by Lexi C. Foss
“For many years now,” Ezekiel replied. “There’s so much you don’t know. I keep waiting for everything to unravel, but it’s like watching a turtle cross the finish line.” He gave a dramatic sigh and pushed off the garage. “So how about you let Uncle Ezekiel join the festivities? Maybe I can provide a few more hints to send you on your merry way, yeah? Besides, I’ve always enjoyed a good burning of the Yule log.”
“No.” The answer came from Jayson. “You are not getting anywhere near Red ever again.”
Ezekiel snorted, those eerie gold-flecked irises finding Issac. “He’s a protective one, isn’t he?”
“You’re not getting anywhere near Astasiya, either,” he growled.
“Ah, now, how about we let her be the one to decide that?” His gaze traveled over them to the blonde in question, her ashen expression telling Issac exactly how she felt about it.
He moved to her side, his arm wrapping around her lower back on instinct. Tristan’s words replayed in his mind, his accusations and frustrations.
If Aya was being selfish, then so was Issac.
He wanted this just as much as she did, if not more.
Being near her was akin to breathing. Without her, he would drown.
“Why is he here?” she demanded.
“He claims to have information and wants to join us for dinner.”
“More like he wants to eat my parents for dinner,” she snapped, some of her spirit leaking through her ghostly exterior. Ezekiel had killed her birth parents, or so she remembered. And the look in her eyes suggested she craved vengeance for them, for everything that had ever been done to her.
“They’re not my type,” Ezekiel murmured, his head tilting to the side. “Jedrick, can you ask your darling Red a question for me?”
“No,” Jayson replied, not missing a beat.
Ezekiel ignored him. “Ask her about the man who helped her at Osiris’s estate. Specifically, ask her for his name.” His focus shifted to Issac. “Consider that your first clue. I’ll return on Christmas Eve with a Yule log. That’ll be my contribution to the festivities.” He disappeared into a cloud of black smoke.
Astasiya melted into Issac’s side, whatever harm Tristan may have caused disappearing beneath Ezekiel’s unexpected visit. She pressed her forehead to his shoulder as he enveloped her in a hug.
Balthazar met his gaze, understanding bright in his features.
He picked up the Davenports’ luggage without a word, handed one to Tristan, and guided the disgruntled Ichorian inside. But not before his oldest friend could pass him one final glower, the bruise on his jaw already fading.
Issac wouldn’t apologize. Not after what Tristan called his Aya. The bastard deserved the hit and worse.
Jayson ran his fingers through his brown hair and expelled a long breath. “Right. I think it might be best to take Lizzie back to Hydria, where she’ll be safe.”
Ezekiel had tasted Elizabeth’s blood, which explained how he found them all so easily in Montana. He could trace to anyone’s essence he’d ever imbibed. But that didn’t explain how he knew about Issac and Stas’s original plans.
“I don’t think he’s here for Elizabeth at all.” If that were Ezekiel’s goal, he wouldn’t have made his presence known until he struck. “This is about Astasiya.”
“Maybe so, but I can’t risk Lizzie being here.” Jayson was already walking toward the house.
Issac couldn’t blame the man for his concern. Osiris wanted their child and had already kidnapped Elizabeth once, but Ezekiel’s side on this war remained ambiguous. While he resided with the evil mastermind and frequently ran his errands, the assassin offered intriguing insights that had proven useful over the last few months.
“Ask her the question,” Issac said loudly, causing Jayson to pause at the door. “Ezekiel is clearly playing a game. I want the name so I know how to respond.”
Jayson didn’t move or reply right away, his emotions muddying his usual flair for strategy. Questioning Elizabeth was the correct path. However, her pregnancy overrode reason, especially in her fiancé’s mind.
He eventually nodded before heading into the house, leaving Issac and Astasiya alone. She remained quiet, her body trembling against him as she no doubt lived through the horror of her memories. The fire that took her parents’ lives haunted her nightmares, something very few knew. She confided in Issac about them, claiming they were growing worse, not better, with her immortality. Every time she woke up screaming, his heart broke a little more for her.
“Are you unhappy?” she asked softly, surprising him.
“What?” He pulled back to study her expression. “Why would you ask me that?”
She gave him a look. “You know why I’m asking, Issac.” Pain flashed in her green depths, the edges of her lips curling downward. “He’s right about me. I’m not—”
“If you tell me you’re not worthy, I might break something.” On that note, he strongly disagreed with Tristan.
She grimaced. “No, I was going to say I’m not good for you.”
He groaned, releasing her and looking upward. “That’s the same bloody statement, Astasiya.”
“No, it’s not. I could kill you, Issac.”
“And I could kill you,” he tossed back. “I could have killed you the day we first met. I could kill you now. The question is, do you expect me to?”
“Of course not.”
“Likewise.”
“That’s not fair,” she argued. “This is different.”
“So I’m not entitled to trust you the way you trust me? Is that it?”
She growled, the sound normally one he enjoyed, but not at the moment. Right now, he felt like throttling her. “You’re being purposely dense.”
His eyebrows shot upward. “Excuse me?”
