by Lexi C. Foss
“Fuck.” The woman chose Italy for a last-minute flight? Did she not understand that the CRF was dangerous? That her existence was a mystery to them all?
He shook his head. Of course she didn’t know, because she’d never given them the chance to explain. But to hop on a plane to Europe? Childish.
He punched in a message to Jacque, requesting his passport, and was still shaking his head when his floppy-haired friend arrived with the item in question.
“I’m very glad to not be the cause of that look,” the teleporter said as he handed over the navy-blue booklet. “Try not to punish her too badly.”
Jayson grinned. “Oh, when I get my hands on her, she’ll never do anything this imprudent again.” Fleeing the country, of all things. Damn foolish woman.
“Right, have fun with that.” Jacque didn’t sound so sure and even took a step back.
“I intend to,” Jayson replied. And he meant it.
Because he was done playing nice.
Yes, he withheld information, but only to protect her.
No more.
If she wanted the truth, he’d wouldn’t just give it to her; he’d show her.
*
Not for the first time, Lizzie wondered if she’d just made the stupidest decision of her life by boarding this plane. Then they came around with champagne, and she stopped worrying.
She watched the airfield workers out the window while she sipped her bubbly. The late-afternoon flight had worked much better than the option to Paris. Lizzie worried she would lose her nerve if she had to wait too long, so she’d selected Rome after reviewing all the departures on the board. Most European flights left later in the evening, but this one departed at half-past-five. She would watch a movie, try to eat something, and, hopefully, sleep.
The seat beside her crinkled as someone settled into it. Their business class chairs were close enough for chatting but also provided ample room for privacy. She’d still hoped the seat would remain vacant. Alas, her luck never prevailed.
“Welcome aboard, sir,” the flight attendant purred. “Can I get you anything for takeoff? A drink, perhaps?”
“Mmm, yes,” a familiar voice replied. Lizzie’s lips parted as she realized just who had taken the seat beside her, but rather than acknowledge her, he remained focused on the flight attendant.
“I would love a whiskey neat, at least for takeoff,” he said with a wink.
Flirtatious much?
“Of course, sir,” the brunette replied before sauntering off while Jayson watched her with a smirk.
Lizzie wanted to hit him. Not just for checking out the attendant so brazenly, but for sitting beside her without a word. For following her. For acting like he didn’t even see her staring at him right now.
He rested his elbow on the oversized armrest and eyed the woman’s legs while she fixed his drink at the front of the cabin. It was as if Lizzie didn’t exist, yet he’d clearly followed her onto this plane.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed, unable to hold back her irritation.
“That is an excellent question, Elizabeth.” He buckled his seat belt before finally meeting her gaze with a decidedly unamused expression. “Rome?”
She swallowed, her ire disappearing. The energy rolling off him did not match his usual playful vibe. He seemed more powerful somehow. Because she knew the truth? Or was it something else?
“You know, it’s a good thing this is a long flight,” he continued. “It’ll give us plenty of time to talk.”
“Oh no, you’re not—”
“International flight regulations state that no passengers can disembark once the boarding doors are closed, and I was the last one to board. Which means”—he glanced over his shoulder before refocusing on her—“you’re officially stuck with me for the next eight hours and thirty minutes.”
He relaxed into his chair just as the brunette approached with his drink. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he murmured.
“Anything else?” she asked in a sultry voice.
Jayson ran his eyes over her and smiled. “Perhaps later.”
Lizzie wanted to punch him again. As if the last twenty-four hours hadn’t been hell already, he had to hit on the flight attendant right in front of her? Could he be any more heartless?
She’d only been in his bed two nights ago. Granted, that’d all been her own doing. She’d practically begged him to kiss her in the kitchen, though he was the one who invited her to his room—to pacify her, apparently.
“I’ll be back to check on you once we’re in the air,” Flirty Skirt murmured.
“I look forward to it,” he replied while Lizzie rolled her eyes.
Flirty Skirt added a sway to her hips as she left, eliciting a grin from Jayson.
“Maybe you should spend the eight-hour trip talking with her,” Lizzie suggested.
“I doubt we would spend much time holding a conversation,” he replied before sipping his whiskey. “And I’m not here for her. I’m here for you.”
Lizzie masked the pain of his words by rolling her eyes and scoffing, “Right. Babysitter Jayson.”
“Oh, Elizabeth, you have no idea how wrong you are on that.” He captured her gaze. “Babysitter implies that I see you as a child, which is distinctly different from finding your behavior childish and immature.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me just fine. I could beat your ass red for this stunt.”
Her mouth fell open. “Did you just threaten to spank me?” She pitched her voice low but couldn’t help the squeak at the end. Because he did not just say that!
“I haven’t decided yet, but you’ll be the first to know when I do.”
She gaped at him, speechless. No one had ever threatened to spank her, not even in her youth. Jayson couldn’t be serious. Men did not punish grown women in that manner. Did they?
Jayson’s lips were suddenly at her ear, sending a jolt of electricity down her spine. “You would enjoy it if I did, which I’m not sure you deserve.”
