The Seeker

by Elizabeth Hunter

  Rhys stepped out from the trees. The Grigori didn’t look at him. They were completely fixed on Meera. “Is Bozidar coming to New Orleans?”

  “Is your father coming to you?” she asked.

  Their eyes all lit up at once. “Is he?”

  “They don’t know,” she said. “Is there anything else?”

  “How many Fallen children are there in the swamp?” Roch asked as he walked from behind the tumbledown house. “How many others?”

  Rhys and Roch moved closer, Rhys coming to stand behind her. Despite their proximity, the Grigori never looked at them and didn’t seem to react at all.

  Meera asked, “How many of your brothers are nearby?”

  “There were seven of us, but the wolves came in the night and killed the others.”

  “The wolves?”

  “She travels with wolves,” the Grigori whispered. “There was no sound. None at all. Then they were dead.”

  The Wolf. Rhys’s hand fell on her shoulder.

  Roch asked, “How did they escape?”

  Meera repeated the question.

  “Water,” one said. “We fell in the water and we couldn’t hear what happened.”

  “Interesting,” Rhys murmured.

  Meera felt sick inside. She turned her head and pressed her cheek to Rhys’s wrist. The growing cacophony in her head quieted instantly. She pressed her eyes closed and took a deep breath.

  “Are you done?” she asked.

  “I’m done,” Roch said. “I don’t think they know anything more.”

  “We’ll finish them,” Rhys said. “Meera, go back to the truck.”

  “No.” She opened her eyes and locked eyes with the first Grigori who had knelt at her feet. “Do it.”

  The silver stilettos came out. The knives slid into the back of the Grigori’s necks, piercing their spines. Meera kept her eyes on the Fallen child locked under her control. She felt the tug of his surprise when the knife touched his neck. His eyes widened. His mouth fell open. The silver pierced him.

  The Grigori crumbled to the ground and began to dissolve before her eyes.

  Meera ran to the edge of the trees and emptied her stomach over a palmetto. She was bent over, crying and sick, when the cool cloth landed on the back of her neck.

  “Come here,” Rhys said. “We had to do it. You know we did. They would have continued to hunt. We don’t even have a way to find the victims they’ve already killed.”

  “I know.” It still makes me sick.

  He enveloped her in his arms, his fingers holding the cool cloth to her flesh, but Meera needed his skin. She brought his hand up to her temple and leaned into his palm, letting the quiet of his touch soothe her. Rhys tried to tug his hand away, but she held on tight.

  “Don’t,” she whispered. “I need your skin. Just for a minute.”

  Rhys fell completely still. “Why?”

  Shit. Meera dropped his hand and moved away, instantly raising her shields.

  Rhys followed her. “Meera, why did you need my skin?”

  No no no no no.

  She couldn’t deal with this. Not now. Maybe not ever.

  She could see Roch from the corner of her eye. His eyes widened for a second before he walked to the truck and climbed inside, slamming the door behind him.

  Rhys grabbed her hand and spun her around. “Stop.” He forced their palms together, though Meera refused to look at him. “Is this what you need?”

  Heaven above, yes. She pressed her eyes closed, refusing to meet his penetrating stare.

  “Is it?” He pressed her palm to his rough cheek. “Do the voices go silent? Can you hear my soul?”

  She said nothing.

  “Is it like a bell in the morning?” His voice was thick with emotion. “Is it, Meera?”

  “Rhys, it’s not…” She opened her eyes and met his stare. She couldn’t bring herself to lie, but she couldn’t say the word.

  “It’s not what?” he asked, his eyes wild. “Are you denying… You’re not denying it.”

  She said nothing. It was too much. He was too much.

  He is exactly what you need.

  “Do you know?” he insisted. “Do you hear it?”

  She lifted her chin. “I’m not talking about this right now.”

