by Lexi C. Foss
“You’re seriously distracted, Jay. I’m over here telling you about what Eliza did to Luc, while you’re over there in la-la land thinking about fuck knows what.” He started pacing again while studying his oversized watch.
“Uh…” Jayson didn’t even realize the teleporter was talking. “Sorry.” He sat up, planting his feet on the floor, and gave Jacque his undivided attention. “What’s up?”
“No, that’s my line. What’s up with you?” He paused again and cocked his head to the side. “Is it the girl? Has she gotten to you?”
Jayson snorted. “No, nothing has gotten to me. It’s an assignment like any other, except with a little added risk.” He stretched his arms over his head and relaxed into the cushion behind him. “But I am feeling a little antsy being stuck here all day and night.”
He rarely left the building as a safety precaution. If he did, it was to follow Lizzie to work and observe their surroundings. Not the most exciting pastime considering her steadfast routine.
Jacque nodded in understanding. “Why don’t you go out tonight? After the task, I mean. Just go let loose for a while and have some fun. Stas can watch the chick downstairs. It’s her roommate, after all. Right?”
Jayson rubbed a hand over his face. The thought had crossed his mind more than once to enjoy either a night in Hydria or one on the town. He needed to do something other than sit here in solitude. Working out only expelled so much stress from the body.
“I’ll consider it,” he muttered. His body craved the freedom—a night of bliss and pleasure, losing himself in a woman, without thinking…
It’d been too long since he felt that sweet relief. A few weeks he could manage, but two months without it was a record of sorts for him. At least in this century.
It would have to be a redhead.
Brown eyes.
Legs for days.
Enough curves to fill his hands.
He would of course think of her.
Wrong.
His fists clenched as a sense of responsibility overrode the desire thickening his blood.
You can’t leave Lizzie.
And you can’t have her, either.
His job was to learn more about her, but even more than that, he needed to protect her. One night, hell, one minute, could change everything.
Jayson’s phone buzzed, giving him the distraction he needed to cease his internal debate. He would decide how to spend his evening after crashing the party downstairs.
“We’re up,” he said, standing.
The four of them worked out a plan earlier. Jacque would teleport Jayson to Stas’s bedroom. Then Jayson would wander around the condo like he did at the restaurant with only Stas and Issac being able to see him. Once he gathered the information they needed, he’d meet Jacque in the bedroom again and return to his condo.
Easy.
He grabbed the teleporter’s shoulder and braced himself for the tunneling sensation. It barely registered due to the small distance, unlike his longer trips to Hydria. Those were hell on his stomach. It beat flying any day of the week, though.
Jacque collapsed onto Stas’s bed, jean clad legs crossing at the ankles as he pulled out his phone and tucked one arm behind his head. Apparently, that’s how he planned to spend the next hour or so.
Jayson smirked and slipped out the partially open bedroom door. Voices trickled down the hall. From the sound of it, Jonathan and Issac were engaged in a conversation regarding the financial market.
Fascinating.
Jayson left those decisions to Luc. He was a mastermind with investment strategy. His funds alone could sustain all of Hydria for centuries, pending any unforeseen disasters.
Such as an Ichorian invasion or an attack from the CRF.
He paused on the threshold of the kitchen. One more step and the party in the dining room would be able to see him.
Wakefield better have brought his A game tonight.
Here goes nothing.
He stepped as quietly as possible onto the marble tile. Lizzie stood near the oven, waiting for the timer to sound, while everyone else was seated at the table.
No one looked at him.
Jonathan kept rambling on about business markets while Issac, Stas, and Stark listened. Jayson eyed the Sentinel dressed in jeans and a button-down.
He knew very little about the man other than Jonathan considered him a leader on the unit and Tom referred to him as a cold son of a bitch. That description seemed apt. Stark appeared neither amused nor interested in his superior’s dialogue, but his stiff posture suggested he was alert and very aware of their surroundings.
Jayson lifted his arm up and down, waiting for a reaction.
None.
With a shrug he moved farther into the kitchen and admired Lizzie’s bare legs. The dark red dress hugging her gorgeous form left him wishing he was here for other reasons.
She stilled, her nose twitching, as he silently moved behind her. He meant to take another step, but her reaction intrigued him.
“I’m losing it,” she whispered to herself, eliciting a grin from Jayson.
She sensed him, or perhaps caught a whiff of his aftershave.
The recognition pleased him immensely, as did her tight dress. It clung to her curves in all the right places. His hands itched to explore every inch of her, but the oven’s buzzer had him moving quickly to the counter beside the sink.
Stas started to stand, but Stark waved her off with a gruff “Allow me.” He pushed away from the table with an air of authority and strode with purpose into the kitchen.
“How can I help?” he asked, his tone and expression emotionless.
“Umm…” Lizzie tugged that plump lip between her teeth, driving Jayson wild. He longed to complete this mission just so he could have the right to know her mouth. Even if for only a moment.
Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?
He shook his head. Maybe he could ask Jacque or one of the Hydraian Guards to babysit Lizzie while he sought some necessary relief. Because this pining business needed to end.
