“No, darling, not the ice cream. The bad men who might come will be here for me and your mom, not you. So you have to stay hidden and wait for me to find you, just like all the other times we played.”
Except it hadn’t been anything like the other times. Because a bad man did come—a supernatural one—and he burned her parents alive.
She couldn’t blink. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.
It had finally happened.
The supernaturals had found her.
She needed to fight, to flee, but her limbs refused her. There wasn’t any point.
Because she stood no chance, just like her parents that day.
This is my ending, not my beginning.
Today is the day I die.
Issac Wakefield did not like complications.
And the woman he held up against the wall? She definitely qualified as one.
Why he felt the need to hide her from the two Conclave lapdogs was beyond him. He almost let her fall into their sight when she tried to kick him, but instinct forced him in another direction.
She’s immune.
Issac could manipulate everyone’s vision, including that of Hydraians and Ichorians. Yet, this woman had seen him. That implied his gift didn’t work on her.
Fascinating.
And from what he could tell, she had no idea.
Her pulse practically sang to him, her fear alluring to his predatory drive. He thought maybe Jonathan had caught wind of the recent assassination and sent a pet out to investigate. It could have explained her immunity, but her poor fighting skills and paling expression suggested a lack of training. And Jonathan would never allow one of his experiments to wander about without defensive skills.
So what are you? he wondered, holding her gaze.
He slowly removed his hand from her mouth, knowing the other Ichorians were no longer in hearing range. “What’s your name?” It seemed a solid starting point and an easy enough query to answer.
She gaped at him, her lips moving without sound.
Shock.
Fantastic.
He released her and she nearly fell. Of course, she could be faking it, but his centuries of experience said otherwise. This woman had no idea what world she’d just stumbled into.
Issac almost felt sorry for her. Now that he knew of her existence, everything in her life would change. It already had.
“What are you doing here?” he tried again. The woman had seen right through his glamour, which meant she’d seen his face. He couldn’t just leave her in the hallway. Not without understanding who and what she was, and why she’d chosen today to appear. It felt very orchestrated, which again had him thinking about Jonathan. This was exactly the kind of trap he would set.
“I… I…” She shuddered, her arms wrapping around herself.
Well, he supposed this was better than screaming.
He could knock her out and deal with it after he completed his task. It wouldn’t take him long to review the scene, unlike the two Conclave minions who had spent over an hour in Owen Angelton’s apartment.
Someone had clearly tipped off Osiris. If Issac hadn’t shown up in the middle of their investigation, he’d have thought the two idiots killed Owen. But no. The Hydraian died before they arrived. And Lucian, the Hydraian King, wanted to know how it happened. He hadn’t even been aware that his immortal was residing in the city until a distress call arrived early this morning.
Jacque had gone in first, the teleporter was good friends with Owen. Alas, he’d arrived too late, the message having been delayed by an unknown cause. Mateo was looking into it now.
And Issac was here to finish the investigation, the location too dangerous for any of Lucian’s men to thoroughly review it for themselves. Case in point, the departing Ichorians downstairs.
“Wh-what are you?” she stammered.
His eyebrows rose. “The better question is, what are you, darling?” A fledgling, perhaps? It seemed appropriate considering she could see him.
Her face paled even more, her lips gaping like a fish again.
Right. They were just wasting time. He’d complete his mission and then deal with the traumatized woman. “Let’s go inside,” he suggested, opening the door.
She gagged as the acrid air wafted into the hallway.
He grabbed her wrist and tugged her inside, closing the door behind them. This way he could at least hear her if she tried to escape. Because the last thing he wanted to do was have to track her down after this. It would be much easier if she just stayed put until he was ready to deal with her.
“Oh God…” Her eyes clouded with dark embers, taking on a distant gleam, her knees collapsing beneath her and sending her to the ground. A glance into the kitchen confirmed why. Blood and glass littered the tile, indicating the struggle started there. And it seemed to have triggered a memory of some kind from the girl trembling on the floor.
Definitely not moving anytime soon.
Issac took advantage of her collapsing mental state by using the time to visualize the scene in the kitchen.
He pictured the dark-skinned male standing in the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of wine, just as the door burst open. The blood evinced a fight. Natural. Understandable, even. But what prompted the distress call to Lucian? It seemed a bit out of sequence. If Owen knew he was in danger, he wouldn’t pour himself a glass of wine while he waited for the inevitable.
No.
Something wasn’t quite right here.
Issac followed the light from the windows, down the hall, and into the small living area, his stomach twisting at the scene before him.
Owen’s head—or what was left of it—appeared carelessly tossed on top of the coffee table with his charred remains on the recliner beside it.
Blood, innards, and other unmentionables were scattered about, making it bloody difficult to determine a safe walking path. While he adored Lucian and considered him a brother, he was not about to soil his shoes in the name of friendship.
“Wait,” the woman called out, the whispering of her jeans suggesting she was trying to stand. “Hold on.” She stumbled into the room, her green eyes glowing with the fight he’d witnessed in her earlier. Her mouth fell open at the sight on the table and chair, her palm going to her abdomen. “Oh my God…”
“Not God, darling,” he murmured.
