Her shuddering exhale tasted of mint, necessitating another kiss, this one longer and harsher.
He unloaded his conflicting emotions into it.
Frustration.
Confusion.
Apologizing for last night and the Conclave.
Expressing gratitude for her survival.
Sealing it all with a hint of anger for causing him to feel this way, for making him second-guess his plans and reprioritize his needs… for her.
And ending it with a whisper of a pledge for more. Later. As soon as they finished dinner.
Her pulse beat in time with his as he pressed his forehead to hers. Their breaths mingled, both coming in pants.
“That…” She swallowed. “I… Yes.”
He chuckled. “What are you agreeing to, love?”
“You. This. Whatever this is.”
He cupped her cheek, brushing his lips over hers. It can’t last, he wanted to say but couldn’t, his lips refusing to utter the words he normally had no problem saying. One night. No strings. He said that to every woman he ever fucked. But the phrases clung to his tongue, refusing to be released.
Issac cleared his throat. “We need to go to dinner first.” A coward’s excuse, but he required the distance. This connection between them was confusing his senses. Being around his family and friends would help. She needed to meet them all as well.
“Okay.” Disappointment lurked in her tone, but she nodded. “Dinner.”
Stas sat beside Issac, her heartbeat thrumming in her ears. She’d expected a horror show, or fighting, or some sort of power challenge. Not laughter. Or love. Or light teasing.
These immortals acted… normal.
Like friends.
No, closer than friends.
Like family.
A very good-looking family. Even the females were flawless. Stas was starting to understand Issac’s theory regarding descending from angels. Because yeah, they possessed a heavenly appearance, as if marked by the gods themselves.
Their names were all beginning to run together, but Luc had taken the chair beside her while Balthazar sat at the head of the table. Everyone else filled in the spaces between, and few lounged outside, enjoying the evening breeze on the illuminated patio.
“Syrup shots,” one of them was saying, her big eyes on Issac. Her name began with a G. Gretchen? Greta? Georgia?
“You’re joking,” he replied, glancing over her head at Luc. “Tell me she’s joking.”
“There is nothing wrong with maple shots.”
“There is everything wrong with maple shots,” Issac fired back. “Syrup belongs on pancakes, not in a bloody glass.”
“It belongs on waffles, actually, and you shouldn’t knock my invention until you try it.”
Issac shook his head, his disgust clear. “I’ll pass, thank you.”
“But it works!” the woman said, her excitement clear. “He demonstrated them last month in…” She trailed off, frowning at Balthazar. “Where did we go?”
“Aruba,” he murmured. “You’d have enjoyed the body-shot display, Wakefield.”
“Not with maple shots, no,” Issac replied, his arm around Stas’s chair, his thumb brushing her shoulder. They’d already eaten, the immortals proving to have hearty appetites. And now it seemed they were playing a game of catch-up, going through stories she knew nothing about.
Such as this one about maple syrup that she gathered Luc had turned into some sort of liquor.
The banter continued, providing such a different atmosphere than what she expected. An almost average night, minus the abnormal beauty and hints of immortality floating around the room.
Issac sipped his wine, chuckling and shaking his head at his friends. He was much more relaxed than last night. This felt real, as if he’d given her a glimpse into the true Issac Wakefield. Surrounded by Hydraians.
And breaking all the rules.
Now that she understood why Ichorians disliked Hydraians, the Blood Laws Osiris had mentioned made sense. Learning about Issac’s familial ties helped her comprehend why he risked so much as well, why he’d kept her alive.
But he never told her about his plans for revenge or how he planned to use her.
“So, Stas, tell me about your job at the CRF,” Luc said before taking a swig of his beer. The table fell silent at the request. She hadn’t said much since introductions, and even then only a polite hello. They probably wondered if she could speak.
“Uh, I work with the marketing team. I started as an intern last year, but they just offered me a full-time position a few weeks ago.” Not all that interesting yet everyone gaped at her. “I, uh, just passed my security exam. So I start next week.” Assuming she remembered to call Human Resources back tomorrow.
