by Lexi C. Foss
An indication that it worked or not? She couldn’t tell, could hardly see in the dark.
What about mine? she wondered, digging deep, calling her power to life as she aimed her gun at an approaching Sentinel. A clean shot to the head sent him to the ground.
Focus. Try. See what happens.
Stas called on her ability to compel, laced it through her aura and outward, searching…
There.
A hint of malice not belonging to one of her own.
Drop your weapon, she urged, her gaze seeking the source. Now, she demanded.
The gun fell to his feet just in time for one of the Hydraians to ignite him in flames.
Had he dropped the gun in error, or—
A familiar shriek pierced Stas’s ears. She turned just in time to see Aidan take Lizzie to the ground, his body covering hers as he took a series of bullets from behind.
“Lizzie!” Stas screamed, already on her feet and running, the gun still in her hand as she aimed it at the Sentinel who had somehow appeared behind the group. Anya fought another, her hands bare.
No gun.
She didn’t typically need it, her touch being able to kill a person on contact, but the Sentinel was completely clothed.
Stas took aim just as Tom appeared, pistol in hand, sending a bullet through the soldier’s skull.
But not before he pulled the trigger.
Anya fell to her knees, her palm at her chest, her expression horrified.
Clara collapsed beside her, hands on the other woman’s face, tears tracking down her own.
Incendiary bullet.
Oh, shit. Aidan!
Stas didn’t think.
She just reacted—running to Lizzie and Aidan, falling to the ground next to them. Amelia appeared beside her, helping to roll the ancient Ichorian to his back.
His glassy eyes stared up at them lifelessly.
“Dad…” Amelia choked on a sob.
Lizzie cried, her white dress covered in sand and black soot.
Aidan’s blood… burned…
He’s dead.
“I d-don’t… I d-don’t… How?” Her best friend wept, her attention shifting between Aidan and Amelia. “Oh God…”
Stas bit back a cry, her gaze searching for Issac, who fought on the other side of the beach, his jacket gone. He aimed his weapon, firing it with ease, holding his own.
Completely unaware that his Sire, the man he called Father, was gone.
Oh, Issac… Stas’s heart broke for him. And Luc…
“Amelia,” Tom breathed, immediately taking her into his arms despite the warfare erupting around them. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”
“He’s… he’s…” Amelia shook violently, her shock melting into hysteria.
“Jacque!” Jayson called. “Take them!”
The teleporter appeared, grabbing Lizzie and disappearing in a flash. Tom and Amelia were gone a second later, then Aidan—Jacque moving too quickly for Stas to comment, to even think.
She stared at the empty space, her heart in her throat. Is Lizzie even okay? There hadn’t been a chance to ask.
More screams bellowed across the beach, cascading goose bumps down Stas’s spine. People are dying. The Hydraians weren’t prepared for this, didn’t have enough weapons, and with their psychic gifts not working, their primary line of defense was worthless.
Jonathan knew… He’d planned this perfectly, choosing a moment when everyone would be preoccupied and celebrating. Evil son of a bitch.
Stas stood, her ire rising by the second. These Sentinels had come here to destroy. She’d trained with some of them, knew they didn’t care that the Hydraians were decent beings. They just liked to kill.
Jonathan had recruited them for a reason.
But he didn’t count on her.
Stas’s instincts fired to life, her persuasive skills streaming energy through her veins to her very soul. She felt alive, a beacon of power channeling some ancient beast inside her that yearned to be set free.
Now, her gift whispered cruelly, reaching around her, searching for all the malevolent minds she could find. Not the Hydraians. No. The Sentinels.
Those here with a single purpose—to kill.
There.
She latched onto them, driving herself into their thoughts, weaving persuasive bindings into their very beings. So easy. Too easy. And far too powerful.
Stop! she shouted through her psychic links, sweat dripping from her brow.
Several did, freezing in action, their connections snapping as their lives ended. She didn’t know how she managed to push through the runes, why her psychic talent worked while the other immortals’ powers didn’t.
Doesn’t matter.
Just compel.
More…
She found additional minds, securing them, readying her compulsion to—
A flash of purple gave her pause.
Wings.
She gaped as a Seraphim appeared beside Balthazar, her lips curled into a snarl. Murderous rage was etched into her features, but he didn’t see her.
No! Stas started toward them, needing to warn him. To stop whatever the angel intended.
The female swirled in a cloud of purple mist, her feathers flaring outward and absorbing a bullet from a Sentinel who’d made it through the line of Guardian defense. Another hit the woman’s side, a bullet that would have pierced Balthazar’s chest had she not appeared. Her face contorted in agony, her fingertips brushing Balthazar’s jaw as she fluttered backward, a third shot going into her back instead of him.
Stas froze.
Balthazar hadn’t seen a thing, completely unaware of the glowing shield before him, his focus on the Sentinel charging toward him.
The angel fell to her knees, her pain palpable in the night, the glow of her wings dulling even as she flared them upward to save him from another bullet.
