by Lexi C. Foss
He snorted. “No. I’ve left on over a dozen occasions. No one wants to hear those noises from his little sister.”
Oh my God. She nearly fainted into Issac’s waiting arms. He didn’t seem to share her embarrassment, his chest solid against her back as he held her against him.
“What the fuck do you want, Gabriel?” he demanded, his voice low and simmering with rage.
Stark didn’t appear fazed in the slightest, his expression as stoic as ever. “To discuss our future. We have several tasks to handle.”
“We?” Issac repeated, and she could tell from his tone he’d arched a disbelieving brow. “What makes you think we’re interested?”
“Because it involves rescuing Sethios and Caro—Astasiya’s parents. It involves destroying Osiris. And I also know how you can take down Jonathan.” He tilted his head to the side. “Do I have your attention yet? Or should I also point out that I’m the only one who can help Astasiya learn how to control her new abilities?”
Stas swallowed, only the beginning of his statement sticking in her thoughts. “My parents…?”
“Are both alive and in a great deal of pain,” he finished for her. “They sacrificed themselves to protect your legacy. The prophecy never gave the rising power a name and Osiris assumed it was our mother, but it’s always been about you.”
“What prophecy?” she asked, her throat dry.
Stark ran his fingers through his light hair and sighed. “I need to start from the beginning. Do you want to do that over coffee? Or shall we remain standing?”
Issac’s grip loosened. “Astasiya requires coffee.”
Normally, she’d argue against someone making a decision for her, but Issac was right in this case. She did need coffee. “Black with—”
“Brown sugar,” he said, releasing her with a wink. “I know, love.”
Of course he did. He was in her head, her heart, her very essence. He knew everything.
Issac winked at her again as he passed Stark, clearly having heard her thoughts.
“If I sit down, are you going to attack me again?” Stark asked, his voice void of emotion.
“Are you going to call me a brat again?”
“Are you going to act like one?” he countered.
She narrowed her gaze. “You kept me in the dark my entire life, stole my memories, faked my friend’s death and kept it from me, and you failed to mention that you’re my brother for the last several however many fucking months of our acquaintance. Oh, and, I was buried alive because you didn’t tell anyone I was a Seraphim. So yeah, I’m entitled to act however I fucking please, thank you.”
His lips fucking twitched.
Twitched!
“This is not funny.”
“No, it’s not, but you remind me so much of Mom right now.” He made a strangled noise, the sound foreign to her ears.
“Are you…? Is that your laugh?”
It grew louder, his shoulders beginning to shake.
“Oh my God, you’re actually laughing.” The man didn’t even crack a smile in the months she’d known him, and now he laughed? “Who the hell are you?” she asked, not recognizing this version at all. It was meant to be rhetorical, but naturally, the tone went over his head.
“Gabriel Stark, Seraphim of the warrior and messenger lines.” He misted to the couch again, kicking up his legs and relaxing. “You’re a Seraphim of the resurrection and messenger lines.”
“I don’t know what that means,” she admitted.
“I know.” He picked up the phone from the coffee table and began typing while speaking. “Our mother is a messenger, meaning she delivers edicts on behalf of the council. She also possesses a dormant healing gene, one I inherited that you might as well. Most didn’t see her as very powerful, but having spent the better part of two decades around humans, I think our kind has belittled her skill set because of the guardian qualities.”
Stas finally sat in one of the chairs, her gaze narrowing. “You’re going to need to start from the beginning, Stark. What’s an edict? Who is the council? And what guardian qualities?”
“Coffee first,” Issac said, sauntering up behind her with a steaming mug of heaven. He handed it to her. “Someone stocked the fridge. Should I make something? Breakfast, perhaps?”
A glance out the windows lining the living area displayed a moon hanging high over the lake. Definitely the middle of the night. Not that it mattered. “Breakfast sounds—”
“All right,” a deep voice interrupted. “I have my phone, Red. Just hold on.” Jayson and Jacque stood in the dining area. Well, just Jayson because Jacque had already disappeared.