“Hmm.” Luc nursed his beer, his gaze pensive. “Issac mentioned you’re close with the CEO and his son. How did you meet?”
“Through my roommate, Lizzie. Her father works at the CRF too.”
“Ah yes. Elizabeth Watkins. I’ve not yet had the pleasure, but I know of her. What did you say she’s doing?” The question went over her head to Issac.
“She’s teaching,” he replied.
“Teaching?” Luc repeated. “That’s… unprecedented.”
“Indeed.”
Stas frowned between them. “What’s unprecedented about teaching?” Lizzie adored kids. It seemed a natural path for her to pursue education.
“It’s just not what I would have expected,” Luc said. “With her upbringing and all, I mean.”
“If you mean because she grew up with Lillian, then I understand.” But something told her that’s not what he meant at all. “How do you know of Lizzie?”
“Not the right question. How about a new route?” he suggested. “What is Doctor Fitzgerald’s first name?”
What? “John. Why?”
He nodded. “Commonly short for Jonathan, yes?” The innocence underlying Luc’s tone didn’t match the intelligence radiating from those sharp green eyes.
She nearly snorted at the inane commentary when she realized what his words implied. Her gaze shot to Issac, who sat beside her, swirling his red wine, awaiting her reaction.
“No.”
“Afraid so” was all he said. So casual. So nonchalant. So uncaring.
She pushed back from the table, knocking his arm from her chair. “No.”
“He tried to ignite a war between our worlds. I assume you’ve informed her?” Luc’s voice still held that note of innocence to it.
“I have.” Issac. Still nonchalant.
Stas’s hands fisted at her sides, her breath coming in erratic puffs. “No. I don’t believe you.”
“He tried to make it look like the Conclave, thinking it would incite my kind to finally seek revenge against our makers, the Ichorians. With Eli being an Elder and Amelia being my half sister, it almost worked. Issac was the one who realized what really happened. He saved a lot of lives in the process.” Luc’s rendition of the story matched Issac’s from earlier, but she refused to accept them.
“You’re wrong.” Doctor Fitzgerald would never do that. He was her mentor. Her friend. Tom’s father. “It’s not true.”
“Unfortunately, it is,” Issac said, standing.
She took several steps back until she came up against a wall, her head swaying back and forth, rejecting his claim. Not Doctor Fitzgerald. He was world renowned for his humanitarian efforts. How could they accuse him of being a murderer? “You’re wrong,” she whispered. “He wouldn’t—”
“I’m not wrong, Astasiya. The Sentinel program that Thomas belongs to, the very one Jonathan manages, is a military unit whose primary task is to hunt and kill rogue supernaturals. And—”
“They perform humanitarian missions,” she interjected, her blood running hot. “I’ve done the press releases for them, Issac. I’ve seen the photos.”
“You’ve seen what Jonathan allows you to see, Astasiya. And while, yes, they may perform some missions for media purposes
, they’re designed to take out immortals. Why do you think they gave you a full medical checkup?”
“Doctor Fitzgerald said that was an error.”
“And you believe him?” he pressed. “Did he ask you if you had any adverse reactions?”
“Well, yes, because he cares about me.”
He shook his head sadly. “No, Astasiya. He doesn’t. He cares about my perceived interest in you, and he tested that theory with the Nizari poison.”
“He’s telling the truth, Stas,” Luc added softly. “Think about it for a minute. Why would Jonathan try to provoke a war?”
“He wouldn’t,” she whispered, tears prickling her eyes. “He wouldn’t.”
“He would.” Issac sounded so emotionless, so certain of his accusation. “If a conflict between Ichorians and Hydraians was to ever spill over into the mortal realm, who would be there waiting with a solution?”
“The CRF’s Sentinel program,” Luc replied.
“Which has been researching immortal-killing weaponry for the last three decades,” Issac added. “It’s ingenious, really. War is good for business, and Jonathan knows that better than anyone.”
