Blood Heart

by Lexi C. Foss

  Well, screw her.

  She powered up the mobile and snorted at the myriad of messages filling the screen.

  Ridiculous.

  Sending a babysitter to check up on her like she was ten years old and not twenty-four.

  Delete, delete, delete.

  She didn’t even bother reading a single one. They would all say variants of the same thing.

  We’re so disappointed in you. Why can’t you be a better daughter? Is this because you can’t fit into the dress I sent you? I told you to start dieting.

  Blah, blah, blah.

  She turned to find Charlie leaning against the entry to her kitchen, blocking her path to the dining area. His familiarity and ease with entering her condo created a stir of unease inside—different from Jayson, who merely irritated her. The Sentinel boasted a presumptuous air that left a sour taste in her mouth.

  “Everything okay, ma’am?” he asked in that professional tone.

  All the Sentinels addressed her in this manner.

  Well, except Tom. He always teased her the way an older brother would, but that had to do with them being raised together.

  As for the others, she suspected her dad had something to do with it. Or maybe Tom’s father, John—who was their boss and the CRF’s CEO—had told the Sentinels to address her formally. The man treated her like a daughter, a habit formed out of being best friends with her father.

  “I’m fine,” she replied. “Thank you for stopping by.” Years of practice in being polite kept her tone even and calm, despite her innate need to scream. It wasn’t his fault her parents sent him here to check up on her.

  She escorted him back to the foyer where he had closed and locked the door, but he paused upon seeing the pizza boxes and wine on her table.

  “Do you have company, ma’am?”

  “I really hate when you all call me that,” she grumbled. “It makes me feel old.”

  He didn’t smile or react but continued to stare at her while waiting for an answer. The professional act felt cold and sterile. She could be naked and he’d probably still address her the same way.

  “I had a friend over, but he left,” she finally said. “Do you want to take some of the pizza with you?” Jayson had ordered two boxes, one of which he finished himself and the other still had seven of the eight pieces left.

  “No, but thank you, ma’am. What was the friend’s name?”

  She blinked. “What does it matter?”

  “Just trying to provide a full report back to Mister Watkins.”

  Uh-huh. Her father couldn’t care less. This had her mother’s touch all over it.

  “Well, you can tell my father that if he wants my friend’s name, he can call me himself.” She opened the door while speaking and cast a saccharine smile at Charlie. “Since you don’t want any food, I imagine you’ll be going now.”

  The Sentinel cast an uneasy glance around the condo. “Is your friend still here?”

  “Do you see him here?” she countered, irritated.

  “Right.” He tipped his blond head at her and exited. “My apologies for the interruption, ma’am.”

  “You’re forgiven, sir,” she retorted as she closed and locked the door.

  Now her mother would get an earful on Lizzie’s lack of manners. Her parents could add it to their pile of her shortcomings.

  And they could add this text message as well.

  You can call off the CRF lackeys, Mother, she typed. I’m fine.

  The reply came five minutes later, indicating Charlie had already delivered his report.

  What male friend did you have over?

  Of course her mother wanted that information. No one you know.

  Clearly, no one I want to know if he felt you need to indulge in pizza. That is not a solution to being unable to wear your dress, Elizabeth. I’ll schedule an appointment with Doctor Schwartz next week.

  The nutritionist. Great. Have a good night, Mother.

  Lizzie threw her phone onto the table, grabbed a pillow, and screamed. She hadn’t bothered to try on the size four dress because she knew the damn thing wouldn’t fit her boobs.

  Lizzie wore a solid six. It had been that way since high school, much to her willowy mother’s chagrin. Over a decade of ballet and strict eating hadn’t stopped her curves from flaring, and the last five years of eating how she wanted hadn’t added to her body, either.

  “Cheers.” She toasted her mother with a slice of pizza from the table and enjoyed it with more wine. So much for her productive evening.

  *

  Fifteen minutes.

  That’s how long the Sentinels lasted at Jayson’s pace through the park. He ran in circles for another half hour before exiting near The Pierre—a favorite meeting place over the last century.

