She couldn’t return the embrace, her arms too stiff, the glass still in her hand.
“I never meant for you to witness any of that,” he whispered, his hand rubbing her back. “It’s a harsh world, but there are moments of light. If you allow me, I’ll introduce you to some of them.”
Stas snorted. Light? Yeah, right.
He sighed, pulling back to cup her cheeks between his hands, his dark eyes capturing hers as they opened. “Please tell me what you’re thinking.”
Her eyebrows rose. “You want to know what I’m thinking?” The words sounded normal now, unlike in the car, her throat properly working again. But they were also edged in an incredulity she couldn’t hide.
Relief flourished in his features. “Yes, I very much would.”
“Okay.” She could do that. “I’m thinking about this.” She pointed to the bite mark on her neck. “And about how Ichorians are apparently vampires, not angels. I have no idea what the fuck a Hydraian is, but obviously, they’re not welcome here. And helping one, or a fledgling like me, earns the culprit a death sentence. But not just any standard sentence. No, you’re burned alive. Like my parents. And Owen.”
Images of charred flesh flashed behind her eyes. Fuck, she felt queasy. Like, really, really queasy.
She spun to set the glass in the sink and gripped the counter beside it, lowering her forehead to the cool marble. Issac gathered her hair away from her neck, the air cooling her skin.
Stas swallowed once. Twice. Calming her insides and willing the contents of her stomach to stay there.
“Your parents were murdered in the same style as Owen and Sierra?” he asked softly.
Of course he chose that topic. “Yes.”
“You witnessed it?”
“I was hiding in the fucking trees while that monster tortured and maimed my mother, then set my father on fire for her to watch.” Her knees wobbled, her mother’s screams haunting her thoughts. Stas had wanted to go to her, to help her, but a hand had held her back. Whose? she wondered for the millionth time. Her mind refused her, only providing her with a partial memory that felt altered on some level she couldn’t understand. Psychologically she understood it was a defense mechanism, her seven-year-old self’s way of protecting her, but one day, she’d break down that wall and remember everything.
She rolled her forehead against the marble, aware that she must look deranged, and not caring. The cool texture felt good against her clammy skin.
“It’s believed that Ichorians descend from a cursed line of fallen angels, and the curse requires my kind to drink human blood to survive. Not daily, or even weekly, but enough to remain breathing. Some indulge in it more than others.” Issac’s thumb brushed her pulse. “This mark declares you as mine.”
Startled by his admission, she stopped moving her head. “Why?”
“To protect you.”
She straightened slowly, his words slowly registering.
He gripped the counter on either side of her hips as she turned to face him. “Do you want to know how a fledgling is created?” he asked.
She nearly rolled her eyes but refrained due to the headache brewing behind them. “You know I do.”
“By a male Ichorian parent, which means your father was an Ichorian. The fact that you knew him as a child tells me he broke several Blood Laws. He not only created a fledgling, meaning you, but he also allowed you to live. I’m guessing that is what brought about his death sentence. Your mother was just a casualty of being with the wrong man.”
She stiffened, her hands tightening into fists at her sides. “Are you saying it’s their fault for being brutally murdered? That they brought about their own fate by creating me?”
“Of course not. Their fate was the fault of antiquated Ichorian laws.”
Not what she expected him to say. She relaxed marginally, her limbs beginning to tingle from fatigue. She really should have removed her shoes at the door. Because ow.
“So, you don’t agree with the rules,” she said, noting his tone.
“You being alive makes that obvious.”
True. Except… “You’re only keeping me alive because I’m the perfect pawn.” The words tasted bitter in her mouth, as did the memory of him saying them. Was that only last night? Because it felt like a year had passed since the gala.
“Hmm, I see that bothered you.” He tilted his head, gaze thoughtful. “You are indeed the perfect pawn, Astasiya. But that’s not why I risked my life for you tonight.” He brushed a strand of her hair away from her face, his thumb tracing her cheek. “I meant to introduce you slowly to my world, to not overwhelm you. Alas, that’s no longer possible.”
She swallowed. “Yes, I think tonight was the equivalent of being thrown into the deep end of the pool.” And Issac had been her life raft.
“I’d liken it more to the darkest depths of the ocean, but yes.” He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her. “There is still so much you don’t yet understand.”
An understatement. Her head fell to his chest as she returned his embrace. It felt so natural, so right, to melt into him, to borrow his strength, to bathe in the heat of his body.
This is so wrong.
He’s a demon.
His friends took home a human slave, for fuck’s sake.
She stiffened at that last thought. “What will happen with the girl?” she asked, his button-down shirt muffling her words.
“The prostitute?”
She nodded, not sure she wanted the answer, but needing it all the same.
“She’ll be saved,” he murmured, his fingers combing her hair. “Another aspect you don’t yet understand that I intend to rectify. But trust me, she’s safe.”
Trust me. Two words that requested so much of her. This man had evaded her questions at every turn while also providing her with more information on the supernatural than anyone else in her existence ever had.
A conundrum that left her dizzy.
And in her current state, she couldn’t ponder it much more. Stas needed a few hours of sleep, to recharge and face another day.
