Vote Then Read: Volume I

by Carly Phillips

  Issac disappeared down the hall rather than up the stairs.

  Stas gazed left and right, surrounded by opulence and wealth. Above her hung a chandelier that glistened from the sunlight streaming in through the windows.

  “Wow,” she breathed. This place was unreal. Everything held a note of extravagance, even the furniture. She was almost afraid to touch anything.

  Closing the front doors, she followed Issac’s path, curious, and found herself in a vast dining area with doors that overlooked a huge porch. And beyond it, a pool. Not just a dipping pool, but a full-length water arena equipped with waterfalls and various plant life that she felt sure were not native to New York.

  She should have brought her swimsuit.

  The row of trees lining the back of the property hid the beach and ocean from her view, but she knew Issac’s estate was situated on the water. She could smell it outside.

  A kitchen Lizzie would have fainted at the sight of joined the dining area, expanding outward to showcase several ovens and stoves, two refrigerators, and an island that doubled as a dining table.

  She snapped a picture with her phone, sending it to her roommate. Because wow.

  Continuing her journey, she found another seating area near the back of the house with more doors that led outside to the patio, and ended her journey at a set of oversized doors. Finding them unlocked, she twisted the knob and froze.

  Two stories of windows stared back at her from three angles. Thick velvet curtains were tied into the corners, granting her a magnificent view of the property and the ocean beyond.

  “Holy fuck,” she breathed, twirling in the oversized ballroom. No furniture or decorations in here, just a polished hardwood floor with a grand piano in one corner.

  She left her sandals and purse by the door and padded barefoot into the room. Another one of those chandeliers hung above her from the vaulted ceiling. Definitely a room designed for entertaining and dancing.

  Stas twirled in the center, picturing masquerade balls and parties in this room. It wasn’t her usual scene, but she’d enjoy watching one. Especially if Issac were a star performer.

  Having no training and not caring whatsoever, she danced around the room, letting go of the last twenty-four hours and just being. She felt light and carefree, as if she hadn’t almost died last week. The Conclave disappeared, along with her troubles, and when she opened her eyes to find Issac leaning against the doorjamb, all she could do was smile. He brought her here. He did this. And it’d been so worth it for even the few moments of freedom she’d found in this room.

  He’d traded his suit for a pair of jeans and a fitted gray shirt. No shoes. Hair damp. It was the most casual she’d ever seen him, aside from this morning when she woke up to his mostly naked body.

  “This was Amelia’s favorite room,” he said, his voice soft. “She used to dance in the center where you’re standing now while Eli played the piano.”

  “Eli?”

  “I guess you could say he was my brother-in-law. He and Amelia never married, but they were romantically involved for centuries.” Meaning his sister had been an immortal as well. Stas supposed she could have guessed that from the photo books in his condo. All those photos were decades old, yet Owen remained the same in all of them. Because he was a Hydraian. Did that mean Amelia had been one as well?

  Fledglings were created from an Ichorian father and a mortal mother. Then fledglings became Hydraians—the enemies of Ichorians.

  Stas frowned. She understood the creation bit but couldn’t fathom a reason for why Ichorians would loathe their children. That part made no sense.

  And what’s more, Issac didn’t seem to have an issue with fledglings or Hydraians. So why did he break all the rules? There were clear consequences, as she observed last night. Yet, here she stood in a ballroom while he fussed with an electrical board on the wall beside the door.

  She was about to ask him when music began playing overhead, drawing her attention to the speakers. The lights flickered overhead next, setting a romantic mood in the room.

  “Amelia taught me how to dance when we were young,” he said over the music, sliding a wooden panel to cover the electrical switches he’d just altered. “She claimed it was the best way to win a woman’s heart. I always said I had no interest in a woman’s heart.”

  He sauntered onto the floor, extending his hand as he approached.

  “Care for a demonstration, my lady?” he offered.

  “You’re asking me to dance?”

  “Amelia would scold me if I didn’t.”