  Jayson nodded to the doorman at the Fifth Avenue entrance before skipping up the checkered stairs to the first-floor lobby. He wandered through the plush seating area and found Tristan waiting in the elevator bay with a female hotel employee.

  Always flirting, Jayson thought, grinning.

  “Ah, here’s my friend now,” the Ichorian murmured with a wink to the blonde beside him. “Thank you, lovely, for keeping me company. Perhaps we’ll meet again?”

  The woman simpered, as they always did in Tristan’s presence. His Irish lilt, seductive charm, and rich demeanor embodied the female dream, and his reasonably good looks, athletic form, and dimpled smile helped, too. What his conquests failed to notice was the incredibly lethal nature lurking behind those forest-green eyes.

  Or maybe they did realize it and enjoyed the potential challenge of taming the predator.

  Her reply was lost to the arriving elevator. Jayson gave the lady a nod while Tristan brushed a kiss against her wrist—an intentional move to test her pulse.

  “Hungry?” Jayson joked as the doors closed.

  “Starved,” Tristan replied. “But I’ll handle my appetite later.”

  “Well, she certainly seems willing.”

  “Most of them are,” the Ichorian replied as the doors opened to the 17th floor. “How was your run?”

  Jayson shrugged. “Uneventful.”

  “Pity.” Ichorians loved blood, but Tristan thrived on violence. Still, Jayson trusted the Ichorian despite his proclivities and immortal race, because of ancient family ties.

  But that didn’t mean he always liked the sadistic leech.

  Mateo opened the door before they could knock, and let them inside. Luc and Balthazar stood near the windows, observing the skyline, while Jacque relaxed on the bed and flipped through channels on the television.

  Jayson grinned at his best friends, happy to see them after six weeks of living in solitude above Lizzie Watkins’s condo. All their planning sessions and conversations were over the phone due to the danger of them visiting in person, something they clearly ignored tonight.

  “You need to get laid,” was Balthazar’s greeting. Typical. The notorious god of deviance probably pitied Jayson’s temporary vow of chastity. But he couldn’t afford any distractions, women included.

  “I’m missing Brazil right about now,” Jayson admitted.

  Balthazar nodded solemnly. “I’m already planning your return party.”

  “Excellent.” Jayson focused on Luc and folded his arms. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  As the leader and king of the Hydraian race, venturing into New York City was a serious risk. Ichorians would love a reason to kill Luc—not that he would ever give them one—but his presence here put several lives at risk. Specifically, Mateo’s and Tristan’s.

  Ichorians had strict laws about fraternizing with Hydraians. Just being in this room sentenced Mateo and Tristan to death, not that they seemed bothered.

  Centuries of skirting the rules and meeting in private bolstered their confidence, but chatter in the immortal community suggested Ichorians were falling under harsher scrutiny by their governing power, the Conclave.

  But what concerned Jayson more were the rumo
rs about immortals actively looking for ways to break the tenuous balance of power between Ichorians and Hydraians. Killing Luc, the leader of his kind, would be an excellent way to ignite chaos and start a war. Something everyone in this room preferred to avoid.

  “Next time, send Jacque to collect me and we’ll meet somewhere safer,” Jayson continued. “For all our sakes.”

  “A hundred bucks,” Jacque boasted from the bed, his silver gaze on Mateo.

  “I didn’t accept your bet,” the blond Ichorian replied flatly. “I owe you nothing.”

  “Jacque guessed you would demand that,” Luc explained. “And I’m perfectly safe at the moment.” The stubborn brute crossed his strong arms and narrowed his emerald orbs at Jayson. “I’m here to reiterate that although you’ve established contact with the subject, you can’t fuck her.”

  “Seriously?” Jayson was almost offended. He glanced at the more reasonable of the two. “It’s like he doesn’t trust me, B.”

  Balthazar shrugged. “I’ve told him it’s a ridiculous edict, but you know how inflexible he gets.”

  “True. Maybe he’s the one who needs to get laid?” Jayson suggested.

  “An accurate assessment,” his friend agreed. “By a certain dark-haired fledgling, maybe?”

