by Lexi C. Foss
“Ground rules.” They were running out of time. “Do not speak to anyone even if they speak to you. Do not comment on anything. Do not react. Do not scream. And most importantly, do not use your talent for persuasion. If you break any of these rules, we both die. Do you understand?”
Her pulse kicked up a notch, flaring the mark he left on her neck. She was scared. His instinctual response to mortal fear was missing, replaced by the foreign urge to console her. He dragged her into this world without giving her the knowledge she needed to survive in it. It was done for practical reasons that all failed to matter now. If she died tonight, it would be because he failed to protect her. That wasn’t going to happen.
“You’re in the heart of my world right now and it’s not kind to mortals, especially those with psychic abilities. You have to do what I say and trust me. Can you do that?”
She chewed her lip and winced, no doubt feeling the mark he left there. Although unintentional, it served a deeper purpose. Others would recognize it as a sign of possession. She was his, at least for tonight. That shouldn’t have pleased him as much as it did. An emotion he would delve into further after she was safe.
Her sigh told him she conceded before her verbal confirmation. “Yes.”
“Good.” Brushing his fingers through her hair, he pulled the gorgeous mass of blonde waves over one shoulder. It left his mark exposed on the other side. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
Linking his hand with one of hers, he opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Several people were meandering towards the hidden sector of the building behind the club, but Tristan and Mateo stood waiting for him. The latter gave Astasiya a welcoming grin from his position against the wall while the other looked bored.
“Miss Davenport,” Mateo greeted, openly testing her. “Lovely to finally meet you.”
Unsure of how to respond, she looked to Issac. He said not to speak to anyone. She was taking his advice to heart. A good sign if they wanted to survive the night, but he found he already missed her voice. How odd.
“Oh, look at that. You trained your pet,” Tristan remarked. He could be such an ass when he wanted to be, and was choosing to be one now. “Well done, Issac.”
He lifted Astasiya’s hand and placed a kiss against her wrist. “Astasiya, I believe you’ve already met Tristan. Might I introduce my other progeny, Mateo?”
She gave Mateo a small smile, but didn’t say anything. So far so good, then, but this was the easy part. As their maker, Tristan and Mateo belonged to him. They would never hurt a woman under his protection.
“Shall we, Sire?” Mateo asked.
“Yes.” Squeezing her hand in reassurance, he led the way to the elevators and then underground. He felt her tension as they exited, her fledgling instincts no doubt picking up on the danger radiating from their destination. This was no place for a mortal with her abilities.
He despised the Conclave. It was a show of power, meant to establish the Ichorian hierarchy. He attended to protect his progeny from potential challenges. Centuries of lessons taught his lesser brethren not to test his bloodline, but there were a select few who craved power beyond reason.
Entering, he found Aidan in his usual seat. Clara and Nadia sat behind him while Anya lounged in his lap. Ichorians dressed in black lazed in a similar fashion throughout the circular room. It was over three stories tall with rows of chairs that stretched all the way up and around to the angels painted in dark blue hues on the ceiling above. Marble columns and beige walls added an opulent feel to the atmosphere that belied the auditorium’s gory purpose. The pristine marble floor told the real story. Any surface that clean was hiding something ominous.
Aidan raised his gaze from the woman sprawled in his lap and greeted Issac with a nod before affixing intelligent green eyes on Astasiya. He looked her over in casual interest. “Osiris was most disappointed that you refused his offer to entertain, but I reminded him of your proclivity for private affairs,” his elder said in lieu of a greeting.
Refusing Osiris’s wishes earlier was a risky decision. He was thankful for the hunger radiating from his pores as it left no one questioning his ungiving mood, including the master Ichorian.
“Cheers,” Issac said, thanking his maker. If there was anyone Osiris would listen to, it was Aidan. “Might I introduce Astasiya?” He looked down at his gorgeous blonde. “Aidan is my Sire. He made me who I am today.” That last part was added for her benefit because she wouldn’t know what Sire meant.
“A pleasure, dear.” Aidan gave her a gentle smile that she returned. “Tristan, Mateo, how do you feel about the potential new addition?”
Clever. It was a subtle warning that Osiris was nearby. He must have told the ancient Ichorian that Issac was considering turning Astasiya. They both knew her fledgling heritage made that impossible.
“Thrilled.” Tristan muttered before taking a seat beside Clara. She immediately draped her legs over his and laid her head on his shoulder. Her empathetic ability left her craving touch, something his best friend had no problem providing despite the platonic nature of their relationship.
“I think she suits Issac’s tastes.” Mateo, always the diplomat, gave Aidan a bow and took the chair beside Tristan.
Issac’s place was beside Aidan in the front row. The only way to get closer to the action was to sit in the decrepit throne in the middle of the stage, but no one wanted that seat. Placement in the room indicated power. The rows at the back contained the weakest of their kind. Strength increased with each step towards the bottom where the oldest bloodlines and most powerful resided. Aidan’s ancient blood paired with his progeny’s physic talents put them in the front two rows.
“She’s delicious, Issac,” Anya murmured, her dark irises raking over Astasiya in abandon. Her full lips curved. “I’m Anya, by the way. I look forward to getting to know you very well.”