“You’re lying.” The words came out on a choked sound, her voice failing her. “You’re friends.” She saw him with Dr. Fitzgerald. They shared jokes and stories like old colleagues. How could he accuse his friend of doing this?
Because he’s right, her subconscious whispered.
She shoved the voice to the back of her mind, refusing to hear it. Doctor Fitzgerald would never do this. He didn’t know anything about the supernatural.
Yet, Tom sent me to an Ichorian club.
Because he knew what she’d see.
Not Issac with another woman, but drinking blood.
Which implied—
“Remember what I told you just hours ago?” Issac asked, breaking into her thoughts. “The best revenge takes careful planning. Jonathan thinks I blame the Conclave and therefore trusts that our relationship is intact. He’s comfortable. Exactly where I want him to be.”
She shook her head, trying to clear it, but he kept talking.
“Think, Astasiya. What humanitarian organization subjects its civilian staff to full-blown security clearances? How about the Nizari poison that almost killed you? Do you think that’s standard for all employees, because I’m guessing it’s not. I’m betting that Jonathan requested his medical staff administer it after he saw us last weekend. Our little kiss did not go unnoticed, and neither did my unabashed pursuit of you. Jonathan and I have known each other for centuries. I don’t date women. I fuck them. My interest in you only piqued his curiosity.”
An arrow through the heart would have hurt less.
This explained all the attention, the black-tie event, the kiss in the hallway at the restaurant. He meant it all for show, something she knew already, but his abrupt confirmation still burned a hole through her chest. His blatant lack of remorse turned her inside out. He just stared at her with an expectant look, waiting for her to understand the validity of his words.
The security clearance she understood. Several government agencies required it.
But the questions about Hydraians and Ichorians during her polygraph provided damning evidence. One could be a coincidence, but two demonstrated a knowledge of this world most mortals didn’t possess.
She trusted Doctor Fitzgerald, knew he would never hurt her, yet he had been interested in her reaction to the vaccinations. Because he cared, or had something else driven his interest? What would he have done if she’d admitted to becoming sick? Kill her?
She shivered. For six years, she looked up to him. He wasn’t a cruel man. He couldn’t be building an army. How would he even be getting away with it? Wouldn’t Osiris know and do something to stop him? The master Ichorian didn’t seem to handle rebellion well, and this would be the epitome of defiance.
Her head spun, a battle waging in her mind.
Loyalty fighting logic.
Desire brawling with truth.
The facts are damning.
Everything she’d learned over the last week painted Doctor Fitzgerald in a guilty light. Did he really authorize the Nizari poison? Did he suspect her of being a fledgling? Or was that standard protocol? Only he could tell her. Would he admit it?
Wait, did Issac say he’s known Jonathan for centuries?
Is Doctor Fitzgerald immortal?
He didn’t look a day over forty, yet Tom, his son, was twenty-seven. And Tom clearly knew about the supernatural world. Because his father told him? Because Tom himself was also immortal?
Fuck. She squinted her eyes closed, her vision spinning.
If all this was true, then Tom had sent her to the Arcadia not to find Issac cheating on her but to show her demons existed.
He sent me to a fucking slaughter.
Stas stumbled to the side, her equilibrium tilting.
She couldn’t do this anymore. She needed a break. A fucking drink. To run. To… To… Something.
Issac lifted a hand, causing her to flinch.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” she growled. He lost that privilege when he admitted to her purpose in his life. A perceived interest to pique Jonathan’s curiosity. Well, he’d fucking succeeded.
Issac scowled, her command clearly registering. Because yes, she’d threaded those words with power. And now he couldn’t touch her. Too bad she had no idea how long it would last.
The narrowing of his eyes scattered goose bumps down her arms. That look told her to run. Fast.
And she did, taking off down the hall toward the ballroom. She skidded to a stop by the closed doors, her purse and shoes nowhere to be found.