She shivered. His words held a promise she didn’t understand, one that elicited forbidden feelings she had no business entertaining on a plane, let alone with him.
Vampires are real, she reminded herself in an attempt to stay grounded.
Eh, yeah, but that’s old news now, her hormones responded. And they’re called Ichorians.
So she was losing her mind. Awesome.
Jayson’s palm went to her knee, bringing her back to the present.
Energy simmered beneath her skin as his hand traveled upward and slid under the fabric of her shift dress to her inner thigh.
She shouldn’t have liked that nearly as much as she did.
He lied to her.
Everyone had.
But his touch seemed to unravel her frustration and replace it with a much hotter emotion. One that tightened her stomach in anticipation.
Her brain fired important questions at her unresponsive mouth—she couldn’t seem to move her tongue or form words. The man had captivated her with his touch.
Wizardry.
“For the record, I may be far older than you can imagine, but that does not mean I have ever thought of you as a child.” He licked the shell of her ear, pebbling goose bumps down her neck. “You are a gorgeous woman, Elizabeth. And babysitting is not an activity I consider in your presence. Far from it.” He nipped her ear before returning to his personal space.
He left a rattled, confused mess in his wake. Lizzie was supposed to be angry with him, not… feverish and… whatever.
And he’d only befriended her to learn more, not because he liked her.
Except he called her gorgeous again.
And the way he’d just touched her was not very friend-like.
“Buckle your seat belt,” he said as the plane pulled away from the gate. “Once we’re in the air, we’ll play a game.”
It took her three swallows before she managed to say, “A game?”
“Yes. One where I make the rules
and you obey them.”
Yeah, she definitely didn’t agree with that plan. “Good luck with that.” The words lacked their designated punch. Damn hormones.
His brown eyes smoldered as he met and held her gaze. “I’ve been easy on you, Elizabeth. That ended the moment you decided to forgo common sense and flee the country on a whim.”
She opened her mouth to contest that point, but he silenced her with a glance.
Okay, so maybe it had been stupid of her to get on a plane to Rome, but it wasn’t like she didn’t have several good reasons to react that way. Escaping had sounded like a solid plan at the time. She just hadn’t anticipated anyone following her.
“By the end of this flight,” he continued, “you will understand why I’ve managed to survive as long as I have and how I earned the title of ‘Elder’ among my kind. Afterward, you will agree to play by my rules because you want to, not because you have to.”
That was never going to happen. “You clearly don’t know me at all.” There. That held a little bit more confidence.
Except he silenced that budding self-assurance with a predatory smile—a king grinning at his chosen conquest.
“Oh, that is where you’re wrong.” His gaze dropped to her mouth before sliding back up. “Your body speaks to me on a level you don’t yet understand, but you will, and soon.”
16
The Treaty of 1747
Benefactor is satisfied with subject’s intelligence quotient and requests increased focus on subject’s information recall functions.
—Entry Log 106.09.4-7
If Jayson called Lizzie by her full name one more time, she would scream.
He ordered her meal for her—Elizabeth will have the filet—then ignored her protests and made small talk while referring to her by her full name the entire time, and now he’d just requested a dessert drink for Elizabeth again.
Lizzie never thought she would actually miss her nicknames, but she certainly did now.
“What if I didn’t want a dessert wine?” she asked, irritated.
“In that case, I’ll have two.”
“Do you always order for the women you stalk?” She’d started referring to him as a stalker since he disliked the term babysitter.
“Only the misbehaving ones,” he replied as he relaxed into his seat and flipped through the array of movies on his private screen.
This was hardly what she had in mind when he mentioned a game. It seemed to be more a display of power than anything else and perhaps a subtle way of implying that he knew her tastes. Because the dinner he selected was the one she wanted, and she did enjoy dessert wine with chocolates.
But that wasn’t the point.
He couldn’t just waltz onto this plane and watch a movie. Not after everything she’d been through these last two days. The whole purpose of her escape was to forget, and as he’d made that impossible, he might as well give her some answers.
“Were you really born in Babylon?” she demanded.
“Yep.” He continued playing with the movies instead of regarding her.
“To the son of a war god?”
He snorted. “Artemis fancies himself one, but he’s just an Ichorian who can control and manipulate metal.”
The background noise from the plane drowned out their conversation to others, spurring her onward on this quest for information. “Explain what you mean by that.”
“Pick up your spoon,” he said instead.
“I hardly see—”
He cut her a look. “You will, if you listen.”
She blew out a breath. “Fine.” She lifted the spoon. “Happy?”
He didn’t respond, but the spoon bent in half, causing her to yelp and drop the item back onto her tray.
The passenger across from them gave them a curious expression, and Jayson said loudly, “Right. No horror movie.”
“How did you do that?” she hissed. The metal returned to its real shape while she watched in fascination.
“Ichorians pass their supernatural talents on to their progeny, meaning Artemis gifted me with the ability to control metal. That spoon is a parlor trick, by the way. I can sense every nut and bolt on this plane, as well as all the watches, necklaces, belts, you name it. If I wanted, I could manipulate them all at once, or one at a time.”