“Let’s not terrify the poor girl, love.” Aidan nipped Anya’s ear. She swung her leather-clad legs up over the armrest and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
Ignoring the two lovers, Issac sat down beside Aidan and pulled Astasiya into his lap. It sent several stares in their direction, most accompanied with raised eyebrows. Her sitting on him wasn’t what sparked their curiosity. It was customary for lovers to share a chair. What shocked them was him taking a lover, something he never did in over three hundred years of his existence. It wasn’t as much of a hardship as he expected. He enjoyed the feel of her in his arms, and if it kept her safe, it was worth the scrutiny.
In plain sight, he kissed the mark on her neck before securing his arms around her. It was the best he could do to assure her survival. The rest was up to her.
*
The auditorium gave her the creeps. Not only was it deep underground, but the center stage resembled an archaic boxing ring without the ropes. And they had front row seats.
This was not at all how she planned to spend her evening. Catching Issac in the act with another woman was the worst she imagined Tom wanted her to find, but this didn’t compare. An underground colosseum filled with demons gathering around a black and white marble center was not what she had in mind. The throne in the center of the room had seen better days, and was the one thing in the room that alluded to the purpose here. It was covered in dried blood and other unmentionables. Her stomach churned just from looking at it.
For years all she wanted were answers. Now that she was finally on the verge of learning something useful, every instinct told her to run. Vivid memories of the night her parents died teased the edges of her mind. She would never forget the fire, or the murderer’s triumphant grin as he watched her parents burn. Was he here tonight? Would he recognize her? She shivered. Oh god.
A light tug on her blonde strand drew her attention to the hard body beneath her and the arm wrapped around her waist. She met his blue eyes and saw the admonishment there. Control it, he was saying.
Seated on his lap, he could feel her tremor and read her every emotio
n. She was on his lap so he could keep her in check. It made her uncomfortable until she noticed it fit the trend of the room. She agreed to play by his rules as long as it kept her alive. If only he knew what this place was doing to her. The birthmark at the base of her spine was on fire. She was used to it itching, but this was something else. Goosebumps pebbled down her arms and an invisible weight settled on her chest. She was a mess.
Mortals who overreact die and they die badly. Recalling his warning didn’t help. She needed a distraction. A purpose. Like looking for the man who killed her parents.
She studied the people entering the room. With the exception of the all black attire, they appeared normal. Ranging in shapes and sizes, ages and ethnicities, they represented an upscale version of New York City. If she didn’t know she was sitting in an auditorium of immortals, she would have assumed most of them to be wealthy humans.
A handful of them had an air about them, a hint of something other. Something inhuman. She doubted the average person would notice, but her heightened instincts and awareness opened her mind to all sorts of possibilities that a normal human would ignore. Each face was new, one she didn’t recognize, until Osiris walked in. Ancient green eyes locked on hers as if making sure she was there. It sent a chill of foreboding down her spine. His recognition was something she could live without.
From the air of silence that followed his entry, she knew she was right about him being in charge. The lights dimmed around them while the gory throne remained highlighted. It wasn’t too dark, but muted enough to give the colosseum an eerie aura surrounding the stage. Several people scrambled to their seats. Osiris’s displeasure at the late arrivals having not already been seated was clear in the way he watched them move. Punctuality was important to him.
“Lucinda,” he called into the stillness.
A redhead seated a few chairs down from Aidan lifted dark eyes, gleaming with vicious intent. “My love?”
He flicked a hand in the general direction of the last man to arrive. The tightening of Issac’s arm was the only warning she received before that brown haired man went up in flames several rows back. His shriek tore through the room, but no one moved or made a sound. The well-timed warning and her instinct that something bad was about to happen helped dispel her gasp, but her eyes widened a fraction at the display of power.
Is this what Tom wanted me to see? Ichorians torturing each other? She was going to murder him. Fuck conversation.
Deep red nails twirled in her peripheral, belonging to Lucinda. They circled once, twice, then settled. Osiris gave a nod to the woman and the flames died. The burnt man, still alive, collapsed into his chair, singeing those on either side. One brushed his shoulder, as if flicking off a bug. The other kept her eyes on the stage. The general lack of reaction from the audience indicated this was normal behavior. As if people burst into flames all the time.
“Blake, is it?” Osiris’s tone resembled frost in the chilly room. “Be on time next time or I’ll let Lucinda play with you until the next Conclave.”
The curvy woman gave a pout. She had sadistic bitch written all over her. Her black teddy was in line with some of the other attire in the room. It was the chained bracelets dangling from her wrist that were attached to the two collared males behind her that really stood out.
Note to self, stay far away from that one.
“Now, where were we before I was so rudely interrupted?” Osiris continued, his commanding presence overpowering the room. “Right. Some of you might be aware that we recently underwent a breach in our beloved city. A Hydraian masquerading as a graduate student, of all things.”
Ice coated her skin. Is he talking about Owen? Issac confirmed that he was immortal. He was a graduate student too. And what did he mean by breach? Were Hydraians not allowed in the city? Like Fledglings?
