“The short of it is, you nearly died, but my team of clinicians saved your life.”
Okay, forget the damn towel.
“I what?” Did he just say I almost died? This had to be a dream. Or a different reality. Something. Because her almost dying seemed way too far-fetched.
Except I did lose several days of memory.
And the healing bruises…
“The important thing is, you survived. As for the how of it, well, it appears the CRF has manufactured their own version of Nizari poison.” The coffee cup fell from her hand and landed in one of his. She didn’t have time to contemplate his insane reflexes. Her mind was too busy dissecting his words. “How about you sit down, I’ll serve breakfast, and we’ll discuss this over food. The physicians said you need to eat, and I’m starved after my swim.”
It sounded rational enough, but she needed more information. Now. “Why would the CRF try to poison me?”
He used a hand on her lower back to guide her toward the dining area and pulled out a chair at the oversized table. “That is one question I can’t answer.”
“Why not?”
“Because it would be speculation on my part.” He returned to the kitchen to continue preparing food while she chugged one of the glasses of water sitting on the table. Using the pitcher in the middle of the two place settings, she refilled her cup and hastily gulped down the refreshing liquid before pouring herself a third glass.
Meanwhile, Issac set a few items on the table.
Her brow furrowed. “Baked beans?” That’s what you want to ask about? Clearly, her mind had up and died.
And apparently so had she.
Fuck.
“It’s an English thing,” he replied, already heading back to the stove.
“Right.” She picked up the coffee mug that had miraculously followed her to the table—compliments of Issac—and noted the slight hint of sugar. He knows how I take my coffee. Only her roommate knew that detail. “Who sent all those texts to Lizzie?”
“Hmm, I believe Balthazar did,” he replied, his focus on food preparations.
“And who the hell is Balthazar?” she demanded.
“He was one of the physicians looking after you this week.”
“You let a stranger talk to my best friend?” And you thought that would be okay?
“He’s not a stranger.” He brought over a frying pan. “He’s an old friend whom I occasionally want to punch in the face. Pancake?”
“Sure.” Why not? She chewed her lip as he added one to her plate and put two on his own. “Okay, I can accept the texts because they kept Lizzie from worrying. But what’s a Nizi-whatever?”
“Nizari,” he corrected as he brought over a skillet of eggs and bacon, adding two spoonfuls to the space beside her pancake. Then he placed several scoops on his own breakfast array.
Domestic Issac.
I’m totally dreaming.
But why the hell would I dream this?
Issac brought over the fruit bowl and took the seat across from her at the very long, oversized table for twelve.
Okay, seriously, the man really needed to put on some clothes. Those abs were lethally distracting and only half-hidden by the table, and she needed to focus.
“A Nizi-ari-thing almost killed me,” she said slowly. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“Nizari,” he corrected again with a chuckle. “Eat something first, and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
“I’d rather you tell me now.” The scent of bacon taunted her senses while her stomach churned from all the water she’d imbibed. Or maybe it was just the realization that she’d almost died. What the ever-living hell?
“Eat,” he told her, demonstrating with a few bites of his own.
“Explain,” she countered.
His lips twitched. “Nice try, darling. Your health matters more to me at the moment. I spent a great deal of money in resources to ensure your survival, and we will follow the doctors’ instructions. Now eat.”
Her gaze narrowed at the command in his tone. “I deserve an explanation.”
“And I intend to provide one once you’re sufficiently fed.”
Fucking games. “You told me I almost died, and you’re going to make me wait for an explanation? Fuck you.”
He sighed, setting down his fork. “Astasiya, this is not a two-second discussion.” His midnight gaze traveled over her. “The physicians said you’re healing remarkably well, which I suspect is a result of your genetics. Those bruises on your arm were fresh a few hours ago, but look days old now. And it would appear the Nizari poison is out of your system. But to maintain your healing, I need you to eat.”
She glowered at him. Fine. She’d eat. Using her fork, she cut off a piece of the pancake on her plate—blueberry—and took a bite.
Stas had every intention of swallowing it immediately in a show of defiance and demand, but the flavors on her tongue forced her to savor it. Because wow, whatever he did to that pancake surely fit the definition of decadence.
Even the eggs were delicious.
Okay, so she was hungry.
Very hungry.
But she also wanted answers.
“What’s a Nizari, Issac?” she asked after washing down some of the food with a glass of water. He had resumed eating while she gave in to the temptations on her plate. It hadn’t been her intent, but the flavors, paired with her growling stomach, forced her hand. Literally.
Issac regarded her while chewing, his chiseled jaw flexing with the movements. He picked up his coffee, taking a long sip, eyeing her the whole time. “How about we make a deal?”
Her eyebrows lifted. “What kind of deal?”
“I’ll tell you what you need to know, but not everything. Not yet, anyway.”
That sounded like a horrible idea. “Why the hell would I agree to that?”
“For several reasons, the foremost being you’re not ready to know everything yet, and the second being you still owe me a few dates. Dating for information, remember?”
“I think my almost dying voids our deal.”
“It voids nothing, but I’ll give you the details you need, and I’ll continue to give you information as we date.”
