Blood Seeker

by Lexi C. Foss

  This caused a few of the Seraphim to glance at one another, a trickle of surprise clouding their auras.

  Ah, so they can be shocked. Thank you, Clara, for allowing me to witness it. Because without her gift, he would have mistaken their reactions as mere questionable glances. But his inherited empathy allowed him to see through the action and understand the true purpose.

  His father’s aura radiated a hint of curiosity.

  Meanwhile, Silvia appeared annoyed.

  And Tulan was just Tulan—as stoic as usual.

  They all sat on the second platform in a row, making it easy to read them. Those on the lowest tier weren’t council members but workers like Cavalina.

  Rows upon rows stretched upward in amphitheater-seating-style, with the weakest bloodlines at the back and the oldest and strongest toward the front. From what Gabriel understood, Osiris had organized his Conclave meetings in a similar fashion.

  “Are you suggesting we release Caro?” Silvia asked, her thin black brow reaching her equally dark hairline. It was probably the most expressive face he’d ever seen from the millennia-old woman. She’d recently awoken before his birth—after a seven-century-long “nap.” And it wasn’t her first time sleeping off her ancient existence, either.

  “If you want Astasiya to learn and accept our ways, then yes. She needs a mentor, and Caro is suitable for that as her mother. That is, assuming she’s fully reformed.” Gabriel added that last bit as a test, curious about his mother’s mental state. He suspected she fought the process, perhaps not outwardly but inwardly. Although, her overall lack of communication with Sethios indicated she might have lost that battle.

  More glances were exchanged. Silvia pursed her lips. But his father remained inquisitive, asking, “Do you feel Caro can aid Astasiya on her destined path?”

  “I do,” Gabriel replied. “As I said, Astasiya was raised with a mortal mindset. Family is an important value in her life.”

  “And where were you while she was being raised by humans?” Silvia inquired.

  “In New York City following my mission to monitor developments at the CRF.” It was the truth. He just didn’t mention the part about his frequent visits to Montana to check up on his little sister.

  “Did you know her whereabouts during your time with the CRF?” The direct question came from Tulan. Always astute and paying attention. Part of his gift rested in the art of deception. So lying to him wasn’t an option.

  “I did,” he admitted.

  “And you didn’t come forward with this information?” Silvia demanded.

  “I was never asked about Astasiya, only Caro,” Gabriel pointed out.

  “You knew what we desired,” Silvia accused.

  “As Tulan recently pointed out, I’m not privy to council matters.” A strange sort of bubbling sensation clawed at Gabriel’s throat after he finished speaking, his chest rumbling a little as a result. It took him a second to realize that he wanted to laugh at his play on words. His lips nearly quirked up, but he forcibly swallowed the inane reaction and maintained a bored facade.

  Or as bored as he could with his humor rioting inside.

  He’d indulge in the chuckle later, once this situation ended.

  With his luck, it would be after his empathy died, rendering the need useless.

  Silvia wasn’t impressed, but the others within her row were all studying Gabriel intensely. There were thirty-nine of them in total, making up the strongest circle in this theater hall.

  Seraphim of Justice—Silvia.

  Seraphim of Darkness—Tulan.

  Seraphim of Warriors—Adriel.

  Seraphim of Violence—Rubeen.

  Seraphim of Mind—Stahr.

  He looked at each of them—most of them the originals of their lines, or the second-in-command because their originals were lost to slumber. All of their names and abilities came to him in a flash, his early childhood spent memorizing them all and their gifts. He was destined to take his father’s seat, which sat two spaces away from an empty chair.

  That particular spot hadn’t been filled for thousands of years because it belonged to the Seraphim of Life and Resurrection. Osiris. He had no others in his line to occupy the position in his absence.

  Only Sethios.

  And Sethios didn’t yet have wings.

  But Astasiya did.

  The Seraphim needed her, of that Gabriel was certain. What he didn’t know was why. She served a greater purpose than Osiris, one the council had known and refused to share. He felt it deep within that they were hiding something. Which was the only reason they were considering him now, not issuing an edict for him to bring Astasiya to them with force, if required.

  They wanted her to come to them willingly. Just like Osiris wanted to recruit her willing participation.

  So what is it that she can do that has all of you utterly obsessed with her? he wondered. He’d witnessed some of her power when she battled her grandfather, but she hadn’t been anywhere near winning that sparring match. He’d gone easy on her, had spent more time showboating and testing her than actually trying to hurt her.

  Granted, it’d been an impressive show for one so young.

  However, the Fates must have predicted something far grander for her. Something… terrifying.

  Yes.

  He could see the fear in some of the Seraphim around him. Subtle, but there. A hint of anxiety floating on the wind.

  Gabriel inhaled the pungent aroma, confirming the accuracy of his assessment with Clara’s talent.

  They fear her.

  Perhaps, then, the prophecy wasn’t about the Hydraians and Ichorians but about them all. Seraphim included.

  Yet how was that possible? Seraphim couldn’t perish. Unless Stas would one day determine the true origin of life. Specifically, Seraphim life.

