by Lexi C. Foss
No. This wasn’t right at all. If he wanted to inspire conflict, he’d attack Hydria. Which could only mean someone else wanted to stir up trouble.
But who?
3
Stark
This was not going to plan at all. When Jonathan invited Stark to attend dinner with Amelia and Eli, he failed to mention his true intentions.
That said, Stark should have known the moment Jonathan started talking about the research lab that he intended to harm them.
Of course the bloody Ichorian wanted Amelia for her shifting abilities. If he could find a way to cultivate her genetics and distribute them to the Sentinel unit, he’d create quite the army. Especially considering all the other testing going on around here.
Stark shook his head as he stalked out the exit of the CRF headquarters. He’d left under the guise of needing a late-night dinner since they’d not eaten at Wakefield Manor. Jonathan trusted him now, especially after his lack of a reaction to the requests made of him this evening. He’d even patted Stark on the back with a “Good job, kid.”
It had taken serious control not to correct the phrasing. He wasn’t as old as Jonathan, or really many other immortals, but he wasn’t a child either. Seraphim reached full adult status at twenty-five years of existence, which occurred several decades ago for Stark. While young he might be, a kid he was not.
He fixed his leather jacket as he walked toward a bar he knew well. Thank humanity for technology. It made reaching out to Ezekiel far easier these days.
Owen met him at the door with a grimace. “They’re both inside.”
He raised a brow. Both of them? He’d only invited Ezekiel to this meeting. Owen’s presence he expected since he owned the bar—a property Ezekiel had gifted the Hydraian years ago in exchange for this arrangement. Not that the poor Hydraian had much choice but to accept.
Stark said nothing as he moved into the dimly lit room. A few patrons sat at the bar, all minding their own business except for the two at the far end who watched him with matching grins.
He sighed. “I never should have introduced Ezekiel to Leela.”
Owen grunted in reply on his way back to the bar. Why he’d felt the need to greet Stark at the door was beyond him. The Hydraian possessed some abnormal quirks. Ezekiel’s recruitment of him served a grander purpose, one that hadn’t come to fruition yet. Once Astasiya moved to New York, however, Owen’s role would become vital to the success of their plans.
And now, Stark needed to elaborate on his part and potential failure to the duo laughing together across the room.
He walked toward them and picked up the shot glass Owen passed over along the way. Top-shelf scotch. Stark’s favorite. He downed it in one gulp before sitting beside Leela. “Aren’t you on guard duty in Havre?” he asked flatly.
She flipped her long brown hair over a shoulder. “Stas is asleep, and I was bored.”
He turned to face her and slid one elbow onto the counter. “Meaning, you left her unguarded.” Not a question, but a statement.
“Is this the part where you try to act all superior despite my several thousand years of experience over you?” She tsked. “I’ve gotta say, Gabe, it’s rather dull.”
“You have one job—”
She pressed a finger to his lips. “That I’m doing as a favor to you and Caro while putting my status with the High Council at risk. Besides, I need more of your blood, something you would know if you bothered to mist by once in a while.”
He knocked her hand away from his mouth. “I left you with a six-month supply,” he replied flatly. “And you could have called to let me know you needed more of my blood.”
“It’s really cute how you two fight like siblings,” Ezekiel drawled. “But I’d like to know why my evening plans were rearranged for this little chat. Lest you forget, I, too, have a role to play in this game of fate.”
Right. Time was always a factor when they met, especially in the heart of Ichorian territory. Fortunately, all three of them could disappear in a flash. Literally. Only Owen would be left to fend for himself, but the protection rune Stark had gifted him a decade ago would help.
On to the more important conversation at hand. “Jonathan assassinated Eli tonight.”
The notorious amusement radiating from Ezekiel faded with a blink. “What?”
“As in the Elder?” Leela asked. “For good?”
