Blood Drenched Conquest (Ryze Book 3)

by N. Isabelle Blanco

  Ianthen doesn’t answer but I swear I feel the temperature in the air drop a few degrees.

  On the bright side, he teleported you guys into the house. You didn’t have to walk up those stairs with him and in through the door.

  I resist the urge to groan and cover my face with my hands.

  Of all the beings to guard me, why did it have to be him, God?

  Oh wait. I know who I’m actually talking to now. Well, by name at least. And I doubt this Zexistr, God of Existence, can hear my prayers.

  Or . . . is it that other thing I’m thinking about? I open my eyes, ignoring the way the denim blue wall in front of me spins, and search out Ianthen. He’s already by the stairs to the left, back facing me, head swiveling as he looks around. “Which one is God again? Is it Zex, or that source thingy Liz told me about?”

  Ianthen takes a few steps into the hallway to the right of the stairs, the one leading to my living room and kitchen. With the way he’s looking around, I expect there to be a threat in here or something. “The Illion is the source. The . . . code to everything, if you will, was in there. But the creation of all this was a multi-being process, so I guess it depends on your definition of God.”

  “Right,” I mumble, taking in the sight of his large, muscular back in that charcoal-gray Dolce & Gabbana t-shirt.

  How do I know the brand?

  He came right up to me and gave me a big ol’ hug to dematerialize us. The small logo is right over his left pec.

  The musky, woodsy scent of him. The heat that came off his body.

  That small, involuntary groan he tried so hard to hide . . .

  Why him? Why? Why? Why?

  Ianthen stops in front of the archway leading into the living room, his body blocking the entrance to the kitchen to his right, and faces the wall beneath the stairs.

  The wall with all the picture frames hung from it. There’s a thin side table against it with even more frames crowding the surface.

  His eyes bounce from each one, brow furrowed, stare unfocused.

  Almost like when he’s in the chamber, viewing every corner of the universe as he hunts.

  I swallow the lump in my throat and push away from the wall. “Will you tell me the story of creation sometime? The actual story?”

  Ianthen smiles, picking up a small, silver frame off the table. “Of course, female. Don’t worry. I’ve come to realize you have the curiosity of a Hyren.” His eyes caress the picture as he responds.

  “A what?”

  “A werewolf.”

  Because of course those are also out there.

  I stop next to him and look down at the frame he’s cradling in his huge hand. My third birthday party. Mama is standing behind me at the table, smiling happily, baby-blue eyes sparkling.

  It’s been four years since I lost her, but my heart still shrivels every time I allow myself to focus on her absence.

  “This your mom?” Ianthen asks in a low, throaty voice.

  I keep my stare on the picture, needing the distraction it brings. I’ve come to accept the fact that he doesn’t always do it on purpose. His magnetism is intricately tied to his godly-status, and as such, it simply pours off him in pheromone-filled waves.

  Accepted it, but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.

  “Yeah. She’s gone. Has been for four years now.”

  “I’m sorry about that. I know how it is. Dad died when I was only twenty-one. It’s rough.”

  Against my will, I feel myself filing his admission away in a little corner of my heart. The same heart that’s breaking imagining a twenty-one-year-old Ianthen losing his father.

  Shit. It was Ianythi, too.

  I make a mental note to inquire about how it went down later.

  “You guys are identical in coloring. Hell, all the women in these photos are. So I’m assuming this chunky-monkey princess is you?”

  “Yeah, that’s me. My third birthday,” I reply, eyeing that photo like it’s the first time I’m ever seeing it. So I don’t miss it when his thumb caresses the glass surface, right next to three-year-old me’s face.

  No, I don’t miss it at all. How could I when time seems to slow down as he does it?

  “You were a hella cute kid. Although I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  I try my hardest not to be flattered, but that smile in his tone makes it impossible. Lips twitching with a grudging grin, I watch him place the frame back on the table, movements careful and precise. “I bet you were one, too, old man, but since that happened back in prehistoric times, it’s a damn shame I can’t see it.”