But she didn’t hear him, her stomach heaving as she ran to the bathroom. She clearly knew her way around because she chose the right door on her first try, the sound of her emptying her insides following soon after.
The ghastly scene had been too much for her. Issac remembered a time when he may have reacted the same, but death had long since lost its impact on him. People died every day. Sometimes naturally, sometimes not.
And Owen definitely fell into the latter category.
Someone had clearly tortured the Hydraian. For information? Not likely. He was too young an immortal to know much. Which meant someone wanted to make a statement. But what?
Issac eyed the remains, searching for evidence or a clue.
The misshapen head on the table didn’t resemble the man he once knew—his brown hair and dark skin replaced by a ball of gore with a gaping hole in the center.
The methods were reminiscent of a Conclave assassination, but Osiris didn’t order this hit. If he did, he wouldn’t have sent his henchmen to investigate this morning. This was either the work of a rogue Ichorian teaching a Hydraian a lesson or something else entirely.
Regardless, the murderer was definitely nonhuman.
“Owen,” the woman moaned as she returned, tears trailing down her face. “What the fuck did you do to Owen?”
He gaped at her. “You think I did this?” He nearly snorted. “I had no cause to harm him. I’m merely here as an emissary to find out what happened.”
“What?” Her face crumpled, reason not fully registering over her blatant emotions. “Why would someone do this?”
“Why does anyone do anything?” he
countered, focusing on a series of photos decorating the fireplace mantle. Ah, I see. “You were friends,” he surmised. Definitely not a minion of Jonathan’s. But it also suggested Owen had been in New York for quite a while. What were you doing in the city?
“Who are you?” she breathed, her palm against her chest.
His lips twitched. She didn’t recognize him? “Well, I may just let you live after all.” Lucky day and all that.
A buzzing caught his attention before she could reply. He navigated through the bloody mess toward the origin, careful not to touch anything crude.
Crouching down, he found the source beneath the couch.
A cell phone. Using a trick Mateo had taught him, he unlocked the main screen and started scanning through the text messages.
“You must be Sassy Stas,” he guessed, reviewing the most recent text message regarding coffee. She’d mentioned something about it in the hallway as well.
A glance over his shoulder confirmed his suspicions. Her focus had fallen to the item in his hands, her lips trembling at having her name disclosed. Part of him wanted to console her, to tell her he meant her no harm. While the other part of him refused to lie. Because he would most certainly harm her if he needed to.
She gagged at the head on the table, averting her eyes to the ceiling—the only surface of the room not coated in blood splatter. She swallowed visibly, her cheeks taking on a greenish tint again. If he didn’t say something to snap her out of it, she was liable to be sick again, perhaps even in the living area. And wouldn’t that be incriminating.
He stood and read one of the texts from Owen’s screen. “ ‘You better be awake. And holding a coffee cup with my name on it.’ Hmm, no coffee, just a corpse with a cell phone displaying your name. If you don’t contact the authorities, I’m guessing you’ll be their first house call. Woman deprived of caffeine kills friend—has a nice ring to it for a story, yes?”
Some of that emerald fire he’d witnessed earlier returned to her gaze, a faint blush overcoming the sick pallor of her skin. “Who are you?” She winced at the dead body and took a step back. “God. I can’t.” She stumbled into the hallway wall. From the way her nose wrinkled, he gathered the stench and sight were both affecting her.
He left her to console herself and scrolled through the other messages as well as Owen’s contacts. Nothing out of the ordinary, but he pocketed the phone anyway. Mateo might see something he couldn’t. He could also dust it for prints to find out who messaged Stas this morning since it was clearly sent after the Hydraian’s death.
Someone wanted her to find the body.
But that someone couldn’t have known Issac would be here, too. Only Lucian knew about this visit, and anyone he would have told would be a trusted confidant.
Issac ventured into the bedroom, finding more photos and other items that confirmed Owen’s tenure in the city. The textbooks on his desk were for a journalism or political science degree program, based on the titles. Not a lot of useful information, just a notebook filled with scribbles and a laptop.
“How long have you known Owen?” he asked as he reentered the living area. The blonde had collapsed near the front door, her arms wrapped around her knees.
She eyed him warily. “Why?”
He cocked a brow, not used to repeating himself. “How long?”
“Since freshman year,” she mumbled. “Almost six years.”
That long? Lucian would not be pleased.
“What was he doing here?” Issac wondered out loud.
“Studying,” she whispered. “We were supposed to graduate next weekend.”
“Graduate,” he repeated, recalling the textbooks from Owen’s room. “From?”
She swallowed and shook her head, whether in rejection or because she couldn’t speak. From the defiance he’d witnessed early, he guessed the former. While clearly traumatized, a fire still lurked in her gaze, one that screamed challenge.
“Stas,” he murmured, cocking his head to the side. “Is that short for something?”