Drooling over a woman like a dog over a bone.
Pull it together.
“Can you grab the salad and rolls?” She sounded so sweet and shy, her demeanor almost demure. The dominant in Jayson enjoyed this side of her, while the man in him craved the feisty woman underneath.
Where’s my confident Red?
“Sure.” Stark picked up the bowl and the basket beside it and took the items to the dining room. Lizzie trailed after him with what appeared to be homemade lasagna.
Jayson glared up at the ceiling.
He didn’t believe in a deity, but he had to ask: Did you create this woman just for me?
Because, seriously, the woman boasted a body built for sin and enough intelligence to entertain him for days, and she loved food. If he believed in soul mates, he’d consider her his, but his thousands of years of experience kept him logical.
Love existed for very few, and even in those rare cases, it never lasted forever. Most people grew tired of each other after several years, decades if they were lucky. And Jayson’s kind lived forever.
Immortals didn’t do long-term romance, but he wasn’t opposed to repeating sexual encounters. And with someone like Lizzie? Yeah, he could enjoy a few rounds with her.
She set the dish on the table and turned in to Stark’s chest.
Jayson moved forward, ready to intervene, but logic froze him on his second step.
What the hell are you going to do? Yank him off of her?
He ran his fingers through his hair.
This mission was fucking with him in a bad way.
At this rate, he’d need Balthazar to take him out for the night. Maybe hit Rio again or jump up to Dublin. He needed a trio of redheads, at a minimum, to help cure this itch.
Shit.
This feeling would only grow worse as the mission continued, and he desperately needed his focus. A woman should not have him reacting against instincts. Ever.
He settled on his perch again and pulled out his phone to text Grace. I need a night off when this thing with Wakefield is done. Arrange it and tell B.
After ensuring his sound and vibrate features were off, he returned the device to his pocket and watched as Stark helped Lizzie into her seat. The touching really wasn’t necessary. Surely she could manage sitting on her own.
“I haven’t gotten the glass—”
“You’ve already done enough,” the Sentinel interrupted. “I’ll grab them with the drinks.”
Drinks, huh? Jayson thought. How convenient.
“This looks amazing,” Jonathan murmured, distracting her from replying as Stark pushed in her chair.
“Oh, uh, thank you,” Lizzie replied, her attention falling to the notorious Ichorian. She would see the CEO of the CRF. All Jayson saw was a murderous traitor who had murdered Eli, one of Jayson’s oldest and closest friends.
I’ll kill you someday, Jonathan.
Stark’s broad shoulders blocked Jayson’s view, reminding him of his purpose. He relaxed his hands and arms, just in case he needed to fight.
The kitchen was large enough for an island but didn’t have one. The oversized counters and open bar overlooking the dining area gave it an airy feel, yet Stark’s presence consumed the space as he opened the fridge.
Danger poured off him, and not just because of the six metal blades Jayson sensed on him. It was in the way he moved, like he knew he was the most lethal predator in the room.
He retrieved a bottle of white wine from the fridge.
“Where do you keep the glasses?” he asked, his focus on Lizzie.
She pointed to the cabinet on the opposite side of the sink from Jayson. He considered moving but worried that even the slightest rustle of clothing would alert Stark to his presence.
The man seemed too attuned to his surroundings, as if he could feel things he shouldn’t. Tom’s report mentioned the possibility that Stark may have undergone CRF enhancements. From the way he acted, Jayson had to agree.
A row of wine glasses appeared, followed by Stark uncorking the wine and serving equal portions. Normally, that bit would be done at the table, not beside the sink, but the purpose became obvious when he pulled a vial of clear liquid from his pocket.
And there it is.
Stark poured a quarter of the contents into one of the glasses, closed the small container, and set it on the counter. He swirled the wine twice before picking up a second drink and turning towards the table.
Jayson caught Issac’s gaze before slipping off the counter to open the same cabinet Stark had used. Hopefully, Lizzie wouldn’t count her crystal stemware later.
He didn’t waste time glancing over his shoulder. If someone noticed his antics, he would hear their reaction, but more importantly, he trusted Issac to have his back.
The little jar contained a few ounces at best of the serum. He couldn’t take it all without being obvious, so he settled on roughly the same amount Stark had poured into the wine glass and hoped it would be enough. He carefully placed the vial right where he found it and returned to his spot, glass in hand, with a few seconds to spare.
Stark picked up two more drinks, delivered them to the table, and returned for the final one. He slipped the vial into his pocket without looking at the contents.
It occurred to Jayson as the Sentinel walked away that the casual way he had left the item sitting on the counter seemed a bit too convenient. Almost as if he had done it on purpose.
But why would he do that?
Stark had no way of knowing Jayson stood there waiting for such an opportunity. Unless he sensed him.
The Sentinel took his seat without a backward glance, his expression as passive as it was when he poured the wine.
No.
Stark couldn’t sense him. If he did, there would be a fight, yet the Sentinel seemed almost bored.
With a shake of his head, Jayson made his way back to Stas’s room, where Jacque waited on the bed. He didn’t glance up from his phone as he lifted his elbow in the air. Jayson grabbed it and chuckled as his living room appeared around them. The teleporter managed to land perfectly on the couch, with his legs crossed and phone still in hand, while Jayson stood beside him.
