Blood Laws

by Lexi C. Foss

  “I think we all have a pretty good idea of exactly what you’ll do with her.” Issac remarked, humor in his tone. His breath was warm as he lowered his mouth to her ear. “Anya’s touch is lethal when she wants it to be. That’s why no one will challenge her.”

  As he said earlier, charming. She was excited over adopting a human that bites. Stas hoped the dark haired human could do more than just bite and would somehow manage to kick all their asses back to hell where they belonged. The poor girl was dragged back across the stage to her spot beside Aidan while Anya slipped on her gloves. She hopped back into her lover’s lap and devoured him with a kiss that was far too crude for the public.

  “Well, this wasn’t nearly the diversion I hoped for.” Osiris announced, his tone a false lightness in the ghastly auditorium. “Does anyone have any grievances they wish to air? Punishment to deliver, perhaps?” He blinked long lashes in their direction on the latter, but Issac remained unaffected beneath her. Twirling a strand of her hair around a finger, he shook his head once. Despite their dire surroundings, her body relaxed. She did not want to be in that boxing ring.

  Several shouts wrung through the air, pulling the devil’s attention away from them. Complaints and provocations filled the auditorium, a struggle for power it seemed. No one leveled a challenge in their direction, an indication of where Issac and his friends fell in the hierarchy. They busied themselves with idle conversation while disputes were worked out just a few feet away.

  The fine hairs along her arm danced with the electricity in the room, her only outward reaction to the violent atmosphere. Inside she was screaming. Sierra’s molten corpse kept creeping in her vision. It reminded her too much of her parents after the fire. Owen, too. Too much to be a coincidence.

  This was the world that killed her parents. A mystery she longed to solve that was now too terrifying to consider. She felt like a coward. So many years she craved answers and now that she was on the cusp of understanding, she was too scared to face it. But she owed it to them, to Owen, to figure out who killed them.

  Issac shifted beneath her, drawing her from the dark recesses of her mind and back into the present. The stench of death made her stomach roll with foreboding. The marble floor wasn’t as pristine as when they entered. Rivers of blood and ashes led to a drain near the center she failed to notice earlier. She was more than ready to get out of here, but the boots in front of her said that wasn’t happening yet.

  “She did well,” Osiris said. If she never heard his voice again, she would be a happy woman.

  “Yes, she did.” Issac nuzzled her neck, a gesture meant for show that still managed to relax her. Why her body was so intent on trusting the demon, she would never understand.

  Those creepy green irises that saw too much moved over her in a slow, purposeful motion. There was nothing sexual about it, just an assessment of worth. This man was a collector of people.

  “Any idea what her talent will be?” Osiris asked.

  Issac didn’t miss a beat. “She has an affinity for language, so likely something vocal.” A statement that could be taken so many ways, yet yielded a hint of truth.

  “Fascinating. Do let me know when it’s done.”

  When what’s done?

  “Of course.”

  “It was nice to make your acquaintance, young one.” Osiris didn’t wait for a response, not that she had one to give. He meandered towards the other side of the room to begin chatting with another group.

  13

  Water Nightmares

  “We’re dismissed.” The words were a breath against her ear.

  Strong hands went to her hips to help her up. Stas was thankful for Issac’s steady grip as she struggled to balance on her heels. His chest met her back as he wrapped muscular arms around her waist in a hug. He was giving her a moment to gather her bearings and she was grateful for it.

  “Almost there, love.” The tender word sent a jolt through her heart despite their surroundings. She noticed his English accent came out more around the other Ichorians. Was his love a result of falling into old speech patterns, or was it meant to be an endearment? Who the fuck cares? her subconscious chastised. Time to go.

  Issac dropped a kiss against her neck and moved to her side, placing one hand at the small of her back. He placed himself between her and the center of the room, but it didn’t conceal the macabre scene. The resemblance between Sierra and her deceased loved ones made her queasy all over again.

  Exiting the room didn’t make her feel any better. Neither did leaving the underground or the club. She walked in a daze all the way to his car. When he opened the door, she didn’t question him. Just sat down, tucked her legs in and curled into the seat. She was vaguely aware of him putting her seatbelt on before turning on the car.

  She said nothing while he drove. She was allowed to break down and react now, but she couldn’t. It should have concerned her, the sensation of nothingness, but it failed to matter in the wake of everything she’d witnessed tonight. All she wanted was to forget.

