by Lexi C. Foss
Balthazar handed him another one without missing a beat. “That’s not going to happen, Stas. Wakefield goes alone.” He must have been responding to her thoughts, because her eyes narrowed.
“She’s my best friend.” The fire in her gaze was admirable, but shadowed by heartache. No way could she go in there and think clearly. Jayson understood because he felt the same. Emotion superseded reason. “And he killed my parents,” she reminded them, sounding broken.
“Which is why you won’t react rationally when you see him,” Balthazar replied softly. “You won’t be helpful; you’ll be a hindrance.”
“The only way Issac will be able to focus enough to get Elizabeth out of there alive is if he knows you’re here safe and sound,” Luc added, his logic infallible. “Otherwise, you risk never seeing your best friend again.”
“Lucian’s right,” Issac murmured. “You remember the Arcadia, Aya. We barely survived your first trip, and if forced to choose, it will always be you.” He cupped her cheek and pulled her close. “I need to do this alone, love. You know that as well as I do, just as you know this is something I’m doing only for you.”
“You’re also too valuable. I’m all for you making your own decisions, but this would put your life at an unnecessary risk. If you walk in there spouting commands, Ezekiel will slaughter you on sight, and I will not allow that to happen.” Luc’s voice was uncharacteristically soft, but underlined in authority. He always chose his battles wisely, and this was one he would fight if she demanded it. Jayson would fight with him, as would Balthazar and Alik, if needed.
Stas pressed her forehead to Issac’s chest as Balthazar nodded, his way of subtly letting everyone know she’d agreed to Luc’s implied edict. Even with her emotions running high, she could perceive and admire logic. The woman would become a fine Hydraian one day, whenever she chose to accept her fate.
“What will you do?” Tom asked with a quiet intensity. “I’ve read Ezekiel’s file. He won’t just hand her over to you.”
Issac ran his fingers through Stas’s hair and kissed her gently on the forehead before taking a step back, his game face firmly in place. “I’m not concerned, Thomas.”
Not so much arrogance as well-earned confidence. Issac knew how to handle this type of situation, but it killed a part of Jayson to sit back and wait. He ran a hand over his face and fought the urge to break more shit in Balthazar’s house.
This furious reaction was so unlike him. Not even news of Amelia’s captivity had impacted him like this, and he’d definitely been angry then. Yet he’d been able to remain levelheaded and calm while thinking through a solution.
Meanwhile, Lizzie had him wanting to go to the Arcadia himself to retrieve her—something he knew defied reason and comprehension. Just seconds ago he’d been commending Stas’s ability to remain intelligent in this situation, and now he craved his own version of vengeance all over again.
Something is seriously wrong with me, B.
The nudge against his arm said they would work it out.
If only Jayson believed him. The notion of Issac saving Lizzie on his behalf grated. Walking into the Arcadia would be a suicide mission for any Elder, even one who could distort his appearance. Jayson understood that on a level, but relying on someone else to do it for him—
“Is the smart plan,” Balthazar whispered, answering Jayson’s thoughts. “You try to go with him, and Alik will knock you out.”
“I’d like to see him try,” Jayson muttered.
“He’s waiting outside,” Balthazar informed, voice pitched low for Jayson’s ears alone. “That man knows all of us better than he’ll ever admit.”
“Doesn’t make him any less of an asshole.”
“Truth,” B agreed and took a swig of his water to hide his grin. Leave it to the mind reader to provide amusement under otherwise damning circumstances.
“You rang,” Jacque announced as he appeared in the middle of the living area, wearing a pair of pajama bottoms and nothing else.
“Elizabeth decided to visit the Arcadia while we were discussing how to break the news to her tomorrow,” Luc explained.
Issac smoothed a hand down his tie as he added, “Yes. It seems I require a lift back to the city.”
13
Let’s Play a Game of Truth
Subject appears to be acclimating to collegiate life as expected. Cataloging all social interactions for future review.
—Entry Log 118.10.4-7
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Kiel said as Lizzie paced the small area between their table and the solid glass wall.
It had all happened so fast that she’d barely had a chance to react. Not that she’d gotten far. Kiel’s arm had felt like granite around her waist as he yanked her backward into the space she explored now—a rectangular path, measuring/approximately three feet by two feet, beside the booth.
The club goers were all completely unfazed. A few watched her as one might an animal in a zoo, while the others went about their business as if this happened every day.
Because makeshift pods were apparently normal here.
Lizzie rubbed her arms in a poor attempt to warm them and continued exploring her little nook. The glass appeared solid and thick and impenetrable for all intents and purposes. Whatever switch Kiel had used to deploy it remained hidden to her, but if she found it, she could escape.
And then what? Run?
She almost laughed. Kiel had already proven his reflexes far surpassed hers. Lizzie was stuck here until he either let her go or got to the point.
“What do you want?” she demanded, or tried to, anyway. It came out far softer and a little shakier than intended.
“Desire plays no part in why we find ourselves in this situation, darling. I’m merely here to give you information and nothing more.”
“Yeah?” She finally looked at him. “Information about what?”
“Let’s start with Tom Fitzgerald. He’s a friend of yours, yes?”