“I remember when you couldn’t walk five feet without accidentally shooting off somewhere. You’d return several hours later with this mien of terror on your face.”
Jacque shrugged. “I’ve mastered the craft.”
“Clearly.” He set the glass carefully on the coffee table before checking his messages from Grace.
You know I love you, but babysitting is not my job. x
He grinned at the joke. All the Elders kept a personal security team of Hydraians with unique abilities. Jayson had five on his protective detail, and one of them was Grace. Jacque primarily served Luc, but his insane skills tied him to everyone.
“Be right ba—” Jacque disappeared before finishing the sentence.
See you soon, G, Jayson typed, knowing Jacque was on his way to retrieve her.
He considered changing out of his jeans and tee in the interim but didn’t know what Balthazar would have in mind. Probably a European nightclub given the midnight hour overseas, or maybe they could find something in the States to keep him occupied.
Either way, it would be a fun night of debauchery, as usual.
The smile he anticipated at the thought never came. Instead, a strange sort of ache radiated from his gut.
“This is insane,” he muttered.
Because that bizarre pain reminded him of guilt, something he had no business feeling. He owed Lizzie nothing and vice versa.
Except he wanted to owe her something.
A lot of things, really.
It’s the forbidden thing, he decided. Jayson loved a challenge, and being told he couldn’t have someone only encouraged him to want her more. Paired with Lizzie’s innate innocence and alluring features, no wonder he had plummeted down the rabbit hole.
He palmed his neck and glared at the floor. “Fuck.”
“Yes, I believe that’s exactly what you need,” Balthazar murmured from beside him. He’d appeared at the perfect time, as always. “Where to first, Jay?”
*
Three glasses of wine did little to dull the headache forming behind Lizzie’s eyes.
She tried so hard to smile and enjoy the conversation, but it was difficult when every topic revolved around the CRF and political affairs.
I don’t care, she wanted to say more than once.
But this latest topic regarding Stas’s training had Lizzie’s stomach in knots.
“She’s ready for the next stage,” Stark was saying. “Shadowing.”
“Yeah? You’re tired of kicking my ass every day?”
The blond smirked, or at least Lizzie thought he did. From what she had observed, his facial expressions rarely changed. “That’ll continue until you beat me. So you should expect that to continue forever.”
Stas nudged Issac. “See, I told you he occasionally makes jokes.”
“I believe this is the part where I should be disturbed, yes? Discussing another man harming my girlfriend?” Issac asked with a grin that didn’t quite reach his striking eyes.
“She defends herself well enough,” Stark replied. “Lately, at least. When we first began, I thought she preferred lying on the ground to standing.”
“And I’ve also told you he’s a jackass too, right?” Stas added.
Doctor Fitzgerald shook his head with a laugh, while Lizzie concentrated on her wine. This evening would have to end eventually.
She used to love a reason to host a dinner, especially when it involved inviting Tom and his father over, but her interest waned over the last year or so. It started when Stas accepted her internship with the CRF and intensified when she decided to join the organization full-time after graduation. Now she was a Sentinel, just like Tom, and would probably end up in a grave too.
Lizzie’s grip on the crystal
stem tightened with the thought.
How could no one see the issue here?
They were all blinded by the CRF’s innate goodness and ignoring the very real possibility that Stas could end up hurt, or worse.
All of them were chuckling about her painful training and the next step in her shadowing Stark abroad. Like this was some damn comedic play instead of a tragic one.
She shook her head, trying to clear it, but the anger only grew.
Did they feel no remorse at all?
Tom’s father sat two seats down, smiling. It’d been eight weeks since the funeral, and he seemed completely unfazed, while Lizzie sat here with a broken heart, worrying that everyone she ever loved would die horribly.
And no one cared.
The conversation carried on around her in a vacuum of sound that tunneled through her ears.
All about the CRF.
Nothing regarding Tom’s death.
No sadness.
No guilt.
No memories.
Just a general discussion on Stas’s future with the organization that consumed Lizzie’s father, leaving her to fend for herself with Lillian Watkins.
Endless ballet classes, beauty pageants, and lectures on how to properly behave in society. There was also the encouragement not to eat and the general disapproval over having a future in any profession other than being the perfect housewife.
As a child, Lizzie hated her father for never protecting her and loathed the job that took him away from her.
She understood, as an adult, that it was never really the CRF’s fault, but that irrational hatred never left, giving her an uneasy feeling anytime she went near the headquarters.
And then Tom’s demise brought it all back, coupled with Stas’s employment and her decision to join the very same unit that killed him.
They didn’t understand how painful it was to sit here and listen to them all chat about an organization she detested—to be the only one sitting in misery while they laughed and smiled and enjoyed.
I hate them.
Such an irrational thought.
She knew that, but it reverberated through her mind over and over until a scream built in her throat. A swallow of wine shoved it back down to where it belonged inside her heart. Her mother taught her how to hide emotion well, one of the only useful gifts from her childhood.