Stas focused on the Sentinel charging toward them, latching onto his being and commanding him to cease moving. His feet rooted to the sand, his arm locked just long enough for Balthazar to throw a knife into the man’s chest.
Then another Hydraian was on the Sentinel, destroying him.
Stas heaved a breath, the mental exertion leaving her light-headed and weak.
The angel…
She looked for the purple, finding nothing but sand.
Where did she go?
Stas spun around, searching, needing to understand. Murder painted the beach all around her, no signs of ethereal energy, just violence and pain and blood.
What—
“Aya!” Issac yelled, causing her to twist toward him, her steps clumsy and disorientated.
Something sharp pierced her chest, causing her to gasp and stumble back. Another harsh jolt penetrated her stomach.
Bullets.
She fell to her knees, the impact shocking her into stillness.
So much heat.
Like her body was being eaten alive from the inside.
Hot.
She pressed her fingers to the wound, her blood an odd shade of charred black that she didn’t understand.
Like the soot on Lizzie’s dress.
How… fascinating… and so, so hot!
Issac appeared in front of her, his hands on her chest, her sides, her face. He blurred before her. She couldn’t focus.
He said something, but the rushing in her ears drowned him out.
Focus, she told herself.
His sapphire gaze blinked in and out, disappearing behind a fog of smoke.
Issac?
He shouted her name, the strength of it reminding her of gunshots.
Fire.
Death.
I can’t… Not yet.
A foreign part of her, anchored in her heart, flickered and burned, calling out to the minds she’d touched only briefly before. It stole her breath, halted her every thought, consumed her entire being. But it felt right. This was who she’d been meant to become, if only…
No time.
Drop your weapons, she demanded, blasting the compulsion into those sent to destroy. The Sentinels. Jonathan’s pet army.
They. Would. Not. Win.
Don’t move, she added when she felt their combative response ignite to life. You will die. All of you.
And she didn’t feel a single ounce of remorse.
Not a tear.
Only intense satisfaction.
Because somehow she knew it had worked. She felt their acquiescence, followed swiftly by their loss as their lives ended around her.
Or maybe it was all a dream.
She didn’t know. Couldn’t truly tell beyond the fire licking through her system, destroying her body. The essence slithered upward, threatening her mind, the pain suffocating.
No.
Not like this.
Please, not like this.
The voice reminded her of Issac, his presence beside her there… yet not. She tried to see him, to touch him, but blackness met her senses, wrenching her into an abyss.
I’m dying, she realized. Really, truly dying.
She’d been so caught up in revenge, the need to take everyone out, that she’d ignored the obvious.
And she’d missed her chance to say goodbye.
Issac!
A moment of panic hit her chest, the burning of air infiltrating her lungs. Not of her own doing, but of someone else’s…
He’s trying to save me.
Oh God, Issac. Issac!
All that energy wasted on her own selfish need to take out the Sentinels, and not spent with him.
No!
Her chest cracked beneath the pressure, her soul slipping… disappearing…
She fought the darkening spell of sleep, refused to let death take her.
Balthazar! Oh, she hoped he could hear her. Tell Issac… She paused, her thoughts vanishing.
What had she wanted? What’s happening?
Her soul wept, broken, losing touch… Issac!
Tell him I love him, B. Tell him… Help him… Fuck, the loss he’d experienced today… Aidan… Help him heal, she begged. God, B, please be there for him, and tell him… tell him goodbye for me.
Her world shattered.
Shadows lurking alongside her, guiding her, forcing her toward the glowing light. A gorgeous shade of blue. Feathers. A halo of gold. Mom?
An angelic face turned toward her, eyes a familiar shade of blue, holding tears of agony. “Oh, Astasiya… I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry we failed you.”
18
Issac
“Mother’s preference for mortality has impacted me of late. It’s the stark realization that her years are numbered and time pauses for no one. Aidan calls this the consequence of our chosen fates—to live forever with memories frozen inside our hearts.”
—Issac Wakefield
Vita mutatur, non tollitur
No.
Astasiya needed to breathe.
She needed to move.
She needed to live!
Issac refused to accept this, increasing his compressions and ignoring the black substance oozing from her wounds.
No!
Fuck!
He gave her another breath, continuing the motions.
But nothing.
She just lay there, eyes closed as if asleep.
She’ll wake up… She has to wake up…
He wiped the mist from his eyes, rejecting this fate. They weren’t done yet. She was too young. This… this wasn’t the right way.
They never said goodbye.
His chest ached, his stomach heaving as he collapsed on top of her. “Aya,” he whispered. Her name a prayer, a benediction, his last wind of hope. “Don’t do this to me. I can’t…” His voice broke, his fingers digging into her hair to hold her to him. “Aya!” he screamed, his body wrecked from the pain, his lungs ceasing to work. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t function.
Not without her.
Not without Aya.
Not without…
His soul splintered, his other half gone.