Her legs shook, her limbs threatening to give out on her. Holding back her emotions all evening had taken a toll not just on her mind but also on her body.
She was fucking exhausted.
Her eyes closed, her breathing steadying. The bedroom was so, so far away. She didn’t have the energy, didn’t want to even try, just wanted to lie here for a few moments and rest.
“I can’t,” she whispered, her fingers curling into his shirt. “Issac, I… I can’t.”
He must have understood her because he lifted her into his arms, carrying her with ease to her room. That he knew which one was hers confirmed he’d been here before, which she already knew—he’d packed her a suitcase earlier this week.
Only a few days ago?
Time was moving abnormally slow for how fast everything seemed to be happening.
Her mattress reminded her of heaven as he set her down. Pajama pants and a tank top seemed to appear beside her seconds later, his concerned expression flickering in and out of focus.
“Can you dress yourself?” he asked softly. “Or would you like assistance?”
So formal.
As if he hadn’t just asked if he could remove her clothes. Of course, he hadn’t meant it that way. Maybe he should. No. No, that wasn’t a good idea at all. Except it sounded like an amazing plan to forget everything.
Okay, yeah, that’s not happening.
Stas forced herself to sit up and twirled her finger, signaling him to turn around. He smirked but did as she requested.
Wait, he should probably just leave…
She’d handle that in a minute.
Shoes first—on the floor. Good.
Dress next. She reached around to fiddle with the zipper, tugging on it unsuccessfully. Damn. This was one of those dresses where she had to zip it up in the front, then twist it because the damn hook sat right between her shoulder blades.
S
he huffed a breath.
All right. Either she slept in the dress or she asked him to help. And as he’d already offered, she might as well take advantage.
“Can you help me unzip my dress?” It came out rougher than she intended. She blamed the exertion of trying to grasp the zipper for her shortness of breath.
He rotated and eyed the fabric glued to her body. “I’ll need you to stand.”
Right. Yeah. This really wasn’t an ideal position at all.
He held out a hand to assist her, which she only accepted because she didn’t trust herself not to face-plant on the carpet. Who knew emotional burnout carried similar side effects to drinking too much alcohol? Because she felt drunk as fuck.
Issac gathered all her hair over one shoulder and traced the material along her upper back to the zipper, then drew it down far too slowly. Almost hypnotically so. Or maybe time was messing with her head again. She really couldn’t tell the difference anymore, her reality fracturing into a sea of absolute madness.
The dress loosened around her top, causing her hands to lift automatically to keep it against her chest as he exposed more of her spine.
Almost there.
Any second now.
His lips caressed the back of her neck, eliciting a shiver from deep within. She nearly dropped the dress, her instincts to melt into him overriding logic, but his touch disappeared in the next breath.
She glanced over her shoulder to find him facing the wall again, hands in his pockets.
Stas swallowed, a hint of disappointment pricking her chest. A reaction that made absolutely no sense whatsoever. This was neither the time nor the place. Not to mention, she’d hardly enjoy it in this state. And neither would he.
Dropping her dress, she pulled on the pajama pants and tank top, and collapsed on the bed from the exertion. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d been this tired.
“I’m decent,” she managed to say with a yawn.
“Not the adjective I’d use to describe you,” he replied as he sat near the headboard of the bed. “Come here, love.”
Love. She puzzled over the word, not sure she heard it right. Though it was a very English thing to say, and his accent clearly thickened with the term.
He raised an eyebrow when she didn’t move, and patted the pillow.
Demands in the bedroom never bothered her. Actually, she preferred them.
And this one was not an exception to the rule.
She crawled up to the pillows ungracefully and curled into a ball beside him as he pulled the blankets over her. Mmm, so nice. Comfortable. Warm.
His fingers ran through her hair, his lips against her forehead. “I’m sorry about your parents, Astasiya. I’m sorry about tonight, too. And Owen. If I could change fate’s cruelty, I would.”
She lifted her eyes to his, lost in the cloudiness of the moment. “Is it always that way? Your Conclaves?”
He sighed, lying down beside her on top of the blankets, one arm hooking beneath his head as he stared at the ceiling. “The Conclave is our governing board, so to speak. A show of power to keep everyone in line and they only occur when someone breaks a Blood Law.”
“How many Blood Laws are there?”
“Three primary rules, all involving fledglings and Hydraians.” He glanced sideways at her. “As you may have guessed, my kind is not fond of the other immortals.”
“And you?” she asked softly. “How do you feel about Hydraians?”
“I think that should be obvious to you by now given what I’ve already stated about the archaic laws.” His dark lashes fell, fanning his defined cheekbones. “Good night, Astasiya.”
She blinked at him. “You’re staying?” Wait, why is he even here?
“Apparently.”
“Why?”
“It feels right.” He looked at ease, like he stayed in her room all the time.
“And you typically sleep in a dress shirt and pants?” It wouldn’t surprise her. She rarely saw him in anything else.
One eye peeled open to look at her. “Are you giving me permission to undress?”
“Depends. What do you have on under that?”
He grinned, lowering his lashes again. “Go to sleep.”