She glowered up at him, confirming his suspicions. Now that the initial shock of her friend’s death had faded, her senses were returning, and with them came anger. “Why?”
No sense in lying to her. “So I can find you later.”
She snorted and hugged her knees to her chest. “Good luck.”
He shrugged. “I’ll just find out from the police report, then.”
She started, her gaze widening. “What?”
“Well, clearly someone wanted you to find the body. You have, which—”
“Wait?” she interjected. “Someone wanted me to find him?”
Had she not figured that part out yet? “Who do you think sent you a text this morning? Because it wasn’t Owen. He’s been dead for nearly four hours, give or take.” Issac based the math on his senses. The blood was dead for far too long to be viable. Hence the reason he and his brethren could wander the Hydraian’s flat. Had the blood been fresh, it could still be toxic. Alas, the lethal properties had died with their owner.
“What?” The color drained from her pale cheeks. “You’re saying someone texted me from his phone after they killed him? Why?”
“Best guess? To ensure he was found. It would only take a few glances at his message history to see who he talked to most. You.” Which begged the question, why had Owen befriended her? Did he, too, notice her penchant for being immune to Ichorian gifts? Was she resistant to Hydraian abilities as well?
“Which means,” he continued, “phoning the authorities is the next step. Feel free to do that now, as I’ll be leaving momentarily.” And he’d track her down afterward. If he’d learned anything in his long life, it was to involve the cops early, let them draw up their ridiculous conclusions, and work behind the scenes to solve the real crime.
They’d never suspect Stas anyway. The strength required to rip a man’s head from his neck and burn a body was nonhuman, and her athletic form didn’t possess the necessary strength or mental stamina for such things.
Besides, they were clearly friends. Her presence here wouldn’t be abnormal, though they’d likely want to know all about Owen’s history.
“The police,” she groaned, as if just realizing their importance. Most humans would call right away, but her instincts had led her astray. Why?
“Yes, the police,” he said, brow furrowing. “I’m surprised you haven’t tried to call them already.” He half expected her to when she’d stumbled back into the foyer.
“I was a little busy.” She waved a hand toward the apartment, her face paling again. “Damn it.”
Right. She’d been sick from the shock.
Still, most would have thought to call. Fascinating that she didn’t, or perhaps she thought he would. In that case… “I wouldn’t suggest discussing my presence here.” Even if she realized who he was, no one would believe her. A renowned billionaire over what appeared to be a college student? She didn’t stand a chance in hell.
She didn’t acknowledge his request, just stared at him. “How did you know Owen?”
“I didn’t.” Not well, anyway.
“Then why are you here?”
As if he would tell her that. “We’ll catch up after you handle the authorities because, by my calculations, you were seen downstairs entering long enough ago that they will question what took you so long to call.” Osiris’s minions—Michael and Cain—had graciously left the doorman alive after altering the camera footage. It worked to Issac’s benefit as well, leaving absolutely no trace of him in this building. While he could manipulate visual sensors in humans, he could not alter technological proof, such as a video evidence, of his presence.
“God, it’s happening all over again,” she whispered, her fingers threading through her long blonde hair and tugging harshly. “I can’t do this. Not again. Not after…”
She trailed off, leaving him wondering what incident she was referring to. The last Hydraian death in the city had taken place long before she was born.
Most of them were smart enough not to venture here, not with it being the heart of Ichorian territory. One could only push the treaty so far.
“Again?” he prompted, curious.
She shook her head as tears gathered behind those beautiful eyes again. Real pain etched into her features, stirring a strange urge to console her. Issac understood that agony far too well, having experienced substantial loss himself. It’s what kept him motivated and inflamed his need for revenge.
It was why he resided in this city when he could live anywhere in the world.
And while a part of him wished to impart some wisdom to her, he had none. Only a drive to keep moving, to continue plotting, and to seek justice.
“Call the police,” he told her. “I’d not recommend mentioning me,” he repeated. “Or the two men from earlier,” he added, thinking about how Cain and Michael had covered their tracks. “Your story won’t be corroborated by any evidence and will only leave you looking insane.”
That seemed to strike a chord in her, because her nostril’s flared. “And if I mention you anyway?” she asked, her gaze hardening. “You’ll come after me?” she guessed.
He smiled. “I’ll be seeing you again regardless of what you say to them, darling.” It didn’t matter whether she gave him a name or not. Mateo would hack the system to find everything he needed to know. Besides, he had her phone number in Owen’s phone. He had all the breadcrumbs he needed to learn more about this mystery woman and her unique ability to see through his glamour.
Stas sighed, her head falling back against the wall, her expression resigned. No fight or argument, just acceptance. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, her eyes locking on his. “If you’re going to leave, do it now.”
At least she’d managed to pull herself back together, a feat considering their surroundings. But this one was familiar with death. He’d bet his life on it.
“I’ll see you soon, darling,” he murmured, opening the door. His fingerprints were untraceable, making his exit easy.
Vote Then Read: Volume I Page 122