  Jayson’s eyebrows inched upward. Eliza? he asked silently, knowing his mind-reading friend would hear him.

  Balthazar nodded in confirmation.

  Interesting. All of the exchanges Jayson had witnessed between Luc and Eliza were heated debates where she questioned his authority.

  It surprised them all, considering her experience with a hoard of sadistic Ichorians and her less-than-pleasant attendance at a recent Conclave, but the woman possessed an ironclad will to survive. Her personality started to resurface after a few weeks of feeling safe in Hydria. Some of it was a result of Balthazar using his gift for emotions to assist her in the healing process, but most of it stemmed from her innate strength.

  I’m sorry to be missing the fireworks, Jayson admitted.

  “It’s quite a show,” Balthazar replied, grinning. “I’ll send you updates.”

  Please do.

  “Are you two done acting like children?” Luc asked, his emerald gaze flickering with irritation. “And I already told you that’s never happening. Eliza’s a child.” He turned to the blond Ichorian in the corner. “What are our next steps?”

  And back to business already.

  Mateo glanced up from his phone. “I want to check our surveillance in her condo since we put it there over six weeks ago—I know the CRF hasn’t detected it, but it never hurts to refresh the equipment. And I’d suggest you all use it as an opportunity to look for anything related to the serum.”

  Ah, the reason for all of this. Whisking Lizzie off to Hydria and telling her the truth would make all this easier, but the Hydraian Elders, Jayson included, had voted to withhold the information from her while they assessed the situation.

  Tom, the son of the CRF’s CEO, was a recently acquired ally with a wealth of helpful information. Part of his debrief included information regarding Lizzie. She required some sort of medication to stay alive, but no one knew what or how the organization administered it. Hence Jayson’s purpose in New York City.

  He had observed her for six weeks to no avail, and their contact on the inside hadn’t gathered anything useful. Luc opted to escalate the plan because time was running short. They needed answers—and fast—before they could decide how to proceed with Miss Watkins.

  “When?” Luc pressed, his focus still on the blond.

  “Issac suggested Tuesday,” Mateo replied. “Something about Stas working late with Stark and Jonathan.”

  “Excellent.” Luc turned his intelligent gaze on Jayson. “We’ll need you to distract Elizabeth while Stas handles CRF interference.”

  “Oh, I’ll distract her plenty.” And enjoy every minute. “But you can’t search her condo, Luc. Send someone else.” Luc might be his leader and king, but on this, Jayson would not falter. “It’s too dangerous.”

  In a rare moment of seriousness, Balthazar said, “I agree. We’ll send Grace and Ash with Jacque.” His brown gaze met and held Luc’s as a one-sided debate ensued between them. “We’ll send Alik with them, too.” Silence. A nod. “She’ll say yes, and you know it.”

  Those final words helped Jayson follow the debate. “Grace is ready,” he said. “Saying otherwise is an insult to her training.” Which he took personally, since he’d been the one to provide it.

  Sparkling green eyes met his and narrowed. “I refuse to risk one so young.”

  “Nine hundred is hardly young, Luc.” Jayson shook his head. “You can’t do everything, and I’m confident she’ll handle it. Besides, her ability to read the history of objects will come in handy.”

  Balthazar ran his fingers through his dark hair and shook his head at whatever Luc was thinking. “I’ll work on him, Jay. For now, we need to get moving.”

  Luc refocused the discussion. “Anything else to report on?”

  Always so serious.

  “He does need to relax more,” Balthazar agreed. The mind reader never gave anyone any privacy, something that used to irritate the hell out of Jayson, but after three thousand years of knowing the bastard, he was used to it. Besides, his ability to hear thoughts made him the best wingman imaginable. “I love you, too, Jay.”

  Jayson grinned before recalling Luc’s question. “I’m good for now.”

  Luc nodded his blond head as if he expected as much. “I wish we could stay longer, Jay, but…”

  “You shouldn’t have come to begin with,” Jayson finished for him. “Get going before the bloodsuckers track you down.”