Goose bumps filed a path down her spine. She didn’t want to talk about this with anyone, certainly not with a stranger who had trapped her in a glass box. “Did you know him?”
“Not personally, no.” Kiel paused to sip his deep-red drink and gave her a sinister smile. “What would you say if I told you Tom is very much alive and well?”
She frowned. “I’d call you cruel and heartless.”
“Both adequate adjectives, I assure you, but in this instance, neither are applicable. Because although you and the rest of the human race were led to believe he died heroically on some mission, I’m here to give you the truth. Would you like that?”
“I’d like you to let me out of this cage,” she countered.
He clucked his tongue. “That wasn’t what I asked. What if I could provide proof, right now, that Tom is alive? Would you listen to me then?”
She gaped at him. This had to be some sort of twisted joke, but she couldn’t see the purpose. He already stated he didn’t know Tom, yet he implied he knew about her friendship with him—something she never mentioned to Jayson, and certainly not to Kiel. She barely knew them both, but this man seemed to be insinuating he knew a whole hell of a lot about her.
“Who are you?”
“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere.” He sounded pleased by that. “But try rephrasing that question using what as opposed to who, and we’ll move along at a far more acceptable speed.”
She blinked, more confused than when this all began. Cam and Kristin were off dancing and having the time of their lives, while Lizzie was stuck in a glass container with a madman.
One who was friends with her neighbor.
Whom he called a few minutes ago with their location.
None of this made a lick of sense!
If only she had her purse. Cam had suggested they leave their things at her place since Kristin was on bar tab duty. All Lizzie had brought with her was an ID to enter the club. Not very helpful.
But she hadn’t expected to be imprisoned in a
soundproof booth with a maniac.
No music sounded through the walls, not even the base. Which meant her screams couldn’t be heard, either, something Kiel had implied earlier while speaking to Jayson.
She needed to play this smart and hope like hell her neighbor would come for her or her friends would notice her absence.
Doubtful on both accounts, but she could consider them her backup plan.
Still need a general plan.
Thank you, Captain Obvious.
Maybe if she went along with this asinine game, Kiel would let her go.
Doubtful.
That’s unhelpful.
Kiel grinned and sipped his drink, tilting his head slightly as she considered her next move. He was clearly waiting for something. A question, she thought.
Who are you? she’d asked.
He’d replied with something about rephrasing.
“What are you?” She couldn’t help the uncertainty in her tone, because obviously, he was a man. But Kiel seemed fond of twisting words and sentences into his own strange language.
“Sit down, Lizzie.”
“Why?”
“I’m answering your question.” He gestured to the seat she vacated when the walls came down. It would put her directly across from him with her back to the balcony, neither offensive nor defensive. If he wanted to harm her, he could just as easily do so with her standing.
Might as well rest her legs in case he gave her a chance to run. Although, that seemed unlikely in their little prison.
She slid into the booth and folded her arms on the table. The waitress had brought a pink, fruity concoction that would usually appeal to Lizzie but didn’t tonight.
“My real name is Ezekiel,” he murmured. “I’ve only recently taken on the name Kiel, as I like to switch things up every now and then. Living forever gets boring, you see. It’s the small things that keep us entertained.”
She nodded. “Sure.” You’re insane.
“Your Jayson went by the name of Jedrick when we first met—that would have been around 1700 BC in Babylon, by the way. We were born in very different circumstances, myself to an impoverished woman raped by a soldier, and Jedrick to a military god. His father, Artemis, wasn’t really a god but an Ichorian with a knack for controlling metal and a thirst for blood. But we’ll come back to that.
“My mother died of disease when I was nine years old, thus forcing me to learn quickly and efficiently how to take care of myself. To say I had a particular flair for survival would be an understatement. You see, identifying easy prey and assassinating them quietly are strengths, Lizzie, ones I mastered in my youth.”
He paused to sip his drink while Lizzie fought the urge to laugh hysterically.
First, he claimed to be from Babylon—the original city.
Second, to be, what, over three thousand years old?
And now he was making up words like “Ichorians,” claiming Jayson to be the son of a god, and stating he, Kiel or Ezekiel—whatever he preferred to be called—was an assassin.
The man was a lunatic wrapped in a sane man’s skin.
Unbelievable.
“Osiris approached me as a youth,” he continued. “You haven’t met him properly yet but will someday. Regardless, he appeared to me as a god and stated I was endowed with a unique skill set that suited his needs. He introduced me to his son, Sethios, and encouraged our friendship. Being of similar ages, we bonded quickly, and I essentially found myself in a new home, surrounded by unique principles that did not apply to humanity but to a greater universe.”
He smiled, and it chilled her inside and out. “Would you like to know a secret, Lizzie?”
She cleared her throat, but the cobwebs sticking to her vocal cords rendered speech impossible. Probably a good thing, as she couldn’t trust herself to speak.
Lizzie nodded, because she suspected a denial would disappoint him, and she had no intention of pissing off a crazy person without having an escape route.