  “Would she scold me for refusing?” she asked, even as she accepted his hand.

  He chuckled. “She definitely would, yes.” He caught her hip with his free hand and pulled her closer. “And I should warn you, my sister was known to make many grown men cry. I don’t recommend upsetting her. Now put your other hand on my shoulder.”

  She did as instructed. “Okay, but I’m warning you, I’m not a great dancer.”

  He walked her two steps backward, then one to the side, as if testing that theory. “Not an issue. It’s all about the leading, love.”

  “Uh-huh.” He wouldn’t be saying that when she kept stepping on his feet.

  Issac seemed to take her words as a challenge, as he proved his point by moving her across the floor with a few subtle nudges of his hand against her hip. His hand in hers helped as well, as did the slow beat of the song. He’d clearly chosen this one on purpose.

  “Good,” he praised as they returned to their starting place. “Now, let’s make it interesting.”

  His palm slid from her hip to the small of her back, the gentle pressure encouraging her to shift with him as he introduced her to a slightly faster rhythm. She mimicked his motions, keeping pace with him and smiling when she realized this wasn’t nearly as hard as she expected.

  “I don’t know how you’re doing this, but I’m dancing.” And she wasn’t terrible, either.

  His lips twitched as he lifted the hand holding hers and led her into a twirl. She gasped as he caught her around the waist with his opposite arm, her pulse racing at the fluidity of his movements.

  Okay. Issac could dance. Like, really, legitimately dance.

  “Mmm, yes, I daresay, Astasiya, you move quite well.” He spun her around him again, this time dipping her close to the floor before righting her against him. “Amelia would approve.”

  Her breathing escalated as he picked up the pace to match the new song. Each touch and brush of his hand caused her hips to sway with his, her body syncing in time with his and following his lead entirely.

  Issac twirled her, bringing her back to his front, his hands on her hips holding her to him.

  “I bought this estate for Amelia,” he murmured against Stas’s ear. He slowed their swaying as the music melted into a sensual tune. “She wanted to be closer to me but couldn’t stay in the city. So this was the best alternative. I thought it would keep her safe.” He rotated Stas back around to face him and gazed down at her. “I was wrong.”

  Despite the emotion thickening his voice, he continued their movements, whirling her about the floor with an ease that spoke of years of training. Stas’s pulse quickened with every twirl, her body trusting him to catch her. He never missed a beat, his tempo in line with the rhythm regardless of the song. She wondered if this was his outlet, his way of moving through the pain.

  “What happened?” she finally asked, her voice breathy from all the activity.

  “Jonathan happened.” Lifting her hand, Issac propelled her into a twirl that was faster and harder than the others. She spun twice before he caught her against him, her heart fluttering at the intense contact. “He made it look like the Conclave did it.”

  She swallowed, her feet missing a step as ice drizzled down her spine. “Like Owen?”

  Issac masked her stumble with another spin, helping her to rebalance and continue. “Yes, the same methods.”

  They danced in silence for a long moment, her mind
processing his admission. “So you think Jonathan killed Owen?”

  “I’ve considered it,” he murmured, slowing their momentum to a sway that seemed to fuse their bodies together. “But everything with Jonathan requires a motive, and I cannot think of a reason for him to have killed Owen.”

  Well, Stas couldn’t think of a reason for anyone to kill Owen. But it seemed this mysterious Jonathan had a penchant for arranging murder scenes into a Conclave-like setting.

  So, who is Jonathan? Another Ichorian? Whoever he was, she doubted she knew him. Although, she must have some tie to him if Issac felt she could help him in seeking revenge. “What was his motive for Amelia and Eli?” she wondered out loud.

  “I believe he wished to incite a war. The Hydraians are very protective of their Elders, of which Eli was one.”

  “An Elder?” she repeated.

  “Yes, the oldest of the Hydraian race. There were five. Now there are four.”

  “So by killing him…?” It turned into a question because she couldn’t puzzle it all out.