“Yes.” Stark tapped his glass on the counter to attract Owen’s attention. He needed another drink. “Jonathan invited me over for a friendly dinner, saying he wanted to introduce me to Eli and Amelia. I suspected it was a test of trust but had no idea he’d lose his fucking mind. He shot the Elder with an incendiary bullet and staged the scene as a Conclave assassination. He even included a vase filled with ashes and put Amelia’s jewelry inside of it.”
Owen appeared then with the bottle of scotch, his hand frozen in midair. Stark removed the item from his grip and poured himself a healthy portion.
“Thank you,” he said before shooting the liquid into the back of his throat and pouring a third. The alcohol would do absolutely nothing to him, but that wasn’t the point.
“Amelia and Eli are dead?” Owen whispered, his face ashen as he wobbled a little.
“Only Eli.” Stark swallowed the liquor again, enjoying the burn as it went down. “Amelia, however, will wish she’s dead by the time Jonathan finishes with her.” Poor female. It wasn’t in Stark’s nature to care, exactly, but he wasn’t completely without a heart.
Ezekiel whistled. “He’s going to start a war.”
“I believe that’s his goal,” Stark muttered. Which was a problem. They couldn’t afford the Hydraians and Ichorians going to battle now, not while Astasiya was still a youth. “We need at least another decade, or a minimum of six or seven years.” She was enrolled at Columbia University and destined to start in the fall. If violence erupted between the immortals now, it would destroy all of their plans.
Leela gazed at him thoughtfully. “What hint did you leave?”
“How did you know?” His subtle tampering was why he called this meeting; he just hadn’t gotten to that point yet.
“You’re the son of Adriel. As a warrior, you always strategize.” She smiled. “And I know you, Gabe. Tell us what hint you left behind.”
“I’m not certain it’ll work.” He rubbed the back of his neck. Everything had happened so quickly that he didn’t have time to really think through his idea. “Jonathan staged the murder scene in the ballroom and sent me off to deal with the surveillance equipment. On my way there, I sort of tinkered with the kitchen.”
Leela’s brow furrowed. “Sort of?”
“Yeah.” He needed to explain this better. “All right, Jonathan gave Amelia a choice to comply or die. When she chose to live, he ordered her to scrub the remains off the table with a cloth—after he severed Eli’s head.” An exercise the lunatic had taken great pride in because, apparently, lighting the immortal on fire from within wasn’t satisfying enough for him.
Stark swallowed, pushing the memory of Amelia’s broken expression from his thoughts. Fretting over the past and her tormented future had no practical function. If the opportunity to help her presented itself in a way that he couldn’t be implicated, then he’d act on it. Until then, his fated role was to remain calm, stoic, and focused.
Astasiya mattered the most.
“Anyway, when Amelia finished the task, Jonathan knocked her out and tied her up in the trunk of the car. Then he staged the body in the ballroom”—after Stark carried it there—“and left me to handle the cameras and such. On my way there, I put the wine in the fridge.”
Ezekiel blinked at him. “Wine?”
Stark nodded. “Jonathan had brought the bottle and opened it before dinner. It’s laced with blood. I put it in the fridge.” Something someone should pick up on since it was a red wine.
Ezekiel’s dark gaze gleamed. “And he didn’t notice?”
“I told him I threw it in the trash
with all the rags Amelia had used to clean up the massacre in the dining area.” Which Jonathan refused to touch because of the potentially lethal substance.
The incendiary bullets turned the blood into a charred liquid, which supposedly destroyed the essence of immortality. Whether or not that also made a Hydraian’s bloodline nontoxic to Ichorians had yet to be tested, and Jonathan didn’t seem too keen on being the first to experiment.
Stark blew out a breath. “He wasn’t happy, but I reminded him that he told me to remove all evidence, including the bottle.”
“And he didn’t think to check the fridge for it because why would he?” Ezekiel surmised. “Brilliant. Someone will notice and realize he visited recently, and may even assume Amelia put the bottle there as a sign.”