  His lips twisted and he dropped her hand. “You selfish, self-centered, arrogant woman. I’ve been nothing but honest with you from the beginning. I’ve hidden nothing. Nothing.”

  Rhys turned and walked back to the car, leaving Meera in the forest with the dust of the Grigori hanging in the air around her.

  They rode back to the hotel in silence, Meera sitting in the back seat, trying not to stare at the back of Rhys’s head while Roch tried to catch her eye in the rearview mirror.

  Awkward did not begin to describe it.

  They stopped at the hotel and Rhys jumped out of the truck, not even looking back as he walked to his room. He said nothing to either of them.

  Meera leaned against the truck and stared up at the moon as Roch came to stand beside her.

  “I can guess what that’s about, and I can’t say I envy him.”

  “Thanks so much,” Meera said. “Your support as a friend is noted.”

  “Hey,” he said. “If I’m guessing correctly what Rhys was hollering about, then I have no sympathy. Singers hold all the cards when you’re talking about finding your reshon.”

  “But how do you know?” she asked under her breath. “For sure? How do you know?”

  “Meera…” He gave her a little smile. “You know.”

  She knew. After the sound of his voice in her most vulnerable state, she no longer had any doubt. But what did that change?

  She said, “I have been told my whole life who and what I’m supposed to be. And now it feels like heaven above is conspiring to rob me of the one thing I’m supposed to be able to decide for myself.”

  Roch gave a hard laugh. “Me, myself, and I. Do you even hear it?”

  Meera blinked. “What?”

  “Meera, I love you, girl. You’re a hell of a woman and a good friend. But you can be self-centered as shit sometimes. No one blames you. You carry an enormous burden, and your life has been prescribed down to the minute. But have you thought about his side? About what caring for you means for a scribe like Rhys? It’s not gonna be rainbows and dancing. All people come with baggage, honey, but you come with a whole damn luggage store.”

  Meera was speechless.

  “Maybe a luggage museum,” Roch mused.

  “Thanks.”

  “But he’s still around. He knows who and what you are, and from what I can see, he hasn’t backed off. That ought to tell you something right there. Now imagine, on top of all that, there’s this one thing every scribe dreams of, and it’s wrapped up in a person who is hell-bent on keeping her walls up, and she won’t even give you a straight answer so you know which way is up.”

  Meera looked back up at the moon.

  “He wants you for you,” Roch said. “Look past your own fears and know that, because I can see it clear as day. Don’t be a contrary little shit just because it’s not something you thought up yourself.”

  She knew he was right, but Meera still bucked against the sense of inevitability. “It’s not that I object to him. I just…” She frowned. “I wanted to choose.”

  “There’s nothing stopping you from that,” Roch said. “It’s always gonna be your choice.”

  “It doesn’t feel like a choice. It feels like a surrender.”

  “Oh, my girl.” Roch smiled. “There’s so much beauty in surrender when you have a fine place to fall.” He pushed away from the truck. “You better get some sleep. Don’t decide anything tonight. Your emotions are all torn up after whatever that was in the forest. Speaking of which”—he leveled a hard look at her—“we’re gonna talk about that tomorrow, and you can count on that. I don’t even know what was going on there, but I know that was some very big magic.”

  “Roch—”


  “Not tonight. Get some sleep. I’m all outta wisdom for the day, and I need to go call my woman.”

  “Tell Sabine I said good night.”

  Roch gave her a short salute, then turned to walk inside.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rhys called Malachi as soon as he closed the door. Before his friend could even say hello, Rhys blasted him with the question that had been plaguing him for days. “Why are women so completely bloody maddening?”

  Malachi paused. “So I’m guessing you’ve come across some roadblocks in the mission.”

  “The mission is going fine, but this woman.” Rhys had to pause and take a deep breath. “The arrogance, Malachi. The stubborn arrogance.”

  “Well, that seems completely foreign; I can’t imagine having to deal with a person like that.”