“I want to see her, Jay,” a female voice said over speakerphone. “I need to see her.”
“I know, sweetheart. Just give me a second.” Dark brown eyes gazed imploringly around the living area, landing on Stas. “You. Phone. Now.”
Nice to see you, too, she thought. But the desperation in his features had her setting her coffee down, standing, and moving toward the phone. Lizzie’s face peeked up at her from the screen.
“Stas?” she breathed, her brown eyes wide. “Are you okay?”
“Hey, Liz.” She took the device from Jayson’s hand and smiled. “I’m here. Alive. Are you and the baby—”
A haunting screech came over the phone as Lizzie burst into tears.
“Fuck,” Jayson muttered. “I thought this would help, not make it worse.” He looked to the heavens as if to beg for assistance while Stas watched her best friend fall apart on the phone.
“Lizzie, I’m okay,” she assured her. “I mean, I have pink wings, which, well, you’ll love. But I’m all right, I swear.”
More sobbing, followed by unintelligible words involving some convoluted mix of Stas’s name with Issac’s, something about Stark.
“I can’t—”
“Ah, hell. He gave in, didn’t he?” The female voice came from the background. “Come on, darling, you need to breathe. In and out, that’s it. Shh…”
The phone image blurred, followed by Lizzie crying out, “Stas!”
“I’m still here,” she replied, her brow furrowing at the shifting colors on the screen. “Lizzie?”
A blonde woman with striking features appeared—the Seraphim who saved Balthazar. Leela, her memory supplied.
“Lizzie needs to calm down or there will be complications,” she advised in soft tones. “Her pregnancy is abnormal enough without all the stress, something I just told Jayson five minutes ago.”
He sighed, visibly agitated. “She needed proof that Stas was alive.”
Leela’s lips twitched. “And you caved.”
“Technically, you told me not to teleport her. You said nothing about coming here myself and showing her Stas is alive.”
“No, I told you not to stress her out more,” Leela corrected, sounding nothing like Stark, who always spoke in stoic tones, and every bit like an irritated female. Odd.
“Look, she was already a mess over Stas. And then she grew demanding, leaving me—”
“Demanding?” Lizzie repeated, her voice strained.
“Yes, Red. You were shouting at me to find Stas.” He spoke the words in the most timid tone Stas had ever heard from him. “I did what you asked, okay, sweetheart?”
“No, I wasn’t.” She sniffled. “I mean, I didn’t mean to. I just… I just… I missed Stas. And all this is s-so confusing.” Another sniffle followed her words.
“Mood swings,” Jayson mouthed, shaking his head.
“I heard that,” Lizzie snapped, the tears gone in an instant. “You try carrying this… this…. angel baby inside you!”
Leela smiled, the expression indulgent. “I’ll handle it from here. Visit your friend soon, Stas. She needs to see you.” The screen went dark, the Seraphim having hung up on her.
“Why is that woman with Lizzie?” Stas asked, confused as hell.
“She’s a Seraphim of the fertility line,” Stark replied from the couch. “She helped our mot
her give birth to you, and she’s volunteered to assist Lizzie now. I gave her all the records from the CRF as well. Including the ones Mateo couldn’t hack.”
Stas’s lips parted as Jayson’s gaze narrowed. “Still doesn’t make me trust you, asshole.”
“That implies I care about what you think, which I do not,” Stark replied, his focus on his phone. “Go back to your wife, Elder. She needs you.”
“I could hear her screaming from my house,” a deep male voice said from the kitchen. Balthazar stepped into the dining room, a stack of pizza boxes in his hands. “Jacque helped me procure these.”
“Yup. Save some for me. Gotta grab Luc and Alik, and take Jay back to Lizzie first.” The teleporter stood beside Jayson already, his floppy hair mussed from the wind of zipping back and forth. “Good, Jay?”
“No,” he muttered. “Lizzie didn’t seem satisfied at all.”
“Pregnancy does that to a woman,” Balthazar murmured, a devious twinkle in his eyes. “I can’t wait until little LJ is born.”
Jayson glowered at the mind reader. “We are not calling her that.”