“First of all, you can’t kill me. But I’d love to see you try. Second of all, my blood is toxic to you. One bite, Issac, and you die. Tristan’s right. I’m a walking threat to you, one you dance with every day and sleep with every night. It’s only a matter of time—”
“You think so little of my self-control?” he cut in, furious now. “After nearly two months of making this work, you’re willing to throw everything away because of some foolish words spouted by Tristan?”
“No. No, that’s not…” She deflated, her expression falling. “That’s not what I meant. I just… He’s right.” Spoken so softly, her fire completely extinguished. “How could you possibly be happy with this?”
“No, Aya. That’s not the right question.” He moved into her space, leaving them a hairsbreadth apart. “The question you need to be asking is, how could I possibly be happy without this?”
She gazed up at him, her heart in her eyes. “I don’t…” She swallowed roughly. “I can’t lose you.” She cupped his cheek. “You’re my always.”
He tried to smile, but his mouth refused him. “Then trust me to know my limits.” He leaned into her touch, sighing. “Nothing worth having is ever easy, Aya.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, so many unspoken words and emotions thriving between them.
Issac had never been one for commitment or relationships, finding them frivolous and not worth the effort. But Astasiya was different. From the moment they first met, she’d changed him irrevocably.
She’d been a pawn he meant to use in a revenge scheme but had blossomed into so much more. Fate dealt them a twisted hand, marking them as incompatible, but Issac never was one for following the rules.
He risked his life every time he kissed her, every time they touched, but he wouldn’t be living if he let her go. That dependence terrified him. He’d never once relied on another being for anything. But Astasiya owned his heart. It would stop beating without her.
Their connection surpassed understanding.
It just was.
And he would do whatever he needed to hold on to it, to keep her by his side.
“I don’t need or want anyone else,” he whispered. “Only
you, Aya. You are my happiness.”
Her beautiful eyes glistened with tears. “Issac—”
The clearing of a throat from the doorway broke their trance, forcing Issac’s gaze to the waiting male.
“We need to talk.” Jayson’s tone was underlined with resignation. “Stas is going to want to hear this, too.”
5
Stas
“Amelia is distracting Susan in the kitchen, and Henry is chatting with Tom,” Lucian informed Stas before she could ask after her parents.
Everyone else was in the living area, including Jacque. He had a big pizza in his lap that Balthazar seemed to be sharing with him.
Aidan and Lucian remained standing, their identical green eyes brimming with knowledge and curiosity.
“What?” Stas asked. Everyone was focused on her. “What is it?”
“Tell Stas what you told me,” Jayson murmured, his arms around Lizzie, who was seated in the oversized chair with him.
“I never thought it was important,” she said, her cheeks flushing.
Jayson fondled a strand of her red hair that had fallen out of her makeshift bun. “It’s okay, Red. You were focused on more important details.” His palm fell to her belly, a smile lightening his eyes. “But tell them all now so we can discuss the matter.”
She bit her lip and nodded. “Yeah, okay. Jayson said Kiel, sorry, Ezekiel, asked for the name of the guy from…” She trailed off and swallowed. “Osiris called him Sethios.”
Stas’s heart stopped beating.
“So rare, in fact, that they reveal your ancestry, daughter of Caro and Sethios.” Osiris’s lips had curled into an avid smile that chilled her to this day. “Or would you prefer I call you ‘granddaughter’?”
“Ezekiel mentioned Sethios as well,” Lizzie continued. “Said they grew up together, that Osiris was his father, but Jay said he meant maker or Sire.”
“What did Sethios look like?” Aidan asked, his words barely audible over the water rushing through Stas’s ears. “Can you picture him?”
“Uh, yeah.” Lizzie frowned, her attention shifting to Issac. He could see images, manipulate them, force people to dream… Was he seeing Sethios right now? “Brown hair, green eyes, tall, muscular in a thin way, likely because he couldn’t eat with his mouth being wired shut.”
Stas’s focus snapped, the description bringing up memories.
Those features are common.
Don’t get your hopes up.
He’s dead.
You saw him burn.
Images assaulted her, plunging her into the past, the memory morphing into something harsh. Real. Overwhelming.
“You have to play today, little angel. For me and your mom. Just in case the bad men come, okay?”
Stas covered her ears, her knees giving out beneath her.
“It’s the same as all the other times. Just hide and wait for us to find you. Then we’ll get some ice cream.”
“Now go, sweet angel. Hide.”
Someone was screaming, so loud it hurt.
These memories.
She hated these memories.
The fire.
Ezekiel’s face smiling in the flames.
The flare of red feathers beside her…
She shook her head, the nightmare morphing in her head, changing, never quite right. As if her mind had refused to comprehend that day. That night. The one that forever changed her life.
“Aya.” Issac’s voice was a breath against her ears.
But her father’s screams were louder.
Writhing on the ground.
No flames.
This wasn’t right. He burned… She’d watched her parents burn. But the fire didn’t exist. Only him.
“Incendiary bullets,” Ezekiel said. “Jonathan’s researchers developed them for the Sentinels at the CRF.”