Her fists clenched. She wanted to throttle him. “Tell me what the hell a Nizari is, Issac.” Stas wove a hint of compulsion into her tone, causing his nostrils to flare.
“It’s a poison that was developed by an elite group of Conclave assassins who used it centuries ago to slaughter fledgling immortals after realizing their threat to the Ichorian race. The assassins were referred to as the Nizari. Hence, the elixir they created was named after them. However, the one used on you was a variant, not the pure substance.” His gaze narrowed. “Now, compel me again, darling. I dare you.” The threat lingering in his tone was lost to her chaotic thoughts.
Conclave.
Assassins.
Ichorian. Hadn’t her polygrapher mentioned that term?
“Fledgling immortals?” she managed to ask out loud, her brow crumpled.
“Yes. It’s what we call your kind. Fledgling for short.” He waited for her to comment, but she had nothing, her mind running all the words in a loop, searching for some aspect of familiarity.
Nothing.
Issac ate another bite, leaving her to her thoughtful silence.
Maybe he’d been right about the need for slow information because none of what he’d said made a lick of sense. All she’d gathered so far was that someone had tried to poison her. And apparently her kind was referred to as fledgling immortals.
Is he implying I’m immortal?
But he also said she’d almost died.
“How are you feeling, Astasiya?” he asked softly after nearly finishing his plate. “I know this is a lot to take in, but I mean physically.”
That seemed like a safer topic, one she could actually understand and focus on.
How was she feeling?
“Dehydrated,” she decided. “My
throat is sore, my head hurts like I’m hungover, and I think this might be the first time I’ve ever been sick.” She frowned at that last part. It’s also the first time I’ve ever almost died, apparently.
How is this my life?
“You’ve never been sick?” he asked. “Not even a cold?”
“No.” Something she chalked up to always keeping herself in decent health, but was likely related to her… immortality. I’m a fledgling? And assassins want me dead? “Can we go back to why the CRF would want to hurt me?” Because she couldn’t wrap her head around that. All she remembered was her polygraph. Had something happened after that?
“I suspect the CRF used the Nizari poison on you to test your bloodline. But as I said earlier, that’s speculation on my part.”
“When?” she asked, completely lost.
“When they administered your vaccines during the physical exam.” He frowned at her. “Do you not recall telling me about the green shots?”
That woman’s face flickered through Stas’s thoughts again. A tray. Needles. A pristine room. Something about papers and weak explanations. “It’s fuzzy,” she admitted, worrying her lower lip and shaking her head. “I don’t remember much after the polygraph.”
“Well, it seems the CRF gave you a series of inoculations, one or several of which were a manufactured compound of the Nizari poison.”
“But why?”
He sighed. “To test your fledgling bloodline, or that’s my theory, anyway.”
Right. Speculation. And he’d already said that.
But it didn’t make sense. Why would a renowned humanitarian agency dabble with poison that killed fledglings? They didn’t even know about immortals, right?
“Have you ever met an Ichorian?”
Wasn’t that the term Issac had used just moments ago?
“What’s an Ichorian?” she asked.
“What I am,” he replied smoothly.
“And…” She paused, thinking back over his explanation. “They kill fledglings?” Like me?
“Yes.” No hesitation. No hint of remorse. Just a straight response paired with an unreadable expression.
Well, shit. She licked her lips, considering. She could ask him why he didn’t just let her die, but she suspected he would answer evasively. He wasn’t ready to admit her purpose here, or he would have told her already. He didn’t strike her as the kind of man who waited when he wanted something.
“During my polygraph, the agent asked me if I knew any Ichorians,” she said slowly, pairing what Issac had accused the CRF of doing to her with her experience during the security process. There had to be a logical association, one that didn’t equate to them trying to kill her. This was Doctor Fitzgerald’s organization. The man she considered her mentor. The father of one of her friends. He would never hurt her.
“I’m not surprised. Did the polygrapher ask about Hydraians as well?”
She blinked. “Yes.” That had been the other term Agent Stark mentioned. “What’s a Hydraian?”
“Your future,” he answered vaguely.
“Meaning?”
He smiled. “Astasiya, I’m thankful you’re alive, more than you know, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to answer every question.”
“That makes you an ass.”
He folded his arms over his bare chest, drawing her attention to all those defined ridges of muscle decorating his abdomen. “Sure. An ass who saved your life and made you breakfast.”
“That’s not fair.”
Issac leaned toward her, his blue eyes narrowing. “Who said anything about fair?”
He stood to casually stretch his arms over his dark head. Every sinewy inch of him not covered by the towel was on display, something she suspected he’d done for her benefit.
Amusement flirted with his lips, confirming her suspicions, as he lowered his hands.
Devious man.
Demon.
“Hmm, I’m feeling generous,” he murmured. “So I’ll answer something you haven’t actually asked yet. Not with your mouth, anyway.”
“Yeah? And what’s that?” She couldn’t help the sardonic note in her tone, irritated with his evasiveness. He’d barely told her a damn thing. The damn—
His towel dropped.
“A swimsuit, darling,” he said with a wink before turning to leave.