He shook his head, his heart in tatters, his world blackening.
This wasn’t the way.
This shouldn’t be…
No.
“Aya…” God, she needed to breathe. Why wasn’t her heart beating? He started the compressions again, needing to do something, anything. She couldn’t be… No. He rejected it. This wasn’t, couldn’t, be. He just needed—
A hand on his shoulder jolted him. He stood and swung backward without thought, only to be caught in Balthazar’s arms, unable to move, unable to fight, his chest heaving with the exertion.
“She’s gone, Issac.”
“Fuck you,” he growled, fighting him, needing to go back to her, to save her, to—
“There’s nothing you can do. She’s gone.”
Issac rejected the words, his fists swinging, Balthazar taking the hits and continuing to hold him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Issac.” Balthazar kept repeating the words, but Issac refused to hear them.
It felt wrong. Too soon.
“She can’t be dead,” he cried, collapsing to his knees again. “Balthazar, tell me she’s not dead.”
“I can’t do that,” Balthazar whispered, having followed Issac to the ground. “I wish I could, but I can’t. She’s gone.”
Issac’s head swayed back and forth, his face against the other man’s shoulder. “I can’t…”
“I know.”
“This… it wasn’t…”
“I know.” His arms tightened. “I know.”
Issac’s heart ached inside him, a key piece of his existence missing from his soul. “We didn’t…” God, he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t fucking say it.
“She loved you.” The words were soft. “She begged me to say goodbye for her, Issac. Her last thoughts were of you.”
Issac broke, his limbs losing feeling, every part of him destroyed. Her last thoughts were of you. Oh God, his thoughts for eternity would be of her. Of the time that was robbed from them, the end that should never have happened.
His teeth chattered, the drumming in his ears washing out everything and everyone around him. He didn’t want to feel. Didn’t want to experience another second of this agony. The pain of having his other half ripped away from him.
Aya…
How could you leave me like this?
But he knew it wasn’t her fault. Someone else had taken her from him. The Sentinels.
“They’re all dead,” Balthazar said.
That wasn’t good enough. Issac shook his head. Not fucking good enough! “We’ll burn them all.” Still not enough. “Jonathan…”
“Will burn, too,” Balthazar agreed. “But we have to think—”
“What the fuck is there to think about?” Issac demanded, pulling away from the man, only to see the torture etched into his expression.
There’s more.
Oh, fuck, Aya wasn’t the only one…
“Who else?” he asked, needing to know. “Who else did that bastard take?” If he took Amelia…
“She’s fine,” he promised, his tone and words doing little to cease the storm brewing inside of Issac.
“Then who else?” he demanded, knowing from his expression that Astasiya… He couldn’t finish the words, his heart unable to take another second. Jonathan will pay for this. In blood. And Issac wouldn’t just shoot him. No. That’d be too easy. He’d mutilate the bastard first, feed him his own blood, and then, when he begged for death, he’d finish the task.
Issac allowed the grotesque picture to paint his vision, needing something—someone—to focus on, to push away…
Think of Jonathan.
His assassination.
Retribution.
Astasiya…
No. Mourn her after the task. Mourn her when this is done.
“That’s not how this works,” Balthazar replied softly. “And it’s not what she would want.”
God, he was right. Astasiya wouldn’t want him consumed with revenge. But she wouldn’t want him sad, either.
“She’d want you to be smart,” Balthazar finished for him. “She begged me to guide you, Issac. Those were her final wishes—to say goodbye, to tell you she loved you, and to help you.”
A sob ripped from Issac’s throat, his anger giving way to despair. How was he supposed to do this? To live with this pain? To live with the agony of her loss?
Not even Amelia had crippled him like this.
And he loved his sister more than life itself.
But Aya… She’d been a part of him, his heart, his soul, his reason.
And she’s gone.
The words reverberated in his mind, Balthazar’s arms coming around him once more, holding him while he wept, no judgment between them. And Issac didn’t care who saw him, didn’t care who felt his torment, because he couldn’t bear it alone.
His Aya… My Aya…
“We’ll seek vengeance together,” Balthazar vowed. “Jonathan has hell to pay, and I will not rest until we deliver it. Together.”
Issac heard him, understood the words, but his mouth refused to work. His mind consumed. His being… broken.
Help me, he begged. Help me.
“I can’t,” Balthazar whispered. “I can’t take this pain away from you, even though I want to…”
But you can. He could control emotion. Why won’t you help me?
“Because it would be taking away your love.”
Issac fractured, the devastation taking him under a wave of darkness. He didn’t want to love anymore, didn’t want to feel, didn’t want to experience another second.
And yet, he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.
Astasiya had been a gift, one he’d never expected to enter his life. To numb that, to numb her, would be a disservice to her memory. It would be selfish. It would be wrong. It would only hurt him more.
She would want him to be strong. To push through the pain, to carry her in his heart, to avenge her the right way.
But what if I can’t?