“How he went undetected remained a mystery until two days ago when I discovered one of our own was helping him survive, thus breaking one of our most sacred of blood laws.” Whispers flooded the room, ranging from outraged to shocked. From the look on Osiris’s face, it was the reaction he expected and craved. A theatrical man, thriving on chaos.
Issac was relaxed beneath her, his fingers idly toying with her blonde strands as if bored by the proceedings. The others around them were silent as well. A glance at Aidan showed his attention was on Anya. She was trailing her long leather-clad fingers up and down the buttons of his dressy black shirt, her bedroom eyes unleashing all sorts of sordid details about their relationship.
“Yes, shocking, I know.” Her attention was drawn back to the man in charge. “And what’s more shocking, the culprit’s currently sitting in this room.”
The murmurs escalated, exciting the master of ceremonies. His grin was both evil and charismatic, a contradiction that left her uneasy. This was a man skilled at seducing a crowd as a result of centuries, maybe even millennia, of experience and dictatorship.
“So who would defy one of the oldest orders of our kind and assist a Hydraian?” He made a show of rolling the sleeves of his dark shirt, revealing toned forearms. If he were human, she would estimate him to be in his mid-fifties despite his athletic form. His smooth bald head and the age lines around his mouth were what gave him an older appearance. Her instincts and those eerie green irises were what told her he was much, much older.
“I could demand the damned step forward, but where would be the satisfaction in that? I’m curious to see if anyone can work it out for themselves first. Who here would you accuse?”
Issac chuckled, his fingers still combing through her hair. “This ought to be entertaining.”
“Indeed.” Aidan agreed, his gaze roaming the room in interest. Anya seemed equally piqued.
Shouts rained down from the audience, most including names. Bedlam ensued, threats thrown in every direction until Osiris raised a hand, calming the crowd. The atmosphere in the room darkened to a lethal degree, leaving her heart racing in her chest. She fought to control it, worried someone might hear the incessant drumming. It sounded too loud in her ears.
“It’s fun to learn how we really feel about each other, isn’t it? I imagine some of you may be leveling challenges later tonight, however, unfortunately, I failed to hear the guilty party’s name among the accused. Not surprising, really. I never would have guessed it myself.” His eyes danced tauntingly over the audience. “Well, before we get to that, another matter of business first. Mike?”
Her heart dropped to her stomach as Mike sauntered into the room with a dark haired woman dressed in chains. A metal collar was wrapped around her neck and connected to the leash in his hand. She crawled along behind him, choking each time he tugged harder. She was either too hurt to walk, or the chains weighed her down too much to stand.
Tension radiated in the arm around Stas’s abdomen, Issac’s grip on her side tightening. He stopped playing with her hair and instead trailed his fingers down to lock his hand around hers. His squeeze was not gentle or reassuring, but a warning. Things were about to get very bad. Fucking fantastic. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Osiris’s voice was deceptively gentle as he stroked the woman’s sunken cheek. Her dark features and caramel skin hinted at the foundations of a beautiful woman, but whatever they had done to her created a shell of skin and bones with no substance.
“Fuck you.” Despite her frail condition, her voice was strong in the quiet room.
“Intriguing name,” he said, inspiring several laughs from the audience. “A result of conditioning, I’m sure.” His smile died as he looked to the man holding the metal leash. “Now, who was it that brought her to your attention?”
“Jarod.”
“Oh yes, Jarod.” All part of the show, he searched the crowd and flashed a jovial grin at a meek looking man hiding near the back of the room. “Good man, please, come join us.”
His expression indicated that it was the last thing he wanted to do, but he stood and trotted dow
n to Osiris’s side. He gave the master a regal bow, kissing the olive skin of his hand before standing.
“You found this one in a brothel, yes?”
“Y-yes, S-sire.” Jarod’s voice was as weak as he looked.
“Only adds to her name,” Osiris said, grinning devilishly at the chuckles his crude statement garnered. “In any case, you noticed she had a peculiar ability, did you not?”
She stopped breathing. A gifted mortal surrounded by Ichorians. She was about to find out what would happen if Ichorians discovered what she could do.
“I-I did, Sire. Her t-touch was hypnotic,” the meek man stammered.
She frowned. That wasn’t damning evidence. A prostitute with a hypnotic touch? A scrawny man like that would find any woman’s touch hypnotic. He didn’t seem like the type that received a lot of action with his thin brown hair and gawky stance, at least not from willing females.
“Ah, how very intriguing. Have you or the others been able to recreate it, Mike?”
“I don’t know about hypnotic, but her touch sure is inspiring.” She almost gagged at the lascivious look on Mike’s face.
“Not exactly proof, then.” Osiris tapped his chin. “If only we had someone here who could sense immortal bloodlines.” Green irises moved knowingly over the crowd, making her stiffen. Someone here could sense fledglings, meaning someone might be able to sense her. Oh shit.
“Sierra love, why don’t you join us?”
12
A Gift for Words
She refused to look, refused to react. Issac listed all the ground rules, never once mentioning that someone might be able to sense her. That meant the woman’s heels approaching to her left weren’t a threat. She had to believe that to maintain any semblance of calm.