Blood Laws

by Lexi C. Foss

  7

  Gifts from Hydria

  Astasiya was curled up with a book on his favorite couch. All that glorious blonde hair was pulled over one shoulder, leaving her neck exposed. The innocent gesture taunted the predator within him, making his instincts claw to the surface. She wasn’t ready to witness that side of his nature yet, which was why he refrained from defining Ichorian. He would when she was ready.

  Skinny jeans and the blue tank top looked good on her, or maybe it was just seeing her conscious and alive that pleased him. Having her near death in his bed the last few days impacted him in a way he never could have anticipated. And he refused to evaluate what it all meant.

  He finished fastening his cufflinks before approaching the beauty on the couch. She was too engrossed in the book to sense him, something he took advantage of by moving in behind her. His hand balled into a fist at the familiar item in her hands. It wasn’t a book at all, but a photo album. One that held cherished memories he was not in the mood to revisit.

  “Where did you find that?” It didn’t belong here.

  Her fingers trembled as she touched the page. “You knew Owen.” Her softly spoken words alleviated the pressure in his chest, but only slightly.

  “We were acquainted, yes. Did you find that on the bookshelf?” He would bet good money Jacque put it there. Damn teleporter. He loved leaving little reminders of Hydria all over his condo. A not so subtle hint to visit.

  “You told me you didn’t know him.” Accusation underscored her tone. He couldn’t remember his precise phrasing, but he didn’t know Owen well.

  “We weren’t friends. We were only briefly acquainted.” Laying his jacket over the back of his couch, he sat beside her. She traced the photo, her lower lip trembling. The date printed on the photo was telling. So was the attire. No point in avoiding the topic he knew was troubling her. “I don’t miss the fashion of that decade.” The bell bottom jeans and flowery shirts were atrocious.

  “He was an Ichorian too?”

  A natural guess. “Not quite, no.”

  Her full lips curled downwards. “This photo looks like it’s from the seventies. It’s decades old.” A clear deduction there was no need to confirm. She looked at him. “If he’s not an Ichorian then what was he? Because he obviously wasn’t human if he still looked twenty-something today.”

  “He was a Hydraian. Another type of immortal.”

  “Okay, so what’s the difference between a Hydraian and an Ichorian?”

  “Telling you that would require defining Ichorian.” Which he wasn’t ready to do. A slow introduction was key to earning her trust. It was why he hadn’t told her the full truth about the CRF. He saw the doubt in her eyes when he mentioned the Nizari poison. She wouldn’t believe him if he told her everything. Not yet. Their relationship was too young. Her faith was too intertwined with the Fitzgeralds and Watkins to listen to him. He planted the seed of doubt by speculating about the CRF’s intentions. It would be up to her to put the puzzle pieces together.

  “Okay.” Annoyance flashed in her green eyes. “So are there more types I should know about?”

  “It depends on who you ask. Ichorians and Hydraians are the most prominent, but there are those that believe Seraphim still walk the earth. They’re rare and supposedly the creators of my race, but I’ve never met one.”

  “Seraphim.” Her lips twisted. “Like angels?”

  “Why are you giving me that look?” It was a mixture of laughter and surprise. Because he was descended from angels?

  “It …well …” She bit her lip, her eyes crinkling with mirth. “I sort of nicknamed you demon when you wouldn’t give me your name.”

  Oh. He grinned. “You gave me a pet name.”

  “No, I gave you a name when I didn’t have anything to call you.”

  “It’s cute.” The indignant look she gave him was adorable as well. So feisty. “Ichorians are descended from a fallen Seraphim, or so the rumor says, so it’s still appropriate.” He brushed his knuckles down the curve of her neck. Her soft skin blushed a pretty shade of pink in response. So responsive. “Mmm, I like my pet name.”

  “It’s not a pet name.” She flipped to the next photo and his smile died. He didn’t know Owen well, but Amelia did. She knew all the Hydraians. “He looks so happy here,” his blonde murmured, not realizing the turmoil building in his chest. He would be sending this particular reminder back to Jacque.