Her lips parted. “Really?”
He shrugged. “It’s important to note that not all immortal gifts are created equal. I’ve met telekinetics who could only lift a stapler and others who could lift an entire house. Those of us with stronger skills live longer.”
“So your father could do the same?”
“He can, yes.” He finally met her gaze. “Artemis, the Ichorian who helped create me, is still alive.”
“And your mom?”
“She died a very long time ago,” he murmured. “Ezra, my mother, was mortal. Artemis killed her when I was ten human years old.”
Lizzie’s eyes widened. “Why?”
“Because she was aging.” Jayson paused as if considering what else to say, then shrugged. “He could have turned her, of course, but he was bored with her. And rather than let her go, he killed her in front of me. He considered it a lesson in mortality and why immortals should never grow too close to humans. They die.”
“That’s…” She couldn’t even finish. How horrible to do that to a young boy.
“I spent most of my youth trying to please him and prove my worth so I wouldn’t suffer the same fate, but on my nineteenth birthday, he slit my throat.” Lizzie flinched at the bluntness of his words, but he continued, unfazed. “He wasn’t aging due to his Ichorian genetics and had hoped to assume my identity as the new ruler because he wanted to hide his immortality from the mortals. But I woke up the next morning. He tried again for good measure, but I recovered, and he proclaimed me his true Ichorian son.”
The flight attendant returned at that moment with their dessert trays. She traded them for the dinner ones while Jayson murmured things to her in Italian. Her cheeks were flushed by the end, causing Lizzie to roll her eyes. The damn man had been flirting with the brunette all through dinner and again now.
It churned Lizzie’s stomach and soured her taste for the chocolate laid out before her. She opted for the wine that came with it, needing the alcohol to numb her senses. If he walked off with the woman, she would lose it.
Not that he owed her anything. They weren’t dating. She was just a temporary assignment to him. Nothing more.
Except when he touched her.
“What was I saying?” he asked as the brunette wandered off with an overstated sashay in her step.
“That you’re a jerk?” Lizzie suggested. Okay, maybe less alcohol.
He grinned. “Jealous, Elizabeth?”
She glowered at him. “First of all, no. Second of all, stop calling me Elizabeth.”
His lips curled all the more, revealing those two precious dimples. “I thought you disliked my nickname for you, or you used to, anyway.”
“I… That’s not the point. You’re calling me Elizabeth like I’m in trouble.”
“Ah, but you are in trouble.” He selected a piece of chocolate from his tray and brought it to her lips. “Open.”
“No, this—” He silenced her protest by sliding the decadent dessert between her lips.
“Yes, enjoy that while I continue my story.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, where she reluctantly chewed. Spitting it out would be a waste of a perfectly good sweet and also very unladylike.
“Artemis believed me to be his own creation of an Ichorian, but he soon discovered that I didn’t have a taste for mortal blood, nor did I require it. And I also boasted not one gift but two.”
He selected another piece of chocolate and pressed it to her mouth. She really wanted to refuse, but saying no to such decadence seemed sinful. Besides, if he wanted to give her all of his dessert, she wouldn’t complain. But she also wouldn’t share her own.
“My secondary talent is from my mom’s bloodline
. I can more or less manipulate how others see me and leave them confused about my physical traits. I do it constantly without thinking, to the point where I have to actively want to un-shield my appearance, such as right now with you. You’re the only one on this plane who sees me.”
She blinked and swallowed. “What about Ms. Flirty Skirt?”
His brow furrowed. “Who?”
Lizzie gestured to the front of the cabin with her eyes. “The flight attendant you keep hitting on.” She had given her name earlier, but Lizzie didn’t remember it. Probably because the woman only focused on Jayson every time she stopped by.
Amusement crinkled his eyes. “I rather like you being jealous.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not jealous.”
“You are,” he said, grinning. “And to answer your question, her recollection of my features is fuzzy, but she knows I’m attractive.”
“That’s not arrogant.”
“It’s not,” he agreed. “Because it’s true.”
Another piece of chocolate appeared before she could respond to that. She grazed his finger with her teeth on purpose, earning her a heated look.
“Careful,” he murmured. “Or I’ll take that as an invitation.”
To what? she wondered.
“Back to what I was saying,” he continued as he studied her mouth. “I wasn’t an Ichorian at all, something Artemis eventually deduced, and a meeting was called. It served as the first Conclave, actually, though they didn’t refer to it as such at the time. The word used isn’t one I can clearly translate given the dead languages, but it essentially implied they were gods.”
He swirled his wine thoughtfully before continuing.
“Ichorians from all over gathered to discuss me, only to find that there were others in existence as well. That was the day I met Balthazar, Lucian, Alik, Eli, and about twenty additional immortals with similar traits.” He smiled fondly, as if remembering it now, and shook his head.
“Some called us a gift from above, while others considered us a threat. Needless to say, the governing board, now known as the Conclave, voted to keep us alive to test our worth.”
