by Lexi C. Foss
It’s not Tristan, Issac returned, certain.
I hope you’re right.
Issac didn’t need hope. He knew without a doubt that Tristan would never betray him.
“They’ve found Jonathan,” Issac said, pocketing his phone. “Alik and Tristan are needed in Hydria.”
“I can take them,” Leela replied. “I need to pick up something anyway.” She looked meaningfully at Gabriel.
He nodded. “Yes. It’s time.”
“Good.” She glanced at Ezekiel. “You go back to the estate, see what you can find. Try to talk to Skye again, if you can. I’ll meet you on the perimeter in sixty minutes.”
“You want me to go sit on my thumbs,” he translated.
“We can’t mist in until the wards are altered.” Gabriel glanced at Leela. “I’ll take Stas with me so she can at least see how it’s done, then we’ll wait for you before we enter.”
“You’ll be taking me as well,” Issac informed him. “I go wherever Astasiya goes.”
Astasiya shivered. “Yeah, but I don’t even recall agreeing.”
“You’re the only one who can break Osiris’s compulsion over Sethios because of your familial bond to him, Stas,” Gabriel explained. “Without you, we have no guarantee that Sethios will even be able to leave with us.”
Owen walked in holding what appeared to be a scotch and sat in the recliner closest to Astasiya. “Do you remember that professor from our junior year who started class the first day without a syllabus and just expected us all to know what the fuck was going on?”
Astasiya stared at him. “What?”
“I’ll meet you at the perimeter near the tree line, Gabe,” Leela said quietly, disappearing.
And there goes Tristan. Issac sighed. He’d follow up with his progeny after the others dealt with the Jonathan situation. Because he would be proven innocent. Issac was certain of it.
Ezekiel nodded at Gabriel and vanished without a word, the plan already defined between them.
If Owen noticed everyone departing, he didn’t show it. “That jackass who asked you about the reading that we didn’t even know we were assigned, then proceeded to call you lazy for not being prepared?”
Astasiya frowned. “Of course, I remember that. I wanted to punch him.”
Owen nodded. “So that jackass is like Stark here. He doesn’t have time for a proper introduction or a course guide, mostly because he dillydallied in getting you the course notes, right? But he needs you to take an exam today. And your entire grade will be affected by the results.”
“That’s not helping me feel better.”
“Then I’ll put it another way.” He set down his untouched drink. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that Skye’s prophecies usually come to fruition. So if you don’t get over this lack of confidence—and soon—then your father is going to die. Either you help him or you don’t. You dictate his fate.”
She glowered at him. “Really not helping.”
“Just sayin’ it like I see it, Sassy.” He relaxed, resting one ankle over his opposite knee.
“You’re making me want to punch you now,” she retorted. “Which you more than deserve for faking your own fucking death.”
He shrugged. “Honestly? I’m not worried. I mean, given this pathetic mood you seem to have fallen into, I doubt it’ll hurt much.”
She gasped. “Excuse me?”
Issac tightened his grip, more to give his hands something to do than to hold Astasiya back. She wasn’t the only one suddenly fancying a bit of violence. Pathetic mood? That was a bit harsh and unnecessary.
“What? You’re over there moping instead of being proactive. What happened to the sassy woman I knew a year ago? The one who compelled that jackass professor to trip over his feet three times during our first lecture?”
Okay, now that made Issac’s lips twitch. Astasiya recalling the memory didn’t help since it played vividly through his mind.
“I did not!” she exclaimed, but her thoughts proved that to be a lie. It seemed she’d chalked it up to coincidence but was now realizing the truth.
Naughty student, Issac teased.
Ughhhhhh was her reply.
He snorted. “Yes, you did. I heard you muttering under your breath.”
A rose colored her cheeks. “He tripped of his own accord.”
“Bullshit. You did that. You’re a hell of a lot more powerful than you realize. Which, I mean, clearly, since you’re too afraid to help your father.”
Ah, so that was the point of Owen derailing the conversation. He was trying to motivate Astasiya. Issac relaxed, approving.