  “Do you know why he was killed?” she asked while turning the page to display another memory. The blue eyes staring up at him haunted his soul daily. He didn’t need the fresh reminder. Not today. He took the album from her and closed it.

  “I have my suspicions, but nothing concrete.” He stood and returned the album to the shelf, his touch lingering on the familiar binding. Amelia’s creativity was etched into every groove. There were hundreds of these books in Hydria. Jacque knew what he was doing when he dropped this particular one off. Calling the young teleporter was officially added to today’s agenda.

  “Who is she?” Stas was still on the couch, her arms folded tightly around her stomach. “The woman in all those pictures, I mean.”

  He wanted to change the subject, but the memories troubling her gaze reminded him too much of his own. This woman understood loss. Not just Owen, but her parents as well. The information Mateo provided said they died in a house fire. Clear human fabrication. Whatever happened to her parents weighed heavily upon her. It was evident in the way she looked at him now.

  “My sister, Amelia.” He held out a hand to help her stand. It was an excuse to touch her, one she accepted with minimal hesitation despite the shocked expression on her face. Whether it was because he told her about Amelia or because he admitted to having a sister, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t have time to care. They had business to discuss.

  “I have to attend a gala tonight and I would like to take you with me. As my date.” He dropped her hand and feigned fixing his already immaculate tie. It was blood red today and suited his current mood. Having a delectable yet unavailable woman in his bed for three nights was enough to drive a sane man mad. He would need to feed soon. Too bad what he wanted was unavailable. He retrieved his jacket from the back of the couch and put it on while she considered his request.

  “Okay.” She nibbled her lower lip before adding, “but only if you give me five more answers to whatever I ask and tell me what an Ichorian is.”

  His little complication was playing with fire. He welcomed the challenge and the change in air between them. It was starting to feel a little melancholy during their walk down memory lane. Now they were back on track. “Are you trying to deal with me, Miss Davenport?”

  Fierce green eyes met his, provoking all manner of inappropriate thoughts. Like what they would look like in the throes of passion. “No, I’m giving you my terms.”

  He nearly laughed. No woman ever gave him terms for a date. Not that this was necessarily a date, more of a business arrangement. They needed to be seen in public together for his plan to work, and put to rest any suspicions the CRF had about her reacting to the Nizari poison. Winning her over in the process was an added bonus, one that would make her more helpful.

  “I will give you two answers.” He tucked a soft strand behind her ear and let his fingers drift down her neck. “And I will consider defining Ichorian more clearly for you.” By showing, not telling.

  She licked her lips and shook her head. “Three answers and you define Ichorian now.”

  He moved into her personal space, gripping her hip with one hand to hold her in place when she tried to move away. Their foolish conversation had already gone on longer than he intended. “We leave at seven.” He bent so their mouths were a hairsbreadth apart. “And I will only answer your three questions after the gala, not before or during.”

  Her breath fanned his lips, encouraging him to close the gap between them. But he waited, wanting her consent first. She gave a tiny nod, her lips grazing his.

  “Okay.”
A single word that he took to mean so much more than it really did.

  His free hand tangled in her hair as he took her mouth with his. There was nothing tentative about his movements, all power and demand, and she melted into him the way she had the other night at the restaurant. Only this time he didn’t hold back. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he pulled her closer and devoured her.

  Three days of having her near, but so far away, was his undoing. His tongue met hers in a sensuous dance, every movement a clear declaration of what he wanted from her. For he would have her under him, of that he was certain. His hand tightened in her hair, holding her closer. He left nothing to the imagination, showing her exactly who he was and what he demanded.

  Her sweet arousal teased his senses, exciting his baser instincts. He hardened the kiss, proving his dominance in a single swipe of his tongue against hers. She moaned in response, her body succumbing to his every touch. Satisfied by her acceptance, he eased back. He knew the arousal was thick in his eyes and didn’t bother hiding it.