  “I take offense to that,” Tristan murmured, speaking for the first time since entering the room.

  “Says the one thinking about his meal downstairs,” Balthazar remarked, amused. “She sounds delectable.”

  “Oh, she will be.” Tristan grinned. “Does that mean I’m dismissed to enjoy my evening?”

  Mateo rolled his eyes. “Sure. I’ll report to Issac on your behalf.”

  “Brilliant. I’ll escort Jayson downstairs before I seduce my snack.”

  “How gentlemanly of you,” Jayson joked before nodding at Balthazar and Luc. “Go home.”

  They returned the nod while Jacque hopped off the bed. “Teleporter at your service.” He gave a mock bow before extending his hands. “Nice to see you, Jay.”

  “Likewise,” he replied as the three of them disappeared into thin air.

  Bye, old friends.

  A touch of envy caressed his chest.

  He didn’t so much miss home as his people.

  And his own bed. And his pool. And the food.

  He sighed. The sooner he solved this case, the better.

  Jayson faced the Ichorians. Tristan stood ready, his expression bored, while his counterpart remained focused on his phone.

  “We’re all set for Tuesday,” Mateo said as he typed something onto the screen. “Issac says to have Lizzie out by six in the evening.”

  “It’s a date,” Jayson replied. “Shall we?”

  “Indeed.” Tristan fixed his already immaculate suit jacket and tie and led the way.

  With nods to each other, they parted from the elevator, and Jayson left the Ichorian to his evening of seduction.

  Jayson walked most of the way home, his eyes vigilant as he moved through the park. He was almost disappointed to find no Sentinels waiting for him on 79th Street.

  Another early night for me.

  He nodded to the night doorman, wondering only briefly how the Sentinel had gotten past him to enter. Probably a show of identification, or perhaps the man was on a guest list of sorts. He’d check that later.

  Three flights of stairs later, he was at his door and paused.

  A shift in the air provided him a millisecond of warning before someone fired a bullet.

  From inside his condo.

  In the direction
of his head.

  Jayson engaged his affinity for metal as he fell to a crouch.

  “Fuck,” he muttered as he caught the succession of bullets too late. They pelted his door with soft thuds, denting the wood. “Damn it.”

  At least it wasn’t CRF issued. Those fuckers would have exploded into flames. Incendiary bullets were the organization’s deadliest invention yet, and Jayson hated them.

  But that meant a non-Sentinel was in his condo.

  And the bastard had deadly aim.

  Jayson located the source of the mayhem and bent the gun with his mind as he entered his condo and dove into the dining room. Two knives graced his palms as he found them beneath the table, and he threw them at the source.

  But the asshole caught them in midair with one hand and paused to examine the craftsmanship. “Beautiful,” the Ichorian murmured. “I’ll be keeping these since you just destroyed my favorite pistol.”

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t have fired it at me,” Jayson growled.

  The uninvited visitor stood to his full height. “I had to ensure you were still a worthy opponent, and you proved as qualified as ever, Jedrick.”

  God, that name. Jayson hadn’t heard it in over a millennium. “I go by Jayson now, or Jay.”

  The black-haired immortal shut the front door before leaning against it and folding his lean arms. “Really? Why?”

  “You don’t ever change your name, Ezekiel?”

  He laughed. “Actually, it’s Kiel right now.”

  “Kiel,” Jayson repeated. “Like kill?”

  “A brilliant play on words, no? Can’t say the same about Jayson. A bit boring, if you ask me.”

  “I wasn’t asking.” Jayson pushed off the floor and wiped his hands on his shorts. “And I preferred Zeke,” he admitted, referring to an old nickname. Though Kiel suited the Nizari assassin well. “What are you doing here?”

  “Ah, now isn’t that the question of the night?” Ezekiel shrugged out of his leather jacket and hung it on the door. All-black clothes lurked beneath, befitting the immortal’s profession of choice. He was one of the most renowned fledgling assassins in history and Jayson’s notorious rival, yet the two of them had a strange camaraderie, as well; an unspoken agreement that should one of them die it would be by the other’s hand.