“Perhaps you’re not, but I am.”
“No, you’re—” Jayson’s retort disappeared on the wind as Jacque teleported them both out of the dining area, leaving Balthazar chuckling in their wake.
“So, who’s hungry?” he asked, the picture of innocence as he set the boxes down on the oversized dining room table.
“I am,” Issac said, his lips curled into a boyish grin. “And I smell pepperoni.”
Since when do you get excited over pizza? Stas wondered.
After the marathon of sex upstairs? I’m excited to eat anything.
I thought you were well fed? she teased.
He smirked over his shoulder. I was, and now I’m starving. I suspect this is going to be a very long day, Aya.
“Well, that’s new,” Balthazar mused, his gaze swinging back and forth between them. “And what’s fascinating is, while I know you’re speaking, I can’t hear it.”
Issac’s eyebrows lifted. “You mean I finally have a way to keep you out of my head? Brilliant.”
“They’ve bonded,” Stark said from the couch. “Despite my warning to the contrary, I might add.”
“Because your cautions impact so many of my decisions,” Issac deadpanned.
“Bonded?” Balthazar repeated, stepping closer.
“Seraphim blood bond.” Stark stood, his expression blank. “Issac just joined the Seraphim of Resurrection’s bloodline, via Astasiya. Congratulations. I’m sure Osiris will be thrilled.”
27
Stas
“Issac is turning into a Seraphim,” Luc repeated, his tone incredulous. He’d arrived with Jacque at the tail end of Stark’s explanation—an explanation no one in the room understood.
“Sweet.” Alik collapsed into the recliner chair, kicking it back. “Hope it gives him some additional powers. Oh, and since no one else has said it, glad you’re alive, Stas.”
“Yes, I’m thankful you’re still with us,” Luc said, his gaze still on Stark. “So you’re saying by completing this blood bond between them, it’s initiated some sort of transition process?”
Stas wasn’t offended by his immediate return to the topic at hand because she wanted an answer, too. They could all celebrate her life after they learned more about Stark’s cryptic statements.
“The process started the first time Issac bit Stas. It’s why he didn’t need to feed. Her blood cured his inherent curse, allowing him to survive without the essence of a mortal. And now that they’ve completed the bond, his soul has joined with hers. He’s no longer an Ichorian; he’s transitioning into the ethereal realm.”
“I don’t feel any different from before.” Issac stood in the living area, his elbow resting on the mantel above the fireplace. The pizza remained untouched in the dining room, everyone having lost their appetites—Stas, too. “I can still see everyone’s visions, apart from yours and Astasiya’s, and I certainly haven’t grown any feathers.”
Stark snorted. “The process takes decades, not hours. Why do you think it took Stas twenty-five years to reach maturity? And she was born a Seraphim. You were not. It will take two decades for you to fully phase into your ethereal state, likely longer.”
“Stas was born a Seraphim?” Luc repeated, frowning. “Ezekiel mentioned Osiris is a Seraphim, but Sethios’s mother was mortal. Doesn’t that make him a half-breed? Genetically speaking, I mean.”
Stark shook his head. “You’re working in terms of mortal expectancies. Seraphim may resemble humans in our corporeal state, but there’s nothing human about our genetics. The blood contains our elemental properties, which override mortality in every way. Sethios was predominantly Seraphim because of his father’s genetic influence, not a half-breed. As such, Stas was born pure because Caro’s bloodline overruled what little mortality Sethios carried in his system.”
“How is one predominantly Seraphim and not completely Seraphim?” Luc asked.
“By mating a Seraphim to a mortal,” Gabriel replied. “Sethios maintained just enough mortality to straddle the boundaries between the human realm and ethereal realm. Meaning he could see Seraphim but could not fully phase. Although, I suspect he’s completely transitioned now as a result of the bond.”
“And the process takes several decades?” Issac prompted.
“Yes, it’s a gradual evolution, but you’ll eventually become a purebred Seraphim—meaning your human DNA will dissolve as the superior essence takes hold. New powers will manifest over time. You could develop skills that rival Stas’s bloodline, or perhaps your visionary abilities will morph into something spectacular. We have no way of knowing for sure.”