  “Shut up and listen, you git.” He took a deep breath. “I think she’s my reshon.”

  Malachi was silent for a few moment. “Well… I’d say congratulations, but you don’t sound very pleased about it. Is she a complete nightmare?”

  “She’s bloody perfect!”

  “I thought you said she was arrogant, stubborn, and maddening.”

  “She is.”

  “And she’s… perfect.” Malachi laughed a little. “Okay. Fine then. Um… should I get Ava for this?”

  “You’re my best friend; you have to listen to me.” Rhys sat on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hand. “She’s the heir of Anamitra, Mal.”

  “You mentioned that suspicion. You’re sure now?”

  “Yes. And she’s brilliant. She’s powerful. Honorable. She cares deeply, even though I can tell it hurts her. She’s… unflinching.”

  “She sounds like an incredible woman. How do you know she’s your reshon?”

  “I asked her. There was a confrontation tonight. Long story, but she reached for me. She’d been using some very powerful magic on Grigori and her shields were down. After… when it got to be too much, she pressed her head to my hand and—”

  “You made the voices go away,” Malachi said softly. “Yes, we can do that for them.”

  Rhys swallowed the lump in his throat. “I used to think fate was rubbish. What did it mean to us, after all, when most of our chosen mates were probably dead? Who should count on a reshon when she was probably killed during the Rending? It was a mad hope for a lucky few. Our mission was more important than finding happiness for ourselves.”

  “Happiness is important too,” Malachi said. “If we’re too weary to see joy, then we lose our sense of purpose. Everyone needs something to fight for.”

  “When I see her, I see my purpose.” Rhys swallowed hard. “Finally I see it. All the places I’ve wandered. All the useless trails I’ve followed. They’ve all been leading to her. And she…”

  “She’s fighting it.”

  “Yes.”

  “Does she trust you?”

  “No.” He thought. “Some. More than at the beginning.”

  “That means she’s cautious. There’s nothing wrong with that; she has reason to be. Have you made your desires known?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is she not attracted to you?”

  Rhys scoffed, thinking about their kiss in the library. “That’s not the problem.”

  “Is there anyone else?”

  “I don’t think so. She’s dated human men in New Orleans.”

  “Humans,” Malachi scoffed. “Ava did that too. They never last long; human men can’t handle Irina.”

  Rhys rose and ran a hand through his hair. “I thought most singers want a reshon like scribes do.”

  “From what you’ve said, she doesn’t sound like most singers.”

  “She’s not.”

  Meera was the heir of Anamitra, heir of heaven’s wisdom. The repository of Irina memory on earth. Raised by her elders. Taken from her parents as soon as her magic was made evident. Nothing about Meera’s life had been normal. Everything had been prescribed…

  “Everything was decided for her,” Rhys murmured. “Where she lived. Whom she spent time with. What she ate and drank. Everyone around her is in her retinue.”

  “A very dutiful life,” Malachi said softly. “She must value what little independence she has achieved.”

  “Yes.” Rhys closed his eyes. “She doesn’t want a mate chosen by her parents. She doesn’t want a mate chosen by heaven either.”

  “No, I expect not.”

  “What do I do, brother?”

  “If she were not your reshon, would you still want her?”

  He’d wanted her almost from the moment he met her. He’d just been annoyed at the idea. “She is everything I want, even if I didn’t know it before.”

  Malachi said, “That’s beautiful, Rhys.”

  He squeezed his eyes closed. “Shut up and give me advice, Malachi.”

  “Okay, let me think.” There was a silence on the line. “She’s like you, isn’t she?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “She’s arrogant, impressed by her own intelligence, and likely to think her opinion is superior to everyone else’s?”

  “Well… yes.”

  “And she’s a language geek as well?”

  Rhys rolled his eyes. “What does that word even mean? It’s a derogatory term for eighteenth-century circus performers.”