Issac sauntered down the hall toward her as she turned, his expression one of unveiled annoyance.
“Where’s my purse?” she demanded.
“Why? Are you going somewhere?” he asked, his voice the epitome of calm. And that just pissed her off more.
“Not yet.” She walked around him, aware that he still couldn’t touch her.
“And where will you go? To Jonathan? To tell him you’re a fledgling and hope he uses you for research instead of killing you outright?”
She stopped at the back staircase, refused to turn around. “That would just suck for you, wouldn’t it? All that work you put into your pawn, just to lose it to the man who supposedly murdered your sister?” Water welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. “Well, I’m sorry you wasted your precious fucking time. Now, where’s my purse?”
“In the pool house with your suitcase,” he said, somehow driving the knife further into her gut. He couldn’t even offer her a room in his home? She nearly laughed. No, those were for family and real friends. She was just the pawn in his game, a woman he wanted to fuck, but nothing more.
Why does that hurt? I never wanted a relationship. Neither did he.
But the truth slapped her across the face, leaving her weak in the harshest of ways.
Swallowing her pride, she went through the patio doors near the rear of the house and ignored all the Hydraians seated on the patio. Walked down the long path by the pool to the house beyond it. A kitchen with a breakfast nook was situated just inside the doors, a bowl of fruit on the table.
How fucking welcoming, she thought, hating it immediately.
A set of double doors were open beyond it, displaying a huge room with a four-poster bed.
Ah yes, the bed Issac had likely planned to fuck her on before heading back to his room in the house. Well, she despised that too.
She pulled her phone from her purse as Issac came to stand beside her, arms folded over his chest.
Why was he even here? Hadn’t he said enough? She knew her purpose now. Not exactly how he’d intended to execute his plan, but it wasn’t like she planned to stick around to hear about it.
There was only so much damage her heart could take in one day. Stupid mercurial organ, falling for a man she had no business falling for.
He’s a demon, for cry
ing out loud.
The waterworks threatened again.
Ugh, I’m losing my fucking mind.
Refocusing on her phone, she noticed several missed calls from Tom and a text from Lizzie telling her dinner went okay. She hadn’t realized how late it was until she read the time. It would be well after midnight by the time she returned to the city. Then what would she do? Confront Doctor Fitzgerald? Talk to Tom?
A hysterical laugh threatened to bubble out of her.
The phone trembled in her hand. She didn’t know who to call.
She couldn’t bring Lizzie into this mess.
Owen was dead.
She no longer trusted Tom.
Her parents were too far away, not that she would allow them anywhere near this world.
A cab would do, but she wasn’t sure where to go. What little money she had wouldn’t last long.
Fuck.
She texted her roommate back with a quick, I definitely won’t be home tonight. Don’t worry about me. She didn’t give a location because she didn’t know where to go.
Her throat tightened. Dropping her phone into her purse, she let the bag fall to the floor.
I have no one.
Even if Issac was wrong about the CRF, she couldn’t risk going back to the city. Not after everything she now knew. It’d been a miracle she’d survived this long as a fledgling in the middle of Ichorian territory.
“Talk to me,” Issac said, standing a few inches behind her.
She swallowed, refusing to turn, not wanting him to see the tears glistening in her eyes. “Why?”
“Because I need to know you’re okay.”
Are you fucking kidding me? Of course I’m not okay. She took a deep, fortifying breath instead and muttered, “I’m fine.”
“Your little show of persuasion out there says otherwise.” His warmth cocooned her back, his step forward silent on the plush carpet.
Don’t touch me, she begged. Because if he did, she’d break. Stas couldn’t handle her body caving to him, not after everything he revealed. He toyed with her emotions just to pique the interest of Doctor Fitzgerald.
“I don’t date women. I fuck them.”
The words prickled her heart, straightening her backbone. She took a step away from him but faced him. Let him see the emotion in my eyes. It’s not like it matters.
Vote Then Read: Volume I Page 144