on the bridge? The praise from the mortal media? Or perhaps it was the kudos thrust upon me by the Circle of Elders.”

  “No,” she said, “it was just me.”

  “You?” he repeated, derision in his voice.

  She smiled sweetly. “I suppose Mordichai deserves some credit, too.”

  “Now who’s being cryptic?”

  She tilted her head, regarding him. Beneath her desk, she had one finger on the emergency button. “I’m an empath,” she finally said. “I trusted my feelings and forgot to open my eyes.”

  “You’re supposed to trust your feelings,” Hieronymous said.

  “But you’d clouded them.”

  He stared at her for a moment, then slowly clapped. “Bravo, Ms. Frost. Aren’t you the clever one? But I assure you, I’m not nearly the monster you—or my son—thinks I am.”

  “I think wanting to destroy all mortals, or enslave them, is pretty monstrous.”

  “Do you?” he asked, sounding genuinely surprised. “Interesting.” He waved a hand, as if shooing away the thought. “Doesn’t matter. At the moment I am not contemplating the existence of mortals. All I want is for the treaty negotiations to fail. I want the status quo maintained.” He spread his hands wide, a smile on his face. “You see? That is not so terrible, is it? Surely you know that I’m not the only one on the Council who feels that way.”

  “You’re not on the Council.”

  “Not yet. No.”

  “And you won’t be without my approval.”

  “Be that as it may, my concern at this point revolves around one who is already on the Council.”

  She shook her head, not following. “Who?”

  “Zephron, of course.”

  An icy chill tingled up her spine. “What about him?”

  “I need your help to ensure that he doesn’t attend the treaty negotiations.”

  She pressed the buzzer under the desk, hoping he didn’t notice. “What makes you think I’d help you?”

  “You must. It’s imperative that he does not attend. The treaty is Zephron’s pet project. If he is absent, the negotiations will surely fall through or, at the very least, be postponed.” He held his hands out and smiled, the picture of reason and rationality. “The status quo will remain, and no harm will be done.”

  The man was nuts.

  “You’re asking help from the wrong person. You might try someone you’ve already brainwashed.”

  He smiled, bu
t Izzy only shivered. Then she glanced at the door, expecting a team to burst through. He caught her look.

  “They aren’t coming,” he said. Fear welled in her stomach as he added, “I disabled your alarm system.”

  She bolted upright. “This meeting is over.”

  “Isole.” She halted, the note of command in his voice causing her to freeze. “You must stay.”

  She turned to him, hoping every ounce of revulsion she felt was reflected in her face. “I don’t think so.”

  “I don’t believe you’ve yet disclosed the nature of my relationship with your father . . . or that you’ve been aware of it for some time.”

  “Oh.” Well, hell.

  “Not that I’d have any reason to reveal such an Outcastable offense . . .”

  “If I help you,” she finished.

  This time, his smile was warm. “Of course.”

  “No.” She pushed her shoulders back, then repeated the answer more firmly. “No.”

  “Little fool,” he hissed. “Do you realize what will happen to you?”

  “I’ll get the punishment I deserve for breaking a rule . . . and I’ll prevent you from carrying out whatever half-baked scheme you have up your sleeve.”

  “Idiot child.”

  She jumped, the force of his words almost knocking her backward.

  “Do you not see how pathetic mortals are? This is a great opportunity. I intend to take full advantage.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  His eyebrows rose. “I won’t? And why not?”

  “Because I won’t let you.”

  She spoke firmly, with as much authority as she’d ever put into her voice. It didn’t seem to faze him. He just laughed and laughed.

  She pulled open her office door, intending to race down the hall.

  “Close the door, my dear, or your father dies.”

  She stopped, then pulled the door shut again. “What?” she whispered.

  “You heard me, my dear. Your father is gone, and only I know where he is. Foil my plans and you’ll never see the dear man again. And on that, young Isole, you really should trust me.”

  She did. “What do you want from me?”

  “Zephron, of course. I thought that was clear.”

  A shiver ripped through her, and she gripped the edge of the table for support. “No. No, you can’t . . .”

  “I assure you, my dear, I can. And you’re going to help me.”

  She shook her head, unable to conjure words. Hieronymous just laughed.

  “My dear, don’t be so squeamish. It’s not as though I’m going to put the man out of my misery. I’m simply going to temporarily relocate him. And you’re going to help me.” Again, that smile. “Your father, remember.”

  She did remember. But she didn’t believe that Hieronymous wasn’t going to try to kill Zephron. And she also didn’t believe that Hieronymous’s plan was only to maintain the status quo.

  What she did believe was that her father was—at least for the moment—hidden but safe. And if that was the case, then Izzy knew that Mordi could help her. He’d have to . . . because no matter how much Izzy loved her father, she couldn’t sacrifice the world to save him.

  A tear ran down her cheek. “No.” She whispered the word, and it was all that she could manage.

  “Oh, yes,” Hieronymous said, his voice holding a world of menace. He lunged, and she threw herself to one side. He was too quick, though, and he caught her. “Tell me,” he said. “Tell me what Zephron’s weakness is.”

  She struggled to get free, but couldn’t manage it. “What makes you think I know?”