  That big, masculine hand enters my field of vision, and he playfully chucks me on the chin. As with every time he touches me, it’s butterfly-light, a clear indication of his having to handle me like glass due to our difference in species. “Hah, hah, dumbass.” White eyes glowing with his smile, he reaches into his pocket and brings out a small, disc-like object. Except, it isn’t solid, but made up of interwoven metallic stripes with holes between them. “Turns out, there is a way you can see it.”

  “Really?” I’m already eyeing that weird thing in his hand with fixated curiosity.

  Another thing I’ve come to accept? This is it. This is reality. This world I’ve learned about is not only real; it’s become pretty obvious to us that my presence in it is permanent. They’ll be no easy “memory alteration” and reinsertion back into human reality for me.

  I’m probably going to end up immortal, as my friends.

  Evesse is comatose, though.

  She is, and blind faith in a holographic female I’ve only met twice is what keeps me from freaking out at that.

  Nylicia helped bring the girls back to life, even though technically that wasn’t supposed to be possible. I have to believe that means Evesse is going to wake up one day. Either way, this “change”—for lack of a simpler term—isn’t stopping anytime soon.

  Our lives are locked on this ride, full-speed ahead towards whatever these destinies bring us.

  Mama always said it. When your reason for being born comes at you, they’ll be no sympathy or putting the breaks on it. Good or bad, life will take you where you need to be, and there’s nothing we can do about it.

  So, I’m done running from it. I’ve decided to embrace every new thing I learn like the sci-fi loving, paranormal-worshipping, history-obsessed woman I am.

  Ianthen places the disc on the table.

  “What is that thing?” I ask, although I have a slight idea.

  “It’s a . . . well, we call it an Ixya.”

  “Why does that sound—”

  “Mayan? Probably because their ancient, ancient ancestors created these in honor of Cyake.”

  “What?”

  “He is Divination and they were kinda obsessed with all aspects of that.”

  “No way. So this thing is to look into the future?”

  “No, female.” Ianthen smiles at me. I know this not because I look up at him, but by the way his tone turns into pure, smooth honey every time he does. “We were talking about the utter baby-sexiness that was once me.”

  “Come again. Baby what?”

  “I was the cutest baby in the entirety of the universe. I promise you that, female.”

  “And humble from birth, too, I see,” I mumble.

  The stare he throws me is another silent hah, hah, you’re so funny. “Cyake had these commissioned for Zen, so he could see what his mom once looked like.” He places his thumb along the left side of the disc.

  My heart tightens at that. Eve’s man is an orphan? “Oh. His mom died before he was old enough to remember her?”

  “He knew her as Mavrak, but couldn’t remember her as Zen. Her death was the final trigger for Mavrak to lose control.” Closing his eyes, Ianthen seems to be concentrating on something—out of nowhere, a six-inch tall projection sparks to life right above the disc.

  A moving projection.

  Honest to God the cutest thing I’ve ever seen!

 
“Oh my God!” I lunge for the disc, taking it from him and cradling it in my palm. Bringing it up to my face, I take a closer look at the adorable, chunky baby smiling up at me. “This is you?” I cry, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of cuteness in front of me.

  Ianthen laughs that beautiful, beautiful laugh of his, eyes glowing down at me. “Told you.”

  “How old are you here?”

  “Probably a year-in-a-half.”

  “Oh my God, those cheeks! I just want to eat them! You look like the navy-blue-haired, white-eyed version of the Gerber Baby!”

  “The Gerber Baby?”

  I ignore the indignation in his tone and place the Ixya back on the table. Lunging for him, I grab a hold of his cheeks and pinch them hard. “You were too cute!”

  Too late I realize my mistake.

  Too.

  Late.

  Holy fuck, what a mistake.

  My body bumps into his, plastering itself to his front.

  Ianthen gasps, hands shooting out to steady himself on the table behind me.

  I hear a crunch, but it’s drowned out by the roar of my heart.

  The pounding, vicious rhythm of his against my chest.