“I don’t see you volunteering to come with us,” she muttered.
“If I thought I could be of any use, I would. And I don’t even like Sethios. Yet, I would go because he’s your father. I would do it for you.” He cocked his head to the side. “The question is, can you put aside the nerves and do what feels right? Because the Stas I know would never hesitate to help those who needed her. You risked your life by befriending Wakefield, and yes, you did it to learn more about your powers, but I know you also did it to find out what really happened to me. Find that woman, and bring her out to play. Her father needs her.”
Astasiya went eerily still beside Issac, her shoulders stiff, her mouth flattened into a line. “I’m not that girl anymore, Owen. I’ve died—twice. Both times from making an impulsive decision to help others. Forgive me for needing a few minutes before I jump at the opportunity to die again.”
“Well, if that’s your mentality, then I can see why you don’t want to go. You’ve already failed.”
“I’m trying to be smart.”
“No, you’re being a coward,” Owen countered. “I get that this is all overwhelming, that you haven’t fully grown into your wings yet, but your father needs you. Why else would he project to you?”
She swallowed, her guilt slithering through their bond. Issac rubbed her arm, offering what little comfort he could. Because while Owen wasn’t being the gentlest communicator, his tactic seemed to be working. Astasiya needed the boost in courage, a reminder of her strength.
It’s not an impulsive decision, love, he whispered to her mind.
I want to help him, Issac, she admitted. But I’m terrified of failing. The bit that bothered her the most—he could see it in her mind—was that she never doubted herself. Yet, she lacked confidence now. Primarily because of the last few weeks, everything she’d endured, and she couldn’t stand the thought that she might not be able to help him. And then she berated herself for thinking that way, claiming it was a weakness in her thoughts.
To acknowledge all potential outcomes is intelligent. It doesn’t make you weak, he told her. But you need to remember your power. You stood up to Osiris once. You can do it again. Remember, you have love on your side. That’s one of the most powerful motivators of all.
She swallowed, nodding. “All right,” she said softly. “All right.” She looked at Owen. “I still want to punch you.”
He chuckled. “Good. You can punch me when you get back.”
“Repeatedly,” she added.
“Fine. Just not in the face.” He winked. “It’s my best feature and all that.”
“It won’t be when I’m done with it,” she said.
He grabbed his chest as if she’d wounded him. “That’s just mean, Sassy. You love my face. Don’t threaten me like that.”
“If you’re done, we need to go,” Gabriel interjected. “Dismantling wards takes time, and we’ve already wasted ten minutes.”
“And why do we have to dismantle them?” she asked warily.
“I’ll explain once we get there.” He held out a hand. “Come on. Both of you.”
Issac glanced at Astasiya. “I go wherever you go,” he told her. “If this is your choice, then let’s kick some ass.”
Thank you, she breathed, the words wrapping around his heart and warming him from the inside.
Never thank me for doing what�
�s right, love. It’s you and me. Always.
Always, she agreed, her lips curling softly.
“Well?” Gabriel prompted, completely unaware of their private moment. Or perhaps not caring. “It’s now been eleven minutes.”
Astasiya took a deep breath and stood. “Right. Okay. Anything I need to know?” she asked, her gaze on Gabriel.
“Of course. I’ll brief you on-site.” He grabbed her hand and Issac’s wrist. “See you soon, Angelton.”
“I’ll be here doing noth—” His response was cut off by the wind whipping around them.
Issac closed his eyes, steadying his breath, waiting for the ground to appear beneath his feet. It did within seconds, blowing his mind with time and space. It was as if the Seraphim could just imagine a place and make it appear.
I hope you figure out how to do that soon, Aya, he admitted. We could have some fun.
She didn’t reply, a note of shock traversing through the bond. He opened his eyes, locating her beside him.
Aya?
She felt cold, their bond brittle between them. And her eyes were on the man standing three feet before them.
No, not a man.
A Seraphim with giant black wings etched in fire.
Osiris.