“That’s my hope,” Stark agreed. “But if they allow emotions to dictate their actions, my subtle hint might not be enough.”
“You could always go guardian angel on one of them,” Leela murmured. “That is what you messenger Seraphim are supposed to do.”
Stark blinked at her. “I completed my task by leaving that bottle. It sends a message.”
“And if it doesn’t work, you should consider sending another,” she replied.
“There isn’t another to send.” Not without giving up his identity, which he couldn’t afford to do yet.
“Then we should discuss a backup plan because Stas isn’t ready,” Ezekiel cut in with a tap against the counter. “We’re going to need more drinks, Owen.”
The dark-skinned male had remained still throughout the conversation, his brown eyes glittering with unshed tears. He seemed to shake himself, blinking, then nodded. “Yeah, of course.”
“And, Owen.” Ezekiel stopped the Hydraian with a hand on his arm. “You realize you can’t breathe a word of this to anyone, yes?”
His shoulders sagged in defeat. “They’re all going to assume Amelia’s dead.”
“It’s the burden of our fate,” Ezekiel murmured.
“A fate I never asked for,” he whispered.
Silence thickened the air between them.
The entire plan hinged on their cooperation and teamwork, including Owen’s willingness to help. They needed him to befriend Stas, to help protect her in the city by guiding her social life. And very few others were as charismatic or as young as Owen. His lowly abilities helped as well because he served no real purpose on Hydria, which meant no one minded his frequent absence. To find a replacement this late in the game would be impossible, not after all their preparations.
“Jonathan trusts me now,” Stark informed. “I’ll see what I can do about helping Amelia until the time comes where her liberation can be facilitated, but you need to understand that it could take years before such an occurrence arises.” It would require the perfect storm of circumstances to make it unnoticeable. Stark couldn’t afford to jeopardize his position for Amelia; he needed the in with the CRF to monitor Astasiya.
“I won’t let Jonathan kill her, so long as I can help it,” Stark vowed. That was the best he could offer.
Leela wrapped her fingers around Owen’s wrist. “Stas will need you more than you realize. We can’t do this without you.” Her warm tone was very un-Seraphim-like, a consequence of her lust-driven abilities. She felt more than most, himself included. It was partly why he’d recruited her for help with Astasiya, all the way back to the day Caro gave birth.
“I get it, I get it,” Owen said, sighing. “I won’t say anything.”
“This is bigger than all of us,” Leela reminded softly.
Owen stared at her, and a hint of adoration touched his gaze. “I know, Lee. Ezekiel has told me the prophecies a hundred times. I understand what’s at stake.”
Leela released his arm. “Good, because Caro and Sethios are counting on all of us.” She focused on Ezekiel. “Speaking of, how is Sethios?”
The Ichorian’s face clouded over, his expression dark. “Still alive.”
“That sounds promising,” Leela deadpanned.
Ezekiel glanced at her. “Osiris allowed him to remember yesterday, just long enough to relay the date and watch his son’s reaction. Then he stole it from him. Again. He’s in hell. We all are.”
“Seven years,” Stark said. “That’s how long we need. Once Astasiya is twenty-five, everything will change.” Or that’s what they all hoped, anyway.
And there was much to be done in the interim.
* * *
“It seemed appropriate to add my version of events for readers’ eyes only. Do not share this section with the other immortals, or I will send Ezekiel after you.”
—Stark
4
Luc
“Jacque, I need Aidan,” Luc declared after walking around the ballroom for the third time. It wasn’t adding up. While the scene screamed “Conclave,” it wasn’t exciting enough to suit Osiris’s preferences. “Take him to the foyer and I’ll meet you there. Let me tell him about Amelia.”
It was Luc’s burden to bear, no one else’s. He would be the one to break his father’s heart, then mend it with intelligence. He hoped.
“Yes, sir,” Jacque replied, disappearing.