What was this madness?
“Aya.” Issac sounded insistent, his hands on her shoulders.
But she was running. Fast. Hard. Into the arms of an angel.
And nothing.
She gasped, her throat raw, her face damp with tears. Peppermint and sandalwood overwhelmed her, bringing her back, comforting her. “Issac,” she breathed, her voice raspy as she buried her face in his sweater. His arms were around her, cocooning her from the nightmare brought to life by a description from her past.
Her mother had hurt so badly that day.
After her angel friend came to visit.
Stas fought for breath, her mind fracturing, unraveling, revealing an onslaught of memories that didn’t exist—shouldn’t exist.
“What the fuck is happening to her?” Issac demanded, his voice a distant dream. She tried desperately to cling to him, but she hit a wall. It slammed down so hard it blinded her, throwing her away from the memory of her father, her mother, Ezekiel.
She clutched her chest, the pain of it searing a hole inside her spirit. Her world. Her life. Tears streamed down her face at the loss of what she didn’t know, the reality slipping from her grasp, replaced by a blurry, false image.
Not right.
The fire isn’t right.
A cloud enveloped her.
Warmth.
Issac.
She held on to him, surrounding herself in his familiar heat, the only truth in her existence. Her always.
“Distract them,” he was saying. “I’ll bring her out of it.”
Someone replied. She didn’t care who. All that mattered was Issac and that voice—a woman’s voice.
Mom?
She followed the thread deep into the water, a familiar vision slamming into her heart. Trapped on the ocean’s floor, a fragment of herself, lost to the depths of the sea.
Her body convulsed, begging for air, her lungs screaming in unending agony.
It burned.
It faded.
It flared again.
Over and over and over.
Issac’s mouth covered her own, his oxygen becoming hers as she took what she needed, wrapping herself in him, his kiss grounding her in the land of the living. In his arms again.
His comfort.
His adoration.
His protection.
“Issac,” she whimpered, burying her face in his neck, breathing him in, begging him to hold her in the present, to never let her go again. What’s happening to me?
She trembled, horrified.
These terrors hit her at night, not during the day. Not like this. Not around a group of people.
The fear in Issac’s eyes pierced her soul, locking her before him, under him, with him. He kissed her again, this time more forcefully, compelling her to relax, to feel, to lose herself in their embrace.
This was her world.
Her place.
Her Issac.
She returned his kiss with a fervor, forgetting the past, the present, and the future and focusing solely on him. The chaos slowly started to dissipate, replaced by a passion only her demon could excite. His tongue against hers, his hands roaming her body beneath the sweater, skin on skin. She arched into him, needing more. Needing him.
“Aya,” he murmured, his mouth ripping from hers, his exhale heavy against her mouth.
Stas grabbed him, yanking him back, not ready to stop. She devoured him the way she craved, the way she used to, the way she adored. But he pushed her down, his hand on her chest, his breath hot against her neck. The tension in his touch told her something was wrong, his shoulders locked above her.
She tasted it then—the familiar iron fluid on the tip of her tongue.
Blood.
Her nails bit into his shoulders, her body frozen beneath him.
Oh God…
Don’t let it be mine.
Please, fuck, don’t—
“It’s mine,” he gritted out. “Just… I need a moment.”
The air rushed from her lungs, tears filling her eyes. So close. Too close. She shook, her soul ripping in half at the reality of what this could have meant.
I coul
d lose him forever.
She knew that already, understood that, but the actuality of it shattered every truth she’d manufactured as to why this could work.
But they were just fooling themselves all along.
Issac held her close, his own shoulders shaking with hers. Because he knew it, too—how close they’d both just come to losing him forever. Stas could never live with herself if she killed him.
She buried her head against him, weeping beneath their crushing truth.
He can never really be mine.
Not again.
“I’m sorry,” she cried. “I’m so sorry.”
He just shook his head, his own tears falling soundlessly against her. Broken.
She’d destroyed Issac Wakefield with a kiss.
No, she destroyed him six weeks ago when she died before they’d had a chance to say goodbye. But would they have ever wanted to?
“Aya.” He locked his arms around her, clinging to her as if she might disappear.
They were nearing the end.
And they both knew it.
She fell apart against him, unable to hide her agony. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“Neither do I,” he admitted, his voice breaking.
Time escaped them.
Lost to their misery and pain.
Neither of them wanted to let go, to admit defeat.
“I can’t lose you, Issac. I don’t want to lose you.”
She’d rather live a life without being able to touch him than to live a life without him at all.
“I love you,” she whispered.
He nuzzled her neck, his face damp against her skin. “I’m not ready to say goodbye, Aya.”
“I know.”
“Don’t make me say goodbye yet.” He sounded so fractured that it tore her apart. She could deny him nothing. Especially when she desired the same.
But one of these days, they’d have to be strong enough to walk away from each other. Because she refused to live in this world without Issac Wakefield.
Today doesn’t have to be that day.
Another week.
Month.
“We have to be careful,” she said, her fingers threading through his hair. “Far more careful than we’ve been.”
He nodded. “Yes.”