  “Romulus has used his invisibility power to infiltrate all the files on Olympus. He found nothing. But I know he has a weakness. We all do. And his notes on your file suggest that he revealed that weakness to you. Now what is it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’re his niece and a counselor. Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

  “Yeah? Well, what the hell are you going to do about it?” She was shouting now, anger and fear making her lash out. “I don’t know anything, and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. So, what? Did you invent some machine to get in my head? Poke around and find all my secrets? Use my father’s skills to brainwash me or block your true emotions?”

  “Nothing that complicated, no.” He reached into his cloak and pulled out a hypodermic needle filled with liquid.

  Izzy gasped and tried to make another dash for it. Hieronymous caught her handily and tossed her to the ground.

  “I thought you would appreciate the irony of me using a mortal method. Sodium pentathol, my dear,” he said, and then Isole screamed as he stabbed her in the thigh. “More commonly known as truth serum.”

  46

  “She’s bad news,” Jason said under his voice, then raised his wineglass along with everyone else at the table.

  “No,” Mordi whispered, taking a sip from his own glass. “Her father maybe, but not Izzy. I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it.” They all were at the rehearsal dinner, but so far, Mordi had hardly been in a festive mood. He missed Izzy. Even more, he knew now that he trusted her. Completely. There was no way she was in cahoots with his father, and he’d been a fool to let her walk away. He intended to remedy that bit of stupidity as soon as possible.

  “Don’t let a pretty face cloud your judgment,” Jason was saying.

  “I’m not. But I do love her.” He’d yet to say the words out loud, and they felt good. “I love her and I don’t believe that she’d betray either me or the Council. Becoming a Protector was important to her. She worked hard to be worthy.”

  “I’ve asked around,” Jason said. “She’s not exactly in the fold.”

  Mordi nodded. “I know. She told me. She’s a halfling. Zephron’s her uncle. Of course she’d have a hard time because of that. But that hardly makes her a traitor.”

  “Mordi—”

  He lifted a hand, cutting his half brother off. “We’re here for Deena and Hoop. Let’s just drop it, okay?”

  Jason agreed, but he didn’t look happy. And for the next hour, Mordi tried his damnedest to look like he was having a good time. Deena and Hoop laughed as their friends told stories about their various escapades over the years. And all the couples—Zoe and Taylor, Jason and Lane, Hale and Tracy, Nicholas and Maggie—looked cozy and content.

  Mordi wasn’t content. He wanted Izzy beside him.

  The waiter brought out the dessert, and Mordi stood up, his mind made up. He had to tell her how he felt. He had to tell her now.

  “Are you leaving?” Deena asked, appearing behind him.

  “Council business. I’m sorry.” He moved to give her a quick kiss on the cheek; then he headed out, shooting Jason an I-know-what-I’m-doing look on the way. He reached the front of the restaurant, opened the door, and just about collided with Isole.

  “What the . . . ?” He stopped short, getting a better look at her. Her shirt was ripped, her face scratched, and her hair was a wild mass of loose curls. She looked like hell, but a fire lit her eyes.

  He pulled her into his arms. “Are you okay?”

  “I need your help.” She drew a breath. “And we may need your brother and his friends, too.”

  47

  Izzy let Mordi take her back into the private dining room where his friends were finishing up their dinner. The chamber was dark, and they moved to a corner so they could talk privately before clueing in the others. She gave him the rundown, drawing strength from his arms around her as she spoke.

  “But why did he let you go?”

  “He didn’t,” she said. “He left some flunky to watch me. When I ran, the guy got a few blows in, but he didn’t manage to follow me.” She grinned. “Hard to run when your feet are encased in a block of ice.”

  Mordi laughed. “I imagine.” He took her arm as he nodded toward the others. “Come on. Let’s fill them in.”

  As Mordi gave his relatives the rundown on the situation, Izzy sat ne
xt to him, holding his hand. She could feel all their eyes on her. The feeling was both uncomfortable and welcome. They didn’t trust her—of that, she was sure, though she couldn’t figure out why from the scents in the air.

  Even so, it was nice in a perverted sort of way. They were looking after Mordi. He’d told her that he’d started life as a loner, just him and his dad. Now, though, he had friends and family. And Izzy couldn’t help but wonder if, someday, she’d have friends like this, too. Friends who worried about her. Friends who cared.

  She needed them right now. She needed friends to help save her father. But the only friend she had was Mordi.

  In her heart, though, she knew that would be enough.

  “The catacombs?” Jason said after Mordi finished the story.

  “Right,” Izzy said.

  “My father knows those catacombs like the back of his hand,” Mordi warned. “There are two sets, you know. One where they keep the Henchmen, and one for Outcasts who’ve broken the rules for the very last time.”

  She licked her lips. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Your father will be where they keep the Henchmen, I’ll bet.” He shifted, then looked at her, his eyes piercing straight to her soul. “They’re closer. And Hieronymous will want him nearby in case he needs your dad’s input on one of his little inventions.”

  All the energy drained from her body. “You knew about that?”

  “I learned about it recently.”

  “And you think I’m involved.” She tried to read him, tried to tell from his scent if that’s what he thought, but she couldn’t pick up any hint.

  “No,” he said.

  “You believe me?” She was full of hope, and fear.

  He closed his eyes and drew a breath. “Yeah. I do.” His brow furrowed. “Can’t you tell?”

  “No. I . . . I can’t read you anymore.” She swallowed, understanding now why she couldn’t read him or her father. “I want to tell you—”

  “First things first, kids,” Jason said. “Your dad.”

  Izzy turned to meet Jason’s eyes. “Do you trust me?”