Angel Bonds

by Lexi C. Foss

  She nodded, too. “Not yet, then.”

  “Not yet,” he repeated, his shoulders relaxing while his grip remained firm. “Not yet.”

  He said the words several more times, sounding less and less sure with every breath. But Stas refused to hear the doubt creeping in, refused to acknowledge the sense of foreboding settling over her, and instead chose to live in the moment. With her Issac.

  Her love.

  Her always.

  6

  Stas

  Stas blinked blearily at the clock, convinced it was lying to her.

  Four? No, that couldn’t be right. She squinted again at it. Still the same time. Had someone forgotten to set it when they arrived?

  She shifted away from Issac’s chest and glanced out the windows to see the moonlight dancing over the lake.

  “Shit.” Stas sat up and wiped her eyes, groggy with sleep. Her poor parents. What did they think? Were they worried? Oh, fuck, were they safe?

  She started to climb out of bed, only to be yanked backward into Issac’s hard body.

  “Everyone is asleep,” he murmured against her ear. “Including Susan and Henry.”

  “Crap,” she grumbled, her palm slapping her forehead. “What a great hostess I’ve been.”

  “Amelia told Susan you weren’t feeling well and I was tending to you. She’s fine, as is everyone else.” He rolled her to her back to hover over her, his palm against her cheek. “But how are you?”

  She swallowed, her throat dry. “Honestly, I don’t know.” The emotional upheaval had left her unsettled and hollow. “I hate this, Issac.”

  “Me, too, love.” He brushed his lips against hers, far too soft for her liking. But they’d agreed to be safer. She couldn’t risk him. Not now. Not ever. “Can we talk about what Elizabeth said? About her time with Osiris?”

  Stas frowned, trying to recall the conversation. Yesterday had melted together in her mind, from getting on the plane to ending up in bed with Issac. It felt like sorting through years of memories, not a day’s worth of conversations.

  “Aya?” Issac prompted, the moon shining brightly enough outside to highlight the concern in his blue eyes.

  “Yesterday feels like a dream,” she whispered. “A bad one.”

  He drew his thumb along her lower lip, his gaze tracking the movement. “You fell into a trance and woke as if from a nightmare. I didn’t know what to do, so I handled it the only way I could to ground you in the moment.”

  It was all so hazy. Something about her parents and the fire. “There weren’t any flames.” Her brow furrowed as she tried to remember, but the memory eluded her, slipping into the recesses of her mind behind a wall she couldn’t penetrate. “It’s strange, like my past has been altered somehow.” She poked at the barrier. “I sound crazy.”

  “No,” he murmured, his blue eyes lifting to hers. His palm slid over her sweater to her hip, pulling her onto her side so he could slip beneath the fabric along her lower back. “This rune proves someone altered key parts of you as a child, perhaps your memories as well.” His touch tingled against the base of her spine.

  “Can immortals do that?”

  “I know an Ichorian who can tamper with perceptions of the past, and there’s a Hydraian with a similar ability. But we’re not talking about average immortals, Aya. A Seraphim placed this rune on you—a powerful one. Maybe he or she altered your mind, too.”

  Stas considered the possibility, a flurry of red feathers painting her vision for the barest of seconds. “Why would I be remembering these things now?” All her life, she’d been certain of the past. But these last few months had transformed her on a base level, leaving her more unsure of herself by the minute.

  “If I were to guess? Your rebirth.” He continued to trace the pattern along her skin, his touch hypnotic and soothing. “Or maybe newer developments have triggered your true memories to rise to the surface. Meeting Osiris and Ezekiel, for example. Hearing the names of your parents—Sethios and Caro.” He studied her intently, as if waiting for a reaction.

  It took her a moment to follow, yesterday proving too overwhelming to recall every detail. But one stuck out in the sea of confusion, prompted by Issac’s silence. “Lizzie said the man who helped her was Sethios.”