With you in my room? “Easier said than done.” Except, his presence here did feel right. Like a comfort she’d never known. As if destiny had placed him here with a purpose—a good one.
She frowned, uncertain if her instincts were fried from the insanity of the day or if a moment of clarity had surfaced.
Regardless, she needed to sleep.
If Issac had wanted to hurt her, he could have done so several times over. Instead, he seemed to keep saving her.
Because he needs me alive.
Or maybe… maybe he wants me alive, too.
Banishing the inane thoughts, she reached over and turned off the lamp, shadowing the room in darkness.
After a few hours of rest, she’d be able to think more clearly and figure out why she thought Issac staying over was a sound idea.
Yes. Good plan.
Too drained to think anymore, she closed her eyes.
And fell into the dark abyss.
16
Water Nightmares
Stas couldn’t breathe.
Thick black bands held her legs hostage as she tried to kick to the surface. Water clogged her airways, trapping her screams inside.
Yet, she lived.
Her body begged for oxygen.
Her skin decaying from years—decades—of living beneath the surface.
Her blonde strands resembling ash.
Everything hurt. Her heart, most of all. She missed him, her other half, her—
Oh, not again. Please, not again!
Slipping. Dripping into the world of nothing. Dying. Again.
Except she didn’t; she remained waiting, her consciousness nagging at the obvious.
This isn’t really happening.
The water swirled around her, a whirlpool of sensation whirling her into an inky hell and throwing her into a spotlight glistening off marble tiles.
Osiris.
He sat on the throne, his cruel lips twisted in delight. A bloody razor sat beside him and a scalp of blonde hair. Stas touched her head, feeling the blood and gore, her lips parting on a silent scream no one could hear.
Oh, fuck, he found her! He knew!
And now she sat bound to the chair, leather ropes holding her down as he chuckled maliciously before her. She sobbed, begging him to stop, not wanting to die like this, here and now. She didn’t mean to fall into this world, didn’t know why she existed.
Please don’t! Please, not again!
Astasiya! Find—
Stas flew upward on a gasp, her lungs screaming for air. Her throat felt sore, used, horribly raw. She couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breathe fast enough, her heartbeat in her ears.
“Astasiya.” The voice penetrated the drumming only barely. Masculine. Deep. Familiar.
Heat enveloped her, hands on her face, lips in her hair.
She struggled, alarmed by the presence of another, only to inhale the soothing scent of sandalwood. Issac. She collapsed against him, her face meeting his bare skin, his arms forming a protective shield around her back.
He’s here.
I’m safe.
Stas shuddered, bits and pieces of the too-real nightmare flashing behind her eyes. A deep ache stirred in her chest, her mother’s broken features so clear and vivid in her mind. It’d been her mother tied to that chair, begging for help before drowning all over again.
“He wouldn’t let her move,” she whispered on a sob, the vision flickering between her mother and Sierra. “The razor…” She buried her face against his shoulder, needing his familiarity and warmth.
“I know,” he murmured, stroking her hair down to her back. “But you’re safe here. I won’t let that happen to you, Astasiya.”
The vow in his voice circled her heart, soothing some of the pain radiating through
her body. Still, Osiris’s eyes haunted her, his malicious smile as he wielded that blade forever ingrained in her memory.
Just like the man who burned her parents alive.
She didn’t see him tonight, had searched for him, wondering if he’d appear. Some part of her knew he wasn’t there, the part that swore she’d recognize him without even seeing him. He had a lethal presence about him—a memorable one.
Issac’s lips brushed her temple, his hands sliding over her, providing the comfort she craved. It went against reason to trust him, to give in to the lure of his protection, yet she did it with ease, as if they’d been doing this all their lives.
I trust him, she realized. Perhaps not logically, but she did nonetheless. Her breathing slowly returned to normal, her gaze clearing as Issac continued to caress her, his touch working magic against her back and neck.
She swallowed, her palms and legs informing her of his current state. He’d undressed while she slept, leaving him clad in only a pair of boxers. One of her thighs had lodged between his, the top of which absorbed the heat of his groin. And her hands had ended up on his bare shoulders, clutching his strength.
I’m cuddling a nearly naked Issac. In my bed.
“I can’t remember the last time I had to wake someone the old-fashioned way,” he said softly, completely unaware of the shift in her mind and the fresh wave of warmth flooding her veins. “Your immunity to my gift is quite tiresome.”
She cleared her throat, her brow furrowing, not following his comment. “Your invisibility?”
“My invisibility?” he repeated.
“Yeah, your gift, right?” How would that help wake her up?
He chuckled, the sound warm and affectionate and not at all helping to dispel the heat flooding her body. “That’s cute. Invisibility isn’t my gift.” He started massaging a tense spot on her neck, sending tingles down her spine.
Oh, so not helping with the attraction problem, but definitely not going to ask him to stop. Because wow, that feels… mmm.
“I control vision,” he continued, his fingers working her muscles with expert precision. “The day we met, I was hiding my presence from everyone in the building by controlling their sight. Except it didn’t work on you. I tried to access your visual receptors tonight, and I mean, I really tried, but your nightmare eluded me. Your mind is dark to me.”
Vote Then Read: Volume I Page 139