  “Hmm, I would continue this discussion, but you need to be seen in public. It will help dispel any uncertainties surrounding your reaction to the Nizari poison.”

  She blinked. “You think someone noticed my reaction?”

  “It’s possible, but seeing you alive and healthy will negate any suspicions. Which is why my driver is waiting downstairs to take you out for an afternoon of pampering.” He brushed his lips against hers, enjoying the shiver it evoked from her. “Try to be ready by seven.”

  “I’ll just take the subway home. I have a few cocktail dresses in my closet. I don’t need any pampering.” She made little air quotes with her fingers before gripping the lapels of his jacket. It was a possessive action that warmed him inside, as did her words. A woman denying his gifts was a rare experience. He rather liked it, not that he was going to allow it.

  “It’s not negotiable. I’ve already arranged everything and requested a friend pull a few dresses for you to choose from.”

  “Should my closet be insulted?”

  He grinned. “No, I rather enjoyed going through your clothes, especially your lingerie. Someone has a lace fetish.” He nipped her bottom lip as she struggled for a response. She never questioned him about the suitcase in the bedroom. He suspected the missed detail was a result of her being overwhelmed by more pertinent information.

  “You were in my room?”

  “It was that or dress you in my clothes.” An appealing thought. She would look fantastic in a pair of boxer briefs and a white t-shirt. No bra or panties, just his clothes against her flesh. He would tease her nipples through the thin fabric with his mouth until her taut peaks were visible beneath the shirt. His cock hardened to a painful degree, straining against the fabric of his trousers. He stepped away before he made the images a reality. She needed time to recover. He also didn’t have enough time to indulge in her the way he intended to. Perhaps later, after the gala if she was feeling up for it.

  “Do I want to know how you got into the condo?”

  “Probably, but I’ll have to count it as a question and you owe me a date first.” He patted her on the ass because he could and started towards the foyer. “Enjoy your spa day, darling.”

  “I don’t remember agreeing.”

  “I don’t remember offering a choice.” He called over his shoulder. “See you at seven.”

  8

  Smile for the Cameras

  She’s in the condo.

  Issac read the text message from his driver Benjamin as he exited Wakefield Pharmaceuticals’ headquarters. He typed a message back that they would be ready for pickup in twenty minutes. It was only a five minute walk to his condo building and he changed into his tuxedo at the office. His executive office came with a walk-in closet and full suite bathroom. A perk of owning the company and building was being able to arrange his personal space any way he wanted.

  He ran a hand over the silk lapel of his buttonless jacket as he crossed the Westside Highway and continued down Chambers Street. It was a new tuxedo from his designer in Italy. The wool was a bit heavy for his liking, but the overall fit worked for the evening. He paired it with a black vest, silk button down and trousers. Black on black was his trademark gala attire.

  “Evening, Sir.” Paul greeted him as he opened the door to the condo building. It didn’t matter how many times he told the kid to call him Issac, it was always “Sir” or “Mister Wakefield.”

  “Hi Paul.” He gave the man a nod as he headed towards the elevators.

  There were only two condos on his floor. He owned both and used the larger one for himself. The other was a guest suite with three bedrooms. Astasiya was waiting in his suite, an intimacy he reserved for only his closest friends and family. The woman stayed in his condo for several days this week and nearly died there. It only made sense to keep her comfortable. That was the reason he kept telling himself while he ignored the rightness of the situation. Some inane part of him liked her in his space. An insane notion. There was no future for them. She didn’t know that, but he did.

  He slid his keys into his pocket and followed the sweet aroma of lavender and soap to the great room. Astasiya was standing by the windows admiring the colors of the sun playing over the Hudson. The evening hours were a glorious time to enjoy the view, but he couldn’t be bothered to appreciate it now. Not with the gorgeous blonde standing before him.