  “Hydraians and Ichorians have long been at odds with one another, something you may have gathered last night during the Conclave. However, there’s a truce of sorts in place. Assassinating an Elder, someone the Hydraians held very dear to their hearts, was a surefire way to invoke an emotional need for retaliation. Add Amelia, and, well, it’s a wonder Lucian could control his Hydraians.”

  “I’m not sure I completely follow,” she admitted. “But I understand the gist of what you’re saying: Jonathan had a motive.”

  “Yes.”

  “And how did you figure out it was him?”

  “Ah, that is a much longer story.” He twirled her with the words before pulling her flush against him again. “The short version is, a bottle of red wine tipped me off. I found it in the fridge, not fully chilled, and it came from a vineyard only one person I know fancies.”

  “Jonathan.” A reasonable guess considering what he said before about Jonathan having killed his sister.

  “Indeed,” he replied. “There were other factors at play, but I’m positive he had a hand in my sister’s murder.”

  “What happened when you accused him?” she wondered, curious as to why or how the man still lived. Given what she’d observed of Issac’s world, his kind wasn’t afraid to kill. And Issac certainly had the motive to seek revenge.

  “Nothing, as I’ve not informed him.” He dipped her backward, his lips at her neck. “I’ve let him think that I believe the Ichorians killed my sister.”

  Her eyes flew to his as he righted her again, her breasts against his chest. “Why?” she asked, breathless.

  “Because the best revenge takes time and careful planning. It requires the perfect pawn.” Another pivot ending in a dip that brought her dangerously close to the floor. Her chest heaved against his as he held her there, his body bent over hers as her hair brushed the polished wood.

  “Me.”

  “Yes.” He slowly guided her upward, her body flush with his. “But last night changed everything. You meeting Osiris was a consequence I never could have predicted.”

  “Meaning what? I’m no longer the perfect pawn?”

  “Oh, you’re still perfect for my plans.” The hand on her back drifted lower, sliding over her curves. His lips were a hairsbreadth from hers. “But I’m rather fond of you being alive.” She shivered at the heat in his voice. They were no longer moving, just locked in an intimate embrace that left her craving more.

  Clapping shattered the moment, a low whistle added for effect. “Not bad, Wakefield,” a deep voice praised. “Not bad at all.”

  19

  Blood Ties

  Balthazar, Issac mentally growled, not at all amused.

  “I give it a seven point eight out of ten on the seduction scale,” the mind reader informed Issac as he lowered the music to a soft background murmur. “Points deducted for a lack of disrobing and missed opportunities for light petting.”

  “You’re an ass,” Issac said, stepping in front of Astasiya.

  “I’m only trying to be helpful. Shall I demonstrate the disrobing part while you take notes?” The suggestion underlying his voice had Issac narrowing his gaze.

  Fuck. Off.

  Balthazar grinned wickedly instead, intent and sin dancing across his features. “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far, sweetheart. I’m always up for a good challenge.”

  Issac frowned. “What?” That didn’t even remotely make sense. And since when did Balthazar refer to Issac as sweetheart?

  Amusement played through Balthazar’s dark eyes. “I’m replying to your little blonde vixen’s lascivious thoughts. You’ve unleashed quite the fancy in that one.”

  Astasiya’s gasp had Issac glancing over his shoulder. She peered around him at Balthazar, her expression boasting shock and dismay.

  Hmm, most women reacted like this when first meeting the sensual Elder. The man practically oozed sexual intent, and his outward confidence confirmed his ability to follow through. Issac shook his head, giving the mind reader a knowing look. “Nice try, Balthazar. She’s immune to immortal gifts.”

  “Sounds like a performance issue, Wakefield. Might want to get that checked out because I hear her loud and clear. She’s a fan of your ass, in case you were wondering.”

  Issac studied Astasiya, who now wore several shades of red.

  “You’re practically screaming it, sweetheart,” Balthazar added, causing her lips to part.

  Somewhat telling, but not. “You’re going to have to do better than that.” Sensing a woman’s interest in another man didn’t require mind-reading abilities, especially for someone as old and as experienced as Balthazar.