“Welcome, Stas,” he greeted. “Allow me to provide you with the grand tour.”
Aya’s scream echoed inside Issac’s head as darkness fell around them.
Oh, fu—
33
Tom
Tom handed Amelia a gun. “This one doesn’t have a safety.”
“Rule number one: know how to use a weapon before you handle it,” she parroted back at him.
He chuckled. “You’re such a good little student.”
She snorted. “You mean hot. I’m a hot student.”
An image of her in a schoolgirl uniform formed behind his eyes. A welcome reprieve from the murderous scenes playing through his mind. “Are we role-playing?” he asked, arching a brow. “Because I might enjoy that. ‘Professor Tom’ has a nice ring to it.”
“So does ‘Dead Tom,’ ” Luc replied, entering the room. “Which is what you’re going to be if I ever find you enacting that scene with my little sister.”
Tom sighed. Fucking spoilsport.
Amelia rolled her eyes as she secured her gun—just like he’d taught her. “It’s like they all want me to be a right prude,” she muttered.
“A nun, actually.” Luc selected a firearm and loaded it with bullets. “Tom briefed you on the plan? Or was he too busy writing his future obituary?”
Tom snorted, saying nothing. This was between Amelia and her dick of an older brother.
“You’re worse than Issac,” she accused. “And yes, he provided me with the schematics of Rosalie’s home and our entry points.”
“Good.” Luc attached the weapon to his belt and selected a wicked knife to twirl between his fingers. All the Elders seemed to possess a penchant for blades.
Tom preferred bullets.
“All right, then we’re ready to roll. Let’s go,” Luc said. Tension lined his wide shoulders as he exited the armory, his long legs moving quickly.
Amelia pinched her lips to the side. “I’m worried about him,” she admitted softly. “He’s not usually this abrupt.”
Really? Because in all the time Tom had known him, he’d always been short and to the point. Then again, Luc didn’t seem all that pleased by Tom fucking his baby sister. And, of course, there was the addition of him replacing the man’s best friend—Eli.
“I don’t think he’s really mourned,” Amelia added. “He’s just kept it all inside. That’s not healthy.”
“Everyone handles grief differently,” Tom replied, pressing his palm to her lower back to guide her from the room. “All we can do is be there for him when he’s ready.” If that time ever came. Something told Tom that when Luc fell apart, it would be in private and away from everyone else on the island.
Amelia paused just outside the door, her blue eyes glowing as she tipped her head back to gaze up at him. “Luc won’t grieve until after we’ve found Jonathan.”
“Then we better find him.” He traced his thumb up her spine to the back of her neck. Wrapping his palm around her nape, he tugged her into a kiss. “Are you sure you want to do this, sweetheart? To face John on his own turf?” They’d discussed it at length already, but he had to be certain this was what she wanted. Or maybe he was the one who required reassuring.
“Are you?” she countered, her eyebrow arched knowingly. She was the only one in his life who could read him so easily.
He sighed, dropping his forehead to hers. “He’s hurt a lot of people, Amelia. If we don’t stop him, he’ll hurt a lot more.” Words he’d said before, words he believed, and yet, the ache inside him remained.
“That doesn’t tell me if you’re ready to face him,” she murmured, cupping his cheek.
“I don’t know that I’ll ever be ready,” he admitted softly. A dark part of him desired to inflict pain on the man who tormented him for most of his life. The other part just wanted to be done, to no longer have to worry about what terrible torture his father would dispense next. But one thing Tom knew for certain. “We need to finish this. And the endgame begins now.”
She agreed. “It’s the final play.”
“It is.” He brushed his lips against hers, seeking her warmth and comfort. “And it’s a play we’re going to win.”
Luc appeared at the end of the hallway, an expectant look on his face. “Coming?”
Right. The Hydraian King was clearly eager to get moving. And as the other teams had left twenty minutes ago, Tom understood why.
“Yep.” He stepped away from Amelia and tugged on the lapels of his leather jacket. His weapons were holstered beneath, as always. And he had a knife in his left boot, tucked under his jeans. He reached for her hand, squeezing it once before threading their fingers together.