“I want to see the surveillance equipment,” Alik said, already walking out the door. He’d obviously decided a task was the best way to handle his grief. Alik was never one to admit his feelings, but Luc knew better than anyone that the telepath felt them stronger than most.
“There’s nothing there,” Mateo assured him as he followed Alik out the door. “It’s like the entire system underwent a refresh and…” His voice trailed off as they moved swiftly down the hall.
Two down, Luc thought with a mental sigh. They would help keep each other sane, at least temporarily. And maybe they would find something in the process.
That missing puzzle piece.
“I don’t understand how this could happen,” Jayson said, still on his knees beside Eli. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
Luc agreed. Eli would not have gone down without a fight, and yet, his clothes remained mostly unsoiled apart from his own blood. No signs of a struggle, not even a tear in his clothes or a scuff on his shoes. His hands were clean as well.
What am I not seeing? His mind raced with ideas, none of them quite right.
Jayson lifted the vase. “Amelia…” The pain in his voice ceased Luc’s thoughts and fractured another piece of his heart.
I need to get out of this room. Everyone needs out.
Then he could think, could figure this out, could determine what to do and how to properly handle the situation.
“Amelia,” Jayson repeated. “Why? Why would they target her?”
“Because they knew it would hurt.” As Luc said the words, he realized a vital piece of the puzzle. They knew it would hurt. Osiris fancied mind games, so much so that he would have required an audience to hammer that nail into the hearts of his victims. A quiet show weakened the impact.
Yet, whoever did this knew Amelia’s death would result in impractical behavior driven by emotion and a desire for revenge.
To provoke a war on false pretenses.
“But Amelia,” Jayson whispered, his body trembling.
Luc flinched at the realization that his strongest warrior was breaking before his eyes and he’d done nothing to help him. I’m failing them all.
He needed to keep his head on straight, his brain focused. Even an ounce of emotion slipping in could derail everything. If he fell apart, they all would.
Tasks. They all need tasks.
“Jay, can you escort Cherie and Robert back to their home at the front of the property and check the grounds for anyone or anything that might not belong?” He knelt beside his friend and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry to ask, but your gift for metal is our best advantage out there.” Luc added a hint of apology to his tone so as to hide the true purpose of his request. He meant to provide his warrior with a distraction—something to help him feel strong in this time of despair.
If only I could provide myself with a similar mission.
Jayson’s brown eyes gazed up at him. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Yes, right. Yeah. Of course.” He nodded and stood on shaky legs. “I can do that.”
“I’ll go with you,” Tristan said. He hadn’t spoken much while quietly observing from the wall. Luc met his forest-green gaze. Understanding passed between them as Tristan confirmed with a nod that he recalled Luc’s words from earlier. He would help take care of Jayson, keep him strong and focused.
Thank you, he said with his eyes.
Another nod from the Ichorian.
Cherie and Robert huddled close together as Jayson and Tristan guided them outside via the back patio doors of the ballroom.
That’s six, all accounted for. And finally he had the room to himself.
A moment alone with no one to see him crumble.
He gazed at the vase beside his old friend. “Oh, Amelia…” How anyone could be so cruel as to harm her, he would never understand. “And Eli.”
His face fell as memories assaulted his mind and heart. Omniscience was both a gift and a curse, because he would remember everything. Including this moment and the pain associated with the loss. The heartache of all his friends. The violence of this scene.
His legs threatened to buckle, but his spirit kept him upright. He couldn’t afford to falter. Not yet.
But he did allow a tear to fall for his beloved sister, and another for Eli, his old friend, fellow Elder, and brother unrelated by blood.
His family.
Shattered by some senseless act of horror.
“I’ll fix this,” he vowed. “I’ll find whoever did this to you, and I will make them pay.” It was all he could say.
I need to solve this, he decided. For them. For everyone.
Luc rolled his neck, wiped the damp evidence from his cheeks, and forced his legs to move. He’d given Jacque more than enough time to locate Aidan.