  As always, everytime I come near this male, he’s hard.

  So. Fucking. Hard.

  And unbelievably huge, trapped in those poor jeans. So huge that I have to once again ask my hoo-hah what all the eagerness is about. Clearly, this male would rip us in half if he was ever inside me.

  What the fuck is there to look forward to about that?

  My pussy throbs, creaming my panties, clearly suicidal.

  My heart, just as self-destructive, races faster.

  Ianthen sucks in a sharp breath, chest rumbling, hips twitching towards me—

  He’s gone in a flash, dematerializing the three feet into my kitchen.

  I sag against the table, my hands sliding into the two mini-craters his fists left behind. Beneath my feet, bits of wood are scattered all over the carpeted floor. As I stare at Ianthen, the wildness in his eyes disappears.

  Hell, his erection vanishes out of nowhere, too.

  Just like that, he’s back to being calm, cool, and collected.

  While I can barely stand from the force of this hunger.

  Remember. That’s why you have to fight this. Your body’s reactions might not be voluntary, but this is what he does. Don’t read into it too much. He’s the experienced one.

  Boy, is he ever. Nearly a month knowing them and his reputation—as well as Cyake’s—has made itself more than clear. Those two have been tearing it up for millenia together. Seducing females is like breathing to them.

  I push off the table, once again locking away my body’s reactions to him, and smooth my hands down my pants. “Thanks for showing me. And sorry about that.”

  “No problem,” he says, all nonplussed and shit.

  Which only makes this a thousand times more awkward for me. I can’t help but resent him for that. For what he does to my body with his animal magnetism and expertise at handling females. “If you don’t mind, I gotta make my coffee before we head to the restaurant.” I motion self-consciously towards the kitchen.

  “Right.” With a quick nod, he moves out of the way and motions towards the table just as nervously. “I’m going to fix that up for you.”

  “Right.” I duck my head as I walk past him.

  It isn’t lost on me how he angles his body away to avoid touching me.

  Good. Even he understands why sex between us is never, ever, ever going to happen.

  Me still being human is only a tiny part of that.

  He joins me less than a minute later. I feel his presence overcome my entire, small kitchen, but I keep my stare glued on the coffee maker as I feed the grinds into it.

  “Wow. You really are Spanish,” he comments from behind me.

  “Why do you say that?” I fire up the machine and steel myself before turning to him.

  The sight of him sitting at the small island hits me somewhere deep.

  Undefinable.

  Fucking odd.

  Why is my heart beating like this?

  Ianthen materializes a band and goes to work tying back his hair. Sometimes it seems like the length of it bothers him, but I don’t ask. “Just saying. Not that I hang out with a lot of Spanish people nowadays, but you know someone’s bonafide when the Bustelo makes an appearance.”

  That unexpected statement rips a laugh out of me. “Careful. Bustelo is life, and if you dare say one bad thing about it, I’ll punt this can right into your head.” The can will suffer much more than he will, but it’s the principle of the matter.

  He holds two hands up, grinning that shit-eating, mischievous grin of his. “Easy there, vicious female. It was merely an observation.”

  I mock glare at him.

  He smiles at me harder.

  “You know,” I say, as the coffee behind me brews and the little drip, drip fills the kitchen. “I never did thank you. I know you’d rather be hunting down those two freaks that killed Ismini and Evesse.” We’ve all seen his single-mindedness in the pursuit. The girl’s dying hit him hard and his vengeful rage at the fact is another thing I’m grateful for.

  Anyone that cares for my girls is golden in my book.

  Ianthen shrugs, either unaware of how that makes his big shoulders look, or uncaring of the ovarian damage he leaves in his wake. “You know what? It’s no big deal. It’s what friends do for each other.”

  There he goes again, making me feel things I have no business feeling. “F-friends?”

  The smile drops off his face. Eyes meeting mine, he asks me softly, “Yeah. It’s what we are. Aren’t we?”