“Good,” Luc said, leading the way.
They wandered down the stone corridor and up the stairs to meet Mateo and Jacque outside. Luc locked the iron door behind them and pocketed the key. Apparently, there were only three in existence. Jay and Alik managed the other two because apparently, Balthazar didn’t want one. If anyone needed access to the weapons, they had to go through the Elders.
“Everyone is in their respective locations,” Mateo said as he handed Tom and Amelia their earpieces. Amelia assembled hers first, testing the microphone once and nodding when the frequency appeared correct. Tom followed suit, giving a thumbs-up after testing his own. Jacque and Luc were already prepared to go.
“Tell them to hold,” Luc advised.
Mateo keyed something into his tablet. “Already done.”
“Brilliant.” Luc glanced at each of them, clearly cataloging every detail—Amelia’s gun, Tom’s loose jacket, and the metal hilt sticking up over Jacque’s shoulder from the sword strapped to his back. “All right. Set us about a block away.”
“Scoped and ready.” The teleporter held out his arm. “Latch on and don’t let go.”
Tom kept one hand in Amelia’s and used his free palm to grip Jacque’s wrist. Amelia grasped his forearm. And Luc took the man’s shoulder.
The world whipped around them—literally—as Jacque teleported them to Upstate New York, to a street Tom hadn’t seen in years. But one he knew well.
Stars twinkled overhead, the dimly lit neighborhood silent for the night.
No cars.
No witnesses.
And about a foot of snow.
Great.
Tom nodded his head to the left, indicating that he was taking the lead. While the team technically belonged to Luc, the turf belonged to Tom. He knew this neighborhood like the back of his hand, already aware of all the places he would hide a Sentinel if he were in John’s shoes.
The four of them ducked behind a house with oversized hedges, where Tom hunkered down. “Amelia’s with me. Jacque, you and Luc need to come around from the back
, just like we discussed.”
Both men nodded.
“See you in the middle,” Tom said, smiling.
This was his playground. The game he’d been created to play. And now it was time for the protégé to become the master.
Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he crept silently through the backyards with Amelia right behind him. They were definitely creating a trail—courtesy of the fucking snow—but the Sentinels shouldn’t be lurking back here. The team would be closer to Rosalie’s home, and hopefully lazing about because no one suspected this attack.
He continued along, the house at the end being his first target. It provided the perfect vantage point for a sniper rifle with unfettered access to the entire street, including Rosalie’s driveway.
He paused at the trees hedging the back of the property, his gaze on the roof. There you are, he thought with a smile. With a signal, he told Amelia to stay in place and remain vigilant. She nodded, remaining by the outskirts of the yard while he crept forward to handle the Sentinel on top of the house.
Being silent was key, both to not alert his target or the people inside.
Fortunately, they had a two-tiered deck.
He carefully hopped up onto the snow-covered railing of the first level and gripped the icy platform above him. Good thing he enjoyed pull-ups, because this one was a bit tricky. He hoisted himself up just enough to view his surroundings—a closed balcony door and more snow. Awesome. He gripped a slick post to guide himself the rest of the way up and stood on yet another snowy railing to grab the aluminum gutter lining the roof.
I do not miss snow, he decided as he quietly maneuvered his way upward to the frozen metal shingles. Thankfully, the roof wasn’t too badly slanted, or he’d be on his ass in the grass right now.
He squatted low, eyeing the Sentinel perched on the edge—facing the wrong direction.
Justin.
Seriously? That was who his father assigned to sniper duty? For fuck’s sake, old man, Justin’s barely out of training school.
With a silent sigh, he edged his way toward the poor kid. Killing him wasn’t an option. Maybe he knew the truth about the CRF bombing. Maybe he didn’t. His father had probably claimed it was a terrorist attack or blamed the immortals. Or perhaps he’d given them the truth. Regardless, Tom was not here to play judge, jury, and executioner with his former teammates today.