  Balthazar’s chuckle echoed across the room. “Now she thinks you’re arrogant. Which, by the way, sweetheart, I’ve seen his ass, and I can firmly say he’s well within his rights to be arrogant about it.”

  Astasiya blanched, her face giving everything away. Even Issac could tell what she was thinking.

  All right, Balthazar. You want to prove you can really read her thoughts? Let’s go for something harder.

  The mind reader gave him a look that said, Challenge accepted.

  “What are the names of your birth parents, Astasiya? Their real names?”

  “Why?” The word came out on a breath, as if shocked he would ask. “What do they have to do with anything?”

  “Caroline and Seth,” Balthazar said, disapproval radiating from the downward angle of his lips. “That wasn’t very nice, Wakefield.”

  Astasiya took a step to the side, her focus on the mind reader leaning against the wall. He’d chosen a casual outfit, as always, of jeans and a maroon shirt. This was why Issac had chosen to dress down—he knew the Hydraians would arrive in similar attire.

  “How did you know that?” she asked, her hands shaking at her sides.

  Okay, that had been the wrong question to ask, clearly. Because she appeared ready to fall apart.

  Balthazar tapped his head. “Mind reader, sweetheart.”

  “Impossible,” she breathed, accusation lurking in her gaze as she faced Issac. “You said I was immune to Ichorians and their psychic gifts.”

  “You are.” Of that he was certain.

  “Then explain him?” She pointed at the smirking male across the room.

  “He’s not an Ichorian, but a Hydraian like Owen.” A thought occurred to him, shifting his attention back to Balthazar. “Who else is here?” Maybe someone else could test a gift on Astasiya to see if this was just a fluke or if her supernatural resistance only applied to Ichorians.

  “Ash and Jay. Jacque went back to get Luc a few minutes ago. And yeah, I think you should run that theory by your leggy blonde before you test it.”

  Issac’s jaw clenched. “Get the fuck out of my head.” Or I’ll play in yours.

  “It’s just been my experience—of which I have a few millennia more than your three centuries—that most women don’t like men thinking for them.” He winked at Ast
asiya, which only pissed Issac off more.

  Stop flirting with her.

  Balthazar seemed amused, his eyes saying, I’ve only just started.

  “What theory, Issac?” Astasiya demanded.

  I fucking hate you, Balthazar, he thought while pinching the bridge of his nose. The damn mind reader adored throwing Issac off his game, like a perpetual competition with no true winner. Because truthfully, they rivaled each other in many, many ways.

  “You’re immune to Ichorian gifts, but Balthazar’s ability to read your thoughts suggests you might not be immune to Hydraian gifts. The only way to test that theory would be to have other Hydraians use their respective talents on you.” There. That sounded scientific and sound.

  Except the raising of her brows said she didn’t agree with that logical idea at all. “You want to make me a guinea pig?”

  “You could really use some work on your bedside manner, Wakefield.”

  “Oh, do shut up.” Issac envisioned punching Balthazar in the face and forced the image into the mind reader’s visual preceptors. The bastard staggered sideways on a gasp, only to shift the opposite way as Issac cast another visual spell—this one showcasing a hit to the stomach.

  “As for you,” he added, turning to Astasiya. “I thought you might want to test your immunity against psychic abilities in a safe environment. But what do I know?” He stalked out of the room in search of Lucian.

  Astasiya needed someone reasonable to introduce her to Hydraian life. Not the seductive Elder with only one goal in mind.

  Touch her and I’ll kill you, Issac thought at him, knowing Balthazar could hear him. He didn’t really mean it.

  Or maybe he did.

  Fuck, this woman had him tied up in knots over absolutely nothing and everything. He just felt so out of sorts around her, as if he were trying to fix something elusive.

  No, that wasn’t it.

  He felt threatened.

  Not by her, but by Balthazar.

  Issac paused in the hall, startled. He never felt this competitive with anyone, least of all the Elder. So why now? Why her?