“Fascinating,” Luc marveled.
While Stas agreed, she had a more pressing query. “Can you go back to the part about Osiris being a Seraphim?” Because that was news to her. Everyone had speculated at Sethios’s origin, but no one had guessed Osiris to be anything other than an Ichorian.
“Yes, he’s the Seraphim of Resurrection.” Stark lifted his ankle to his opposite knee and relaxed against the couch, his arms sprawled to either side as he sat like a king. “There are hundreds of Seraphim bloodlines, all defined by their abilities or supernatural talents. Each offspring falls into one of the familial lines based on their superior gift, just as each bloodline has a figurehead who is considered the most powerful being of that group. In your case, Osiris is the oldest and most influential Seraphim of the resurrection family. As he’s only procreated once—meaning Sethios—it stands to reason that Osiris is the strongest being.”
“And his blood is what has created Hydraians and Ichorians,” Luc added, shocking Stas even more.
“What?” She needed to sit down. First, the news on Issac. Now, whatever the fuck this was. Yeah. Okay. She collapsed into the love seat that was catty-corner to the couch Stark lounged upon. Issac joined her, his arm encircling her shoulders and pulling her close, sensing her need for comfort.
Luc took the opportunity to sit as well, but not in the only open chair. He sat on the brick fireplace stoop, directly across from Stark, his gaze intense. “Ezekiel said Osiris created a handful of the first Ichorians—himself and Aidan included—and the curse, as he called it, spread from there.”
“Yes. My kind refers to it as a curse because your kind should not exist. You’re all abominations of the human race, brought back to life through the magic of resurrection. It’s why Osiris can persuade you all. Stas can, too, because she’s a descendant of the same line.”
He made it sound like she could only compel Ichorians and Hydraians because they were resurrected. “But I also compelled Osiris and humans, and they’re not resurrected,” she said as Balthazar rejoined them. He handed Stas a fresh cup of coffee—her old one was still on the end table—and also gave one to Issac before joining Luc at the fireplace.
Stark scratched his jaw, his brow furrowing in thought. “There are varying degrees of persuas
ion. Osiris’s control over the beings he’s created is vast, meaning his compulsion holds regardless of time and space until he actively releases the command.”
“Okay.” She swallowed some of her coffee, needing the warmth.
Talking about Osiris’s power had her stomach in knots. The immortal redefined the meaning of cruel. And the reminder of her relation to him unsettled her insides. She did not want to be compared to him in any way. Alas, they shared a similar power.
“So.” She paused, clearing her throat. “Why can I compel him if he’s not my creation?”
“Osiris’s bloodline isn’t just about resurrection, but also about creation,” he clarified. “You control life and existence, Stas. Those of your bloodline can persuade anyone and everyone. It’s one of the most powerful gifts, which is why Sethios and Caro felt strongly about grounding you in humanity. You need to appreciate life to respect it. Otherwise…” He spread his hands as if to say, You know the rest.
“You become Osiris,” Issac translated, taking a sip of his drink.
“Exactly. He was sentenced to ten millennia on Earth after using his gift of persuasion on others to complete nefarious acts. I wasn’t alive then and therefore didn’t witness his atrocities, but everything I’ve observed over the last fifty-five years suggests his exile was warranted.”
“You’re only five decades old?” Luc asked, his brow lifting.
“Nearly six, actually.” He shrugged. “I’m young but well trained. I’ve already risen in the ranks of my paternal line, surpassing several who are millennia older, because my father, Adriel, is the Seraphim of War. While I maintain abilities from Caro’s messenger bloodline, my true strengths are in combat.”
“I can see that,” Stas muttered, recalling all the grueling hours of having her ass handed to her on a mat. “No wonder you’re such a hard-ass.”
His lips twitched. “No, you’re just untrained, little sister. But you’re improving every day.”
The endearment sent a jolt through her bloodstream. Little sister.
Gabriel Stark is my older brother.