“I have known of your existence for quite some time, even before you met Astasiya. But that’s not my secret, actually.” He waved a hand and smiled, amused with himself. “What I mean to say is, I arranged for you both to live together your freshman year. It was a result of laziness on my part, but I do believe it worked out for the best, wouldn’t you agree?”
The thrumming in Lizzie’s ears couldn’t be healthy. She never gave him or Jayson Stas’s full name.
“Who are you?” she whispered again.
He relaxed into his booth with a sigh. “You’re not listening to me at all, are you?”
“I-I am,” she stammered. But you’re crafting some sort of fictional tale that holds no relevance in reality.
Except he knew Stas’s full name. “Astasiya” was too specific to be a guess.
“I suspect we’re running out of time, so let’s try a new angle,” Kiel said while spinning his half-finished drink on the table. “Tell me your thoughts on the CRF. Do you ever wonder what their paramilitary unit really does? How a Sentinel like Tom could be killed on a humanitarian operation?”
“He…” She finally gave in and tasted her drink—a strawberry daiquiri. The logical part of her cringed, but she needed something for her throat—it felt stuffed full of cotton balls.
“You work on that, and I’ll answer for you, love. The CRF is not what the public thinks it is, which I know won’t surprise you. Every time you go near headquarters, your instincts tell you something is wrong. Am I right?”
If he didn’t have her attention before, he had it now. Because that feeling he just described was one she’d never told anyone about. Not even Stas.
“How do you know that?” she managed, her voice raspy.
“Because I’ve seen you in that building countless times over the years and observed the changes in your biology. You’re terrified of the CRF, and justifiably so. It’s called muscle memory, darling. The things they’ve done to you are unspeakable, and although you possess no memory of it, your body does.”
She swallowed. “Wh-what do you mean?” She rarely visited the headquarters, even as a child. But he was right about her innate reaction. The building horrified her for inexplicable reasons.
“I wish we could go into more detail, but our intimate meeting is nearly over, and we haven’t even gone over the basics yet.” He captured her gaze and held it. “You asked who I am, and I’ve told you. Now, as to what I am, I’m an Ichorian, just like Jay’s father. Osiris turned me as an eighteenth mortal birthday present, granting me immortality, and before you comment, yes, I do appear to be closer to thirty-five. Mortals these days age far differently from the era I grew up in.”
She hadn’t been about to say anything at all, but she nodded anyway. Because sure. Why not? He did resemble a man in his thirties, but maybe immortality had something to do with his aging? Or lack thereof…?
Am I really believing any of this?
“I should add that there’s one minor caveat to being an Ichorian—we require mortal blood to survive.” He passed over his drink. “Have a peek inside and see for yourself.”
Lizzie hesitated, especially after his flippant remarks, but did as he suggested, with a frown. “It looks like a Bloody Mary.” A strange beverage for a coffee mug, but everything about this place struck her as unordinary.
“No, darling, it’s blood from one of my favorite donors in the back. If you don’t believe me, take a sip.”
She sniffed instead and scrunched her nose as a wave of nausea overwhelmed her.
It certainly didn’t smell like vodka and tomato juice.
But he couldn’t be serious.
Blood? Gross.
“Like a vampire?” It came out as a squeak.
He chuckled. “A myth, I assure you, but a similar concept. Try not to use that term too loudly outside our glass walls, though, darling. My kind do not take lightly to being compared to vile creatures of the night—our ancestry is much lighter.”
Lizzie gripped the edge of her
seat. “You’re… This is… Impossible. It’s not…” She shook her head as she frantically tried to clear it. “I can’t…”
Vampires aren’t real. The supernatural isn’t real.
“I can bring Cynthia in for a demonstration, if you’d like.” He sounded so reasonable and normal, like he spoke about immortality and vampires on a daily basis. “Or you could peek over your shoulder into the booth below us near the dance floor, but if you could keep the screaming to a minimum, my ears would thank you for it.”
Another sip from that damn bloody mug of his while he waited for her to choose.
If she asked for a demonstration, he would have to lower the glass. In which case, she could escape.
“Your eyes telegraph your thoughts beautifully, Lizzie. If you opt for the live feed, I will restrain you first, and trust me when I say that is more for your protection than anything else. Because a woman of your standard wandering through this club won’t last more than five minutes without ending up in one of the booths, whether by choice or not.”
She gulped. The way he said that was both unnerving and terrifying. “Why are you telling me all this?”
“Ah, that is an excellent question.” He set his mug down with a genuine smile. “My motives are my own, but irritating Jayson is considered quite the bonus.”
“He knows about all of this?”
“Of course. As I said, we grew up together. Jay’s father, Artemis, is an Ichorian and a close friend of Osiris’s, which was how Jay and I eventually met. Our shared proclivities for war and destruction created a competitive bond of sorts that came to a head about five centuries back. You see, my kind realized our progeny, Hydraians, carried lethal bloodlines that could destroy the Ichorian race, and, well, not to go into detail, but a lot of immortals died as a result.”
Lizzie couldn’t form words. It all sounded so real, yet improbable.
Hydraians?
Did Kiel enjoy making up words?
Except Jayson mentioned a word that sounded similar to that this morning. Hydria, was it? The place Jacque and Grace were visiting from?