Stas tried to scowl. She really did. But the swim trunks showcased strong legs and an exquisite ass. The man was walking perfection.
“Oh, and don’t go anywhere,” he called back to her over his shoulder—a muscularly lean shoulder that melted into a sexy-as-fuck backside. “We’re not done yet.”
He disappeared, taking the gorgeous sight with him.
Stas groaned, her forehead hitting the table as she attempted to beat some sense into her brain. She never swooned, but Issac, well, he’d certainly awakened some feminine-nonsense gene inside of her.
Lizzie would be so proud. After years of only having passing interests in men, Stas finally found one undeniably attractive. And it was one she most certainly should not be fawning over.
Damn demon Ichorian.
Whatever the fuck that all meant.
Ugh, she was in trouble. She needed to follow him and demand more answers, but pissing him off, especially after he saved her life—assuming that was true—didn’t seem like the smart play. While her command earlier had worked, he’d clearly been irritated. And his explanation hadn’t made an ounce of sense, really.
Still, she had one answer.
I’m a fledgling immortal.
This man, being, Ichorian, whatever, clearly had the answers she’d been searching for the last seventeen years. Too bad he wouldn’t just give her all the details now. There had to be a reason, something she wasn’t understanding.
The CRF?
What would have happened during her polygraph if she had admitted to knowing an Ichorian?
She drummed her fingers against the tabletop. Issac’s accusations regarding the CRF didn’t marry up to the organization she knew and adored. How would a humanitarian organization know anything about the elixir that almost killed her? They were involved in international affairs, not supernatural nonsense. Issac had admitted it was speculation, meaning it may have been someone else who poisoned her, but who?
He saved me. That part radiated true within her heart, igniting another question. Should I trust him? Her instincts whispered, Yes, but common sense held her back.
She needed more information—information Issac didn’t want to give her yet.
Fine.
They’d play this little game.
And if that didn’t work, she’d tie him to a chair and compel him to give her answers.
8
Gifts from Hydria
Issac paused on the threshold of his living area to admire the view of Astasiya lounging on his favorite couch. All that glorious blonde hair was pulled over one shoulder, leaving her neck exposed.
The innocent gesture taunted the predator within him, exciting his hunting instincts.
He hadn’t fed in nearly two weeks, a long time for an Ichorian. But he’d been slightly preoccupied by the female on the couch. Maybe he should snack on her, provide her with the true definition of his kind.
Vampire—a word he loathed.
Monster.
Fallen angel.
She shifted, pulling her jean-clad legs beneath her, not yet sensing his presence. Something had consumed her attention. It appeared to be a book of sorts.
What did you choose, darling?
Issac finished fastening his cuff links while approaching the beauty on the couch. He moved silently behind her to peer over her shoulder, Astasiya too engrossed in her book to sense him.
What he saw in her lap made his blood run cold.
It wasn’t a book at all, but a photo album. One that held cherished memories he preferred not to revisit.
“Where did you find that?” he demanded. Because it didn’t belong here.
S
tas’s fingers trembled as she touched the page. “You knew Owen.” Her softly spoken words alleviated the pressure in his chest, but only slightly.
“We were acquainted, yes. Did you find that on the bookshelf?” He would bet good money Jacque put it there. Damn teleporter. He loved leaving little reminders of Hydria all over Issac’s condo. A not-so-subtle hint to visit.
“You told me you didn’t know him.” Accusation underscored her tone.
Issac couldn’t recall his precise phrasing. Had he implied he didn’t know Owen? “We weren’t so much friends as we were acquaintances.”
Laying his jacket over the back of his couch, he sat beside her.
She traced the photo, her lower lip trembling. Ah, the date, yes. Not to mention the attire. She’d clearly identified a key element in Owen’s existence—his immortality.
“I don’t miss the fashion of that decade,” Issac murmured, noting the bell-bottom jeans and flowery shirts in the photo.
“He was an Ichorian, too?” she guessed.
“Not quite, no.”
Her full lips curled downward. “This photo looks like it’s from the seventies. It’s decades old.” A clear deduction that didn’t require his confirmation. She looked at him. “If he wasn’t an Ichorian, then what was he? Because he obviously wasn’t human if he still looked twenty-something today.”
“He was a Hydraian.”
She continued to stare at him. “Okay, so what’s the difference between a Hydraian and an Ichorian?”
“Telling you that would require defining Ichorian.” Which he couldn’t do yet.
A slow introduction would foster trust and understanding, something they required between them for this partnership to work. If he told her everything now, she’d run screaming.
Or worse, she’d go straight into Jonathan’s waiting arms.
And Issac couldn’t risk that, not when he was so close to achieving his goals.
Yet, he’d seen the look in her eyes when he mentioned the very likely scenario of the CRF trying to poison her—doubt. Until he broke that barrier, they couldn’t move forward. Her faith was too intertwined with the Fitzgeralds and Watkinses to listen to him. He planted the seed of doubt by speculating about the CRF’s intentions. It would be up to her to put the puzzle pieces together now.
Vote Then Read: Volume I Page 129