  “I’m going to assume that means she is.” Malachi cleared his throat. “Excellent. Then all you need to do to convince her that you two belong together is to show her why falling in love with you is the most logical, sane, and productive path. If you show her that, continue to build trust, and practice patience, this will all work out. She needs to think this is her idea. Her choice. Not just another thing pushed on her from outside her own will. Persuade her, Rhys. Respectfully.”

  “I don’t want to persuade her. And I don’t want logical, sane, and patient,” Rhys growled. “I want to rip her clothes off and run away with her.”

  “I’m just following my instincts here, but I wouldn’t lead with that.”

  Rhys hung up the phone after fifteen more minutes of Malachi explaining to him why patience was a virtue. He was mostly convinced until he smelled Meera’s scent on his shirt from earlier in the evening and his arousal raged again.

  What was wrong with him? He was acting like a scribe barely out of the academy.

  She’s your reshon.

  Everything in him pushed to go to her, find her, and make sure she was safe and protected. Logically he knew her own magic was formidable and she didn’t need him to protect her. That didn’t seem to matter.

  Someone knocked on the door.

  Meera.

  Rhys opened it a second later. “Hello.”

  “I came to apologize for being self-centered.”

  He frowned. “That wasn’t why I was mad. You have every reason to look out for yourself.”

  Two lines formed between her eyebrows. “Then I don’t understand why you’re so angry with me.”

  “I’m angry with you because…” He glanced behind her and saw two humans walking their direction. “Come inside. Please.”

  She did, and Rhys closed the door behind her.

  The hotel was clean but not luxurious. He took a seat on the foot of the bed, allowing Meera to sit in the single available chair by the small table.

  “I would appreciate a straight answer,” he said. “Am I your reshon?”

  She was silent.

  “Understand,” he continued, “I do not take anything for granted. I don’t believe that entitles me to your affection or that it means our mating is inevitable. But each of us only has a single reshon in our lives, and I think I have a right to know if—”

  “Yes.” She said it simply with a deliberately blank expression on her face.

  Rhys couldn’t breathe for a moment.

  Yes.

  Reshon.

  There you are.

  Once his heart started again, he nodded. “Thank you for telling me.”
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br />   “I didn’t want to tell you in that field,” she said quietly. “Not right after we’d killed three men.”

  “That makes complete sense.”

  “I didn’t want to tell you at all,” she said. “Not until I knew what I wanted to do with the knowledge.”

  “It is not all about you,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “I disagree.” She folded her hands on her lap. “It’s not my job to guard your interests. It’s my job to guard my own.” Her expression was solemn. “You’ve already said you want me. I assumed that you would consider it an opportunity.”

  “An opportunity?”

  “Yes, for leverage.”

  “Leverage for what?”

  “To secure me as a mate.”

  “To secure…” Rhys forced himself to remain calm. “A mate isn’t something you secure, Meera.”

  She was silent.

  “You really haven’t spent much time around normal people, have you?”

  “Define normal.”

  “Fair point.” Rhys took a deep breath. “Do your parents love you?”

  “Yes.” Her expression softened. “I’ve always known that.”

  “And you love them?”

  “Obviously.”

  “You’re a woman with power and influence. Do they use your love to gain advantages? To secure anything?”

  “No. They’re my parents.”

  “And I am your reshon.” He tried not to trip over the words. I am your reshon. He wanted to shout it. Wanted to whisper it against her lips. Wanted to write the words on her skin.

  Patience.

  He could tell she was discomfited by the words, but he said them again. “I am your reshon, Meera. I don’t consider that an opportunity. I consider it a gift.”

  He couldn’t interpret her expression. Surprise, maybe? The surprise angered him, but it also made him want to kiss her. He slid from the bed to kneel before her, taking her soft cheeks in his hands. His thumbs brushed across the flawless copper skin, and he stared at her lips, a deep pink fuller on the bottom than the top.

  “I spend a lot of time thinking about your mouth,” he murmured.