  “She did, and the one she envisioned is the same Sethios that Aidan and the Elders have known for over two thousand years. He was considered Osiris’s favorite protégé but disappeared about twenty-five years ago. Everyone assumed he’d gone into hiding, like Ezekiel, but recent events suggest that might not be the case.”

  “You think he’s my father.”

  “I do.” He flattened his palm against her skin, branding her to her very soul. “Sethios could persuade others through hypnosis, which is quite similar to compulsion.”

  “Is it possible that, with Osiris being his Sire, creating me mingled the abilities somehow?” she wondered. “Allowing me to be more persuasive than hypnotic?” Because her power was definitely underlined in command, not trickery.

  “Yes, but I find Osiris’s terminology to be rather intriguing. He called you his granddaughter, as if by blood.”

  “But he’s an Ichorian.” And they couldn’t procreate.

  “Yes, but what if he created Sethios prior to being turned into an immortal?”

  Stas considered that. “You’re saying Sethios might be his biological son.”

  Issac nodded. “We don’t know how old either of them truly is, and it would suit the story Ezekiel told Elizabeth. He said Sethios was Osiris’s son, and Osiris was known to refer to him in that manner as well.”

  “So you think Osiris became an Ichorian after his son was born and then later turned that son—Sethios—into an Ichorian,” Stas deduced.

  “It seems quite plausible, yes. And would explain how you inherited gifts from Osiris.”

  She agreed, but what a convoluted parental history. “If that’s all true, then Lizzie…” She couldn’t finish the thought, the words sticking in her throat.

  “Saw your birth father less than two months ago,” Issac murmured. “Yes.”

  “And you’re certain it’s the same Sethios?”

  “The one she imagined matches the man I’ve seen, just with a few odd details.”

  “Details?” she repeated.

  “Yes, it would appear he’s being punished for something.”

  The way he said it sent a chill down her spine. “Because of me?” she guessed, her voice barely a whisper.

  Issac shook his head. “No. Osiris didn’t realize who you were until you used your gift against him. His shock was clear. Unfortunately, that does leave us without an answer as to why he sewed Sethios’s lips shut.”

  Stas shivered, the image leaving a gruesome stamp on her imagination. “If he’s really alive, and my father—”

  “I see where you’re going with this, but trust me, Aya, Sethios can take care of himself. If he wants to escape Osiris, he will.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Oh, Aya, his reputation is… intense.”

  Intense? “How so?”

  “Let’s just say he’s his father’s son.”

  “Are you telling me that my father is evil?” she demanded, feeling innately defensive. The father of her memories, as muddled as they might be, did not remind her of Osiris in the slightest. Her dad was honorable and affectionate, always calling her his little angel…

  “No, I’m saying Sethios has a formidable reputation, just like his father. If anyone could stand up to Osiris, it’s Sethios.”

  “Except his lips are sealed,” she reiterated. “Why would anyone agree to live like that?”

  Issac studied her for a long moment, his sapphire irises swirling with experience and an intelligence she envied. Luc and Aidan were known for their strategic gifts, but her demon always considered every angle, his steps always measured, his decisions never emotionally driven. Practical, passionate, and perfect.

  “It pains me to say this, but I belie
ve we need to take Ezekiel up on his Christmas Eve offer. He clearly has information, and while I have no doubt his motives are purely self-fulfilling, we may be able to glean some pertinent details from him. If we play the game right.”

  “Between you, Luc, and Aidan, I think we have the strategy realm covered.”

  He didn’t look nearly as certain as she felt. “Ezekiel isn’t one for predictability.”

  “No, but neither are you,” she pointed out, brushing her lips over his. “My rule-breaking demon.”

  He chuckled. “Are you flirting with me, Aya?”

  “I’m just identifying one of your finer attributes.” Her hand slid to his ass, squeezing it through the boxer briefs.

  He pushed her onto her back again, his gaze glittering. “Now you’re definitely flirting.”

  “No, just acknowledging yet another very fine attribute,” she teased.

  “I was trying to have a serious conversation.”