  She was breathtaking in a sapphire silk gown that hugged her curves and flowed over her legs. Two thin straps were all that kept the dress from falling, leaving her entire back exposed to his touch. He trailed his fingers down her spine, arousing a shiver from her. She met his gaze in the window.

  Her makeup was light, not that she needed it. High cheekbones, full lips, thick eyelashes and a pert little nose, all marked her as gorgeous. But her hair was the highlight. All those lavish strands were pulled away from her face and tousled into elegant waves that skimmed her shoulders. He would be sending the hairdresser an additional tip.

  “You are stunning, Astasiya.” He noted the silver heels with an inward smile. They added three inches to her height and somehow lengthened those long legs. Glorious.

  “You look more expensive than you usually do,” was her greeting.

  Someone was in a cheeky mood tonight.

  His hand fell to her hip as she turned. The slit up her left leg exposed her upper thigh. Mmm. That was something he would take full advantage of tonight.

  “How was your afternoon, darling?” He caressed her hip with his thumb. The designer dress was more than worth the price. His only complaint was the sweetheart neckline. It was appropriate for the gala, but knowing she was braless beneath all that silk left him craving a more indecent option. A plunging neckline would be oh so fun.

  “The pampering was okay.” Delight played over her full lips. Cheeky indeed.

  “Just okay?”

  “It was an experience.”

  “Are you ready for another?” He had a few other experiences in mind for her tonight. Most involving finding out what color she was wearing beneath this dress. He hoped it was a variant of blue or maybe black.

  Arousal thickened the air around them and dilated her pupils. She swallowed twice before replying. “Maybe.” Not exactly consent, but he could work with it.

  He placed his hand at the small of her back. Her skin was warm against his palm. She could not have chosen a more alluring dress. “Shall we?” He applied just enough pressure to encourage her to move with him. She did and grabbed a black clutch from the table as they passed it.

  “So where is this gala?” she asked as they entered the elevator.

  “The Pierre.” The flare in her gaze told him she knew of it. Most New Yorkers did. It was a popular place for events. “Benjamin is driving us.”

  “The tall chatty guy who took me all over the city today?”

  “That would be him.” The old man started working for him over a decade ago. A kind soul he paid handsomely to keep qui
et about his personal affairs. He was talkative, but never about what mattered.

  “He doesn’t get the night off?”

  “Not tonight.” He didn’t feel too bad about it; the man had most of the week off. A result of Issac staying cooped up in his condo waiting for a certain blonde to wake up.

  The gray haired man greeted them as they exited the building and opened the back limo door.

  “What happened to the car?” Astasiya asked. His driver preferred the town car she referenced, but tonight required a more elegant ride.

  “I upgraded it,” Benjamin replied, grinning.

  “Some upgrade,” she remarked as Issac helped her into the limo.

  Two flutes of champagne waited for them inside. He handed her one after settling beside her and took the other for himself. “To experiences, darling.”

  “I have no idea why we’re doing this, but sure.” She tapped her glass against his and took a healthy sip. “I hope there’s food at this event.”

  “You could say that.” These galas were more about the alcohol than the sustenance.

  She groaned. “It’s going to be one of those hoity-toity affairs isn’t it? With artistic food meant for looking at and not eating?”

  “You sound familiar with them. Have you attended one?” With Thomas perhaps? His free hand curled into a fist. The Sentinel was rather protective of her the other night. He thought it might be related to his work, but what if there was more to it? Had he missed something obvious?

  “Yeah, no. Not my scene, but Lizzie’s been to several. She always complains about the food afterwards.”

  Satisfaction filled him. Likely not involved with Thomas. Good. “Why isn’t it your scene?” Most women enjoyed lavish affairs.

  “I’m more of a movie or coffee date kind of a girl.”

  “Go on.” He made a show of getting more comfortable and widened his legs enough to press his thigh against hers. It was the left one, exposed by the slit in the dress. His hand itched to settle there, slide his fingers beneath the silk and explore. He busied himself with finishing his champagne and pouring a new glass. He topped hers off while she spoke.