  A chasm opens up in my chest. The sensation is acute, crystal clear. Stunning. Stare locked with his, I say the only logical, safe thing that comes to mind. “I’d . . . I’d like that. Friends.”

  He nods, that happy grin reappearing. “Friends.”

  My phone starts vibrating in my pocket. I already text all my employees before heading here to let them know we’d finally be reopening today, but maybe one of them can’t make it? Either way, I can’t tear my eyes from Ianthen.

  Bringing out the phone, I swipe across the screen, completely missing the name in caps flashing on it. “Hello?”

  “Hey baby. Good morning.”

  The horrible thing isn’t that I hear those words loud and clear. Oh no. How Ianthen’s entire body goes stone-still and I realize he can also hear the person on the other end is the bad part.

  I debate hanging up the phone, but for what? I have nothing to hide and the moron on the line is going to learn that one way or the other. “Good morning, Nick. Why are you calling me again? I’ve made it clear I’m done listening to you.”

  “Soleria, please. Just meet with me. Let’s talk. You know I’ll do anything. You have the power here.”

  “You cheated on me, Nick,” I say, all matter-of-fact, dropping my eyes away from Ianthen and staring at the floor. “There’s nothing left to be said between us. Now, please stop reaching out to me before I have to take drastic measures to make it happen.”

  “Sol, I love you. Please—”

  The phone is out of my hand in an instant.

  I’m too shocked to react, my brain scrambling to catch up with what’s happening.

  While Ianthen calmly brings the phone up to his ear, profile facing me. “She made it very clear she doesn’t want to speak to you.” The cadence of the words is meant to be flat, as calm as the exterior he’s trying to portray.

  Then why the hell do I sense a whole world of promised pain in that statement?

  Nick picks up on it, too, and his very male, very powerful indignation blasts through the phone loud enough for even me to hear it. “Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m the one that’s going to break your fucking face if you don’t do as she said and leave her alone. And trust me, boy. Coming from me, that’s not an empty threat. Remember that.” Moving carefully and del
iberately, he presses the end button on my phone. Then, before I can finish processing that he, the God of the Hunt, just threatened my ex-fiancé, he hands the phone back to me and nods at the coffee machine. “Your coffee’s ready. Let’s head out to the restaurant so you can start opening.”

  Chapter 11

  IANTHEN

  “L iz, please. Whatever it is, I’m sure you can take a break from it. The restaurant’s closing in less than an hour. You can be here right on time.”

  “Did I seriously just hear a please come out of your mouth? Man”—her low whistle is almost lost in the cacophony of city sounds behind her—“Things must be real bad for you in the world of no sex.”

  I glare into the restaurant in front of me and my reflection in the glass window is nothing but beastly. Pure wolf, even with my eyes disguised as regular, light gray human peepers. “How the fuck would you know if I’m having sex or not?” Fucking Cyake with his big, fat, fucking mouth, and his fucking lack of a verbal filter.

  I’ll bet my left nut that’s how she knows.

  “Trust me, we can tell. You’re gonna have to take care of that soon, aren’t you?”

  Soleria comes out of the swinging doors leading into the kitchen. Today she’s wearing a pair of white jeans that hug every line of her lower body. She paired it off with a dark blue, cotton tank top and a pair of gray Converse’s.

  Her hair, as always, is a long curtain down her back. Blood-red in the sun, dark-red in the light, brownish in the dark. Always beautiful, soft . . . tempting.

  I feel my lips pull down into a deeper frown. “Yeah, I will have to take care of it That’s why I need someone to come protect our very fragile, very mortal new friend.”

  A car horn blares in the background. Right after? Liz’s voice, full blast, uncaring of any attention she calls down on herself. “Watch it, you waste-of-skin! I had the right of way! Fucking worthless taxi drivers!” She huffs, cursing under her breath some more. “Listen, I wish, really wish, I could. Chick’s awesome and I’m dying to take her to Elysium—what the fuck is it with these fucking cabs today?”

  She segues off into another round of “humans are idiots, especially the ones hired to drive these fucking cars”, but I’m too busy scowling at my reflection.