  “And you did a fine job of it. The conclusion is to have Ezekiel over for Christmas Eve.” Something that would require a large group discussion, including parameters to be taken to safeguard her adoptive parents. However, as it was not even five o’clock in the morning yet, they had time to prepare for that conversation. “I’m ready for a diversion now.”

  Amusement shone in his features. “A diversion, hmm? To keep your mind off Sethios, you mean?”

  Some of her playful energy left. His ability to see through her was uncanny. “I can’t afford to hope, Issac.”

  He palmed her cheek. “I understand, love. It’s a lot to consider, but if it’s true, it would confirm your childhood memories were altered.”

  “I know.”

  “And it will necessitate looking into your past even more. Because, Aya, Seraphim do not interfere in immortal or mortal lives without cause.”

  Seraphim were near myths to Ichorians and Hydraians, their presence thought to be extinct eons ago. But her rune suggested otherwise. As did, perhaps, the meddling of her mind.

  “Why me?” she whispered, gazing up at him, wishing he had all the answers.

  “I wish I knew, Aya.” He brushed his lips over hers. “But I can’t deny that there is something breathtakingly unique about you.”

  She started to question that until she caught the smile playing over his lips. “Now you’re flirting with me.”

  “Some would call it ‘courting,’ ” he murmured.

  She snorted. “Only old men from a very different time period.”

  “How about ‘seducing,’ then?” he suggested, his lips a hairsbreadth from hers.

  “That depends on your goals, Mister Wakefield.”

  “Well, for one, I’d like to divest you of these clothes, Miss Davenport.”

  Warmth spread through her veins, her lips curling on instinct. “I think I would like that.”

  “I think you would, too.”

  “Then stop talking about it and get to work.” Persuasion trickled into her words, forcing his hands to start moving. Undress me, she whispered to his mind, his darkening gaze confirming he sensed it and approved.

  “Mmm, a command,” he murmured against her mouth. “My favorite.”

  7

  Issac

  Astasiya’s blonde hair glowed in the sunlight, reminding him of the way she’d looked in his bed earlier this morning. Except she’d been naked then. Now she was dressed in a sweater and jeans again—a new pair thanks to Balthazar leaving their luggage outside their door.

  Issac sipped his coffee while admiring her smile. She appeared so carefree and relieved beside Susan, discussing holidays of Christmases past. Something about sledding in Havre before visiting the tree downtown. He’d have to take her there next year, just to see if the images matched the ones blossoming in Susan’s mind.

  Assuming he and Astasiya were still together.

  His chest ached at the thought of her being with anyone else, the wrongness of it twisting his gut. But that kiss last night had been eye-opening. She’d barely nicked him in her eagerness. Had it been the other way around, he wouldn’t be breathing right now.

  How could something that felt so right be unsuitable?

  There had to be a way for this to work. A way around fate.

  His heart yearned for her and her alone.

  It had taken him three hundred years to find her, to feel like this about another, to love. He couldn’t give her up because of some ridiculous blood right.

  That was what no one understood—their connection went deeper than any other, as if their souls were joined.

  Her green eyes rose to his, the secrets in them making him smile. Because he knew how her mind worked, what her mother’s comments about the seriousness of their relationship implied.

  Susan wanted to know about marriage.

  Astasiya had no desire to marry—ever. It wasn’t her style. Nor was it his.

  “Mom,” she groaned. “Stop.”

  “What?” She glanced at Issac. “He rented a house for us to spend the holidays in. He clearly sees this being a long-term thing.”

  Astasiya’s head fell to the table as Elizabeth entered. “We’re not getting married, Mother.”

  “I didn’t say that, did I? I just wanted to know what your next steps are. That’s all.” She gave Elizabeth a beseeching look. “You understand, right, Lizzie?”

  Astasiya groaned louder while her best friend giggled, clearly enjoying her torment. Issac couldn’t help but chuckle as well, earning him a glower from his favorite blonde.