  He played Skye’s words over in his head once more, his gut tightening with the realization of just how dangerous his sister could grow to be.

  “Are there any additional questions?” Adriel asked, his inquiry for the council, not for Gabriel.

  “Would you be willing to submit yourself to rehabilitation?” The higher-pitched feminine voice came from behind him.

  Dara, he recognized. Seraphim of Fertility and Genetics.

  She was Leela’s mother.

  Rather than turn to look at the female, he said, “Not at this time.”

  “What about after you’ve completed your mission assisting Seraphim Astasiya?” his father pressed.

  Gabriel considered his response before saying, “If it is a necessary measure at that time, I would take the recommendation under advisement and follow protocol if I felt there was an adequate flaw in my soul’s programming.”

  He chose the words carefully because he would only agree to such an action if he truly believed it was necessary.

  Which would likely never happen.

  But as his kind focused primarily on logic, not emotional well-being, they would take his statement as truth and agree with the rational reply.

  “Would you agree to realign your fealty with your elders?” Tulan inquired. “After the prophecy is fulfilled, I mean.”

  If they required a blood vow from him, he would reject it. So instead, he said, “I would discuss the appropriate alignment of my fealty at that time, yes.”

  He suspected it would stay with his sister. But that all depended on the future events—events the council was hiding and trying to manipulate.

  Was that why they punished Skye? Because she refused to assimilate to their protocols? Did Ezekiel know of her true heritage?

  The questions pelted his thoughts while the Seraphim around him fell completely silent, their inquiries seeming complete.

  That was how these trials always went—quick and efficient. They’d gathered the majority of their evidence before calling him here. This part of the discussion had merely been about what truths he was willing to reveal.

  His father glanced around once, then nodded with finality. “As
there are no other clarifications, the council will convene on a proper course. You are temporarily dismissed, Gabriel. We will call you back when we have our final edict.”

  “Thank you, Adriel,” Gabriel replied, using his father’s given name as a sign of respect to the family line. He bowed deeply, then took his leave, aware that this might be the last afternoon he was permitted to roam inside the Seraphim city walls.

  He glanced around.

  Then shrugged.

  He’d rather spend the time packing up his minimal belongings because it seemed Hydria was about to inherit a new seraphic resident.

  His wings flickered to life around him just as an alarm flared about a hundred yards to his right. Seraphim took to the sky in a flurry, their defensive training igniting in an effort to protect the council.

  Only, the threat wasn’t outside the gates.

  But inside.

  In the form of a naked, blue-winged Seraphim with furious blue eyes.

  Gabriel relaxed his plumes and arched a brow. “Mother,” he greeted. “Would you like to borrow my shirt?”

  “Take me to Sethios.” Her voice was a rasp of sound, confirming she’d only recently awoken. And given her bloody state, he suspected it wasn’t with the council’s permission.

  Rather than question her, he held out his hand.

  It seemed he wouldn’t be packing after all.

  And Hydria wasn’t going to gain one seraphic resident, but two.

  A Few Minutes Earlier

  Talk to me, angel, Sethios said, his mental tone holding a touch of concern. It was a warranted reaction, considering the fiery essence standing in the doorway.

  My creator is here, Caro whispered to him. When did the council wake her?

  She searched her own mind for the answer but came up blank. The last however many years or decades blurred together in a sea of sunshine and nothingness.

  Because the council had put her in a rehabilitation pod.

  A part of her had always known that would happen, yet she couldn’t identify where the sense came from. Some memory, perhaps, that failed to form. Not surprising, given her current situation. Seraphim were notorious for wiping the mind during the reformation process.

  It was a miracle she remembered Sethios.

  Or, at least, certain things about him.

  Such as the fact that they were bonded.

  Other aspects were fuzzy. Hopefully, they would clear in time.

  We’ll make new memories, angel, he promised.

  Her thoughts must have gone to him via their connection. Rather than try to turn it off, she held on to that link while looking at the woman who had birthed her.

  The winged Seraphim blinked back at her and then stepped into the room in her corporeal form, her white dress dancing around her knees. “It isn’t time for you to wake yet,” she informed flatly. “I’ll fix it.”

  Caro said nothing.

  “Fixing it” required opening the container, which meant all she had to do was wait. And the calmer she appeared, the better. She would need the element of surprise for this to work. Mostly because she wasn’t yet sure how strong she would be after all this, and her mother out-aged her by a few millennia.

  But Chanara wouldn’t expect her to react. It was entirely impractical to fight the conditioning process.

  Unfortunately for her mother, Caro wasn’t feeling all that practical at the moment.

  She wanted out of this hell.

  To escape.

  To fly.

  To feel.

  Goose bumps pebbled down her arms and legs, her limbs tingling with the anticipation of having a purpose. She’d lain here to the point of atrophy, her mind nearly reprogrammed to forget her entire existence.

  Parts of it still glimmered in the shadows—dark specks on her otherwise white conscious. But it was enough to pull her focus, to force her into action. Because something existed outside these walls that she cared about.

  Sethios.

  I’m here.

  I know, she breathed, her heart skipping a beat. She could see him in her mind, his striking green eyes, those alluring dimples when he smiled. Yet her past with him blurred in and out, a blink of time that she understood one moment and forgot the next.

  She turned her healing power upward, seeking the fractured strands of her mind, wishing to piece them back together.

  But movement in her periphery gave her pause.

  Her mother was preparing the tools necessary to force Caro back into a peaceful slumber.

  It would be so easy to allow it, to succumb to the numbness once more.

  But a tug at her soul grounded her in the present, reminding her why she needed to fight.

  Caro’s purpose wasn’t to exist inside a pod. I’m meant for more.

  Yes, Sethios agreed. You’re mine.

  She nearly snorted. Yet his words filled a void inside her, sending warmth through her veins that mingled with the prickling sensations of her limbs. It made her feel alive. Renewed. Reborn.

  “Yes, thank you. I need Adeline, please,” Chanara said.

  “She will arrive in five minutes,” a deep voice replied from the air around them.

  Chanara must have hit a speaker button to communicate, or perhaps had paged a telepathic Seraphim.

  Adeline would be used to return Caro to her slumber, her knack for dream states well known among her peers. If she arrived before this glass container opened, it would be a problem.

  Fighting her mother was one thing.

  Taking down a Seraphim known for inducing comas with a thought was entirely another.

  Breathe, Caro told herself, calming her racing heart. She needed to appear unthreatening. That would encourage her mother to open the pod and begin the preparation while they waited for Adeline to arrive.

  Seraphim do not feel.

  Seraphim do not react.

  Seraphim accept rehabilitation as a corrective measure.

  Caro chanted the words through her head, needing to embody and temporarily believe those statements.

  Sethios growled in response, and she hushed him through the bond. I need to focus.

  If you leave me again, I’m going to compel Vera to mist me to you. Fuck the wards. Fuck the defenses. I’m coming for you, angel. Whether you’re ready or not.

  Heat slithered through her at the thought, making it difficult to freeze him out. But it was the only way for this to work.

  She closed her eyes, stole several deep breaths, and pretended to rest. Her mother would assume she’d exhausted herself by pulling out the cords, that Caro had just fallen back into a light slumber while waiting for the Seraphim to fix her pod.

  One, she counted, doing her best to focus on the numbers and her deep breaths. Two. Three. On she went, her mind utterly consumed by the task and holding her absolutely still as the clasps began to unfasten around her.

  When she hit forty-seven, a hiss of air touched her ears.

  At sixty-five, the glass shifted.

  And at eighty-nine, her mother’s fingers brushed her pulse.

  Now, Caro told herself, reaching for her maker and grabbing her by the neck. Chanara huffed in surprise, the noise silenced as Caro took them both to the ground in a flurry of limbs and unpracticed movements.

  But her body quickly remembered how to operate, her muscles entirely healed. The only part of her left to recover was her mind, which would take more time.

  She’d work on that later.

  For now, she had to kill her mother. Not permanently—everlasting death was impossible for a Seraphim—but temporarily. Her grip around her mother’s neck tightened, her thighs clamped down against Chanara’s midsection to hold her on the ground beneath her.

  Neither of them could mist, the facility heavily warded and underground.

  And their seraphic gifts weren’t of a warrior nature.

  Caro had years of sparring training under her belt, her desire to learn defensive maneuvers a practical course that aided her now. Her maker had
focused on intellectual lessons, not combative experiences.

  Bet she wished right now that she’d at least taken a defense class.

  Her blue eyes began to roll, her pale face turning a purple shade. But Caro didn’t let go. She kept counting.

  She was over two hundred now.

  Nearing three.

  That meant Adeline would be here any minute, perhaps any second.

  Seraphim were always punctual.

  When she reached three hundred nineteen, she released her mother and jumped to her feet, searching for anything that could be used as a weapon. But all that existed in this room was monitoring equipment tied to her pod. Not even a scalpel.

  She’d have to use her hands, then.

  She knelt once more, took her mother’s head into her hands, and twisted at an angle meant to snap her neck.

  The crack reverberated through the too-quiet room.

  Then everything went silent once more.

  Caro leapt back up to her feet and went straight for the door, refusing to waste time. It was unlocked, making it easy for the Seraphim to walk in and check on the pod victim inside.

  They built this facility with the mindset that the pods would hold the prisoners steady. Therefore, additional measures weren’t required.

  Which was why she found the hallway vacant and the stairwell at the end unlocked and unguarded.

  She tested her weight and found her footing light as she scaled the stairs upward, her body rejuvenated, thanks to her freshly awakened gift. But the sun gave her pause as she reached the ground level, her eyes unaccustomed to the brilliance.

  Her gift triggered, mending whatever she required to see, and then she was moving once more.

  Did you just kill Chanara, angel? Sethios asked softly.

  Yes. She didn’t bother pointing out that her mother would be fine in an hour or so. Sethios would already know that.

  Without your knives?

  Yes, she repeated.

  Hmm.

  She frowned at that hum inside her mind. What’s wrong?

  I’m just intrigued, he admitted, a warm note in his voice. We’ll play later.

  I just broke out of a reformation pod, and you’re talking about playing.