  “Stas isn’t the marrying type, Mrs. Davenport,” Elizabeth said. “But I think what she has with Issac is very special.”

  Yes, she’d made it quite clear that she was cheering for them even while everyone else expected this to blow up badly. Elizabeth Watkins was a true romantic, her own happily-ever-after only days away.

  Jayson joined them, unable to stay too far away from his bride-to-be and the mother of his unborn child.

  Issac had spoken to him briefly this morning about Ezekiel, telling him their plan for tomorrow night. He’d agreed on the play and also said they were staying, something Issac guessed Elizabeth had demanded. She wouldn’t want to leave her best friend after learning her biological father might still be alive.

  Of course, that meant the grounds were now flooded with Guardians—all here with the purpose of protecting their Hydraian Elders, and Elizabeth.

  Not a horrible reaction so long as the Davenports didn’t notice.

  “So where is it going?” Susan pressed, looking between them impatiently.

  “Where is what going?” Henry asked as he entered with his arms full of groceries. Thomas sauntered in after him, his load noticeably heavier. Henry had wanted to go on a beer run, which turned into a long shopping list from his wife, and Thomas had offered to accompany him—for protection.

  “This relationship between our daughter and Issac.”

  He set down the bags and met Issac’s gaze. “They’re clearly getting married. Right, son?”

  Astasiya bolted upright. “Dad!”

  “What? You’re practically living with the boy, and if he’s the gentleman you claim him to be, then he’ll make an honest woman out of you.”

  “What century are we in, again?” she demanded.

  “One where ‘courting’ is considered outdated,” Issac reminded her helpfully.

  She glowered at him. “Do you want to get married?”

  “Do you?” he countered, smirking.

  “No!” She looked imploringly at Elizabeth. “Please help me. Please.”

  “By doing what?” she asked, her brown eyes glowing with mirth. “I already said you’re not the marrying type.”

  “Of course she is,” Henry put in. “All women want to be married.”

  “Not Stas,” Thomas and Elizabeth said at once.

  Astasiya waved her hands at them as if to imply that was proof enough of her argument.

  “Then what are your intentions?” Henry asked, his eyes
on Issac and not Astasiya.

  So it was going to be that kind of day, then. Her adoptive father had made no secret of his distaste for Issac from the moment they first met after her graduation. Of course, he wasn’t actually dating the man’s daughter then. He’d merely been planning to use her for a revenge scheme. Not the best introduction, to be sure.

  “Dad.” Astasiya’s green eyes were narrowed, the fun of the moment gone, seriousness taking over.

  “It’s all right, love,” Issac murmured. “He has a right to ask, and a gentleman would answer.”

  Henry arched a brow. “I agree.”

  He stood to be on the same eye level, not liking the dominating angle her father had taken over him.

  “While I have no qualms with the sanctity of marriage, it has never been a desire for your daughter. Nor has it ever been one of mine.”

  “Exactly,” Astasiya muttered, her relief palpable.

  “What I do desire,” he continued, “is a long, prosperous life with the woman I adore at my side, and I will do whatever I need to ensure that happens. We don’t require a ceremony to prove ourselves to one another or anyone else. What matters is Astasiya trusts me and I trust her, and we will remain together until she says otherwise.”

  He held Henry’s gaze, allowing the man to see and feel the sincerity behind his words, as well as the resolve underlying his tone. Issac would be respectful to a point, but he would not be intimidated. Not even by the male who adopted Astasiya.

  “So you’re agreeing to take care of her.” Not a question, but a statement.

  “Oh God.” Astasiya turned to her father. “I can take care of myself, thank you.”

  “As far as she’ll allow me to, yes,” he replied, not breaking eye contact with Henry even when Aya turned to glare at him. “But if you think Astasiya needs me to take care of her, then you don’t know your daughter that well.” The challenge sizzled in the air, Thomas and Jayson both taking a step backward while Susan’s lips parted.

  Astasiya, however, appeared quite pleased.

  And Elizabeth was grinning from ear to ear.