  They parked near Lizzie’s building. Stillness surrounded them. She wasn’t sure how to proceed. Where to even begin. Is this what shock feels like?

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Issac asked.

  “I don’t know.” The sandpaper in her throat cracked over each word. She hadn’t spoken in hours or had anything to drink.

  He studied her a long moment before opening the door. When he walked around to let her out of the car, she moved on autopilot. Taking the key from its place in her bra, she handed it over and let him lead. The hand at the small of her back was a tiny comfort. She didn’t want to think anymore and her body ached with each step.

  The building lobby was quiet, the doorman drifting in and out of consciousness due to the late hour. They entered the elevator without his notice. She hit the button to her floor before settling against Issac’s side. He felt warm and safe. A contradiction to everything she witnessed tonight, but she survived because of him.

  “Is Elizabeth home?” he asked at her door.

  “No, she’s gone for the night.” She volunteered one Saturday night a month at a children’s shelter in Harlem. Her roommate wouldn’t be back until late tomorrow morning.

  That meant she would be alone tonight when the nightmares came. She had no doubt they would be brutal.

  She trembled as she disabled the alarm and headed straight to the kitchen for some water. Issac joined her. He’d lost his jacket and tie somewhere. The sleeves of his black dress shirt were rolled to the elbows, exposing strong forearms. It was a good look on him. A good color too, considering what she’d seen tonight. A demon pretending to be human.

  The cool liquid eased the burn in her throat, but did little to settle her stomach. If anything, it aggravated the ache there more. She needed food more than water, but she wasn’t sure she could keep it down. Looking in her fridge, she considered her options. Nothing appealed, not even Lizzie’s famous lasagna. Issac stood nearby, leaning against the counter. His arms were crossed, blue gaze pensive.

  “Stop looking at me like I’m going to break,” she said, shutting the fridge. “It’s not helping.” She was on edge enough without his open concern.

  “I’m trying to understand how a mortal woman of twenty four is still sane after everything that happened tonight.”

  “You would prefer I freak out?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” She could do that. “You want to talk, then? How about we start with this.” She pointed to the bite mark on her neck. “No? Okay, maybe you can finally define Ichorian and tell me how that’s different from a Hydraian. Oh, no, I know, let’s talk about how Sierra was burned alive just like my parents and came out looking a hell of a lot like Owen did two weeks ago. Or how about how a woman who may or may not be a fledgling like me was auctioned off like cattle to your friend? All topics are equally fascinating. Where should we begin?”

  She sounded much angrier than she felt. Inside she was trembling, but
she wouldn’t let him to see it.

  He stared at her in a way that irritated her. Like he could see straight through her mask to the terrified girl cowering in a corner. She refused to let that little girl rise to the surface. It would send her into hysterics.

  “Your parents were burned alive?”

  Of course that was the topic he chose. “Yes.”

  “You saw it?”

  “I was in the fucking treehouse while that monster tortured and maimed my mother, then set my father on fire for her to watch. It makes for an excellent bedtime story.” Just thinking about it made her knees wobble. Her mother’s screams tortured her to this day. She never talked about this with anyone. It was forbidden.

  She pinched the bridge of her nose. There was a headache brewing behind her eyes that made her legs weak. She wasn’t sure how much longer they would allow her to stand. Her feet were protesting the heels she still wore and her skin itched at her to get out of her dress. She wanted to tear the fabric into shreds and never look at it again. It would forever remind her of what happened tonight, and the residual stench wasn’t helping.

  “It’s believed that Ichorians descend from a cursed line of fallen angels. The curse requires my kind to drink human blood to survive. Not daily or even weekly, but enough to remain breathing. Some indulge in it more than others. That mark declares you as mine.”

  Startled by his admission, she stopped rubbing her temples and slid her fingers to her neck. It still tingled. “Why?”

  He didn’t blink. “To protect you.”

  He pushed off the counter and moved into her personal space. She had to look up to meet his stare as he crowded her against the fridge. “Do you want to know how a fledgling is created?”

  “You know I do.”

  “By a male Ichorian parent, which means your father was Ichorian. The fact that you knew him as a child tells me he broke several blood laws. He not only created a fledgling, meaning you, but he also allowed you to live. I’m guessing that is what brought about his death sentence. Your mother was just a casualty of being with the wrong man.”

  She stiffened, her hands tightening into fists at her sides. “Are you saying it’s their fault for being brutally murdered? That they brought about their own fate by creating me?”

  “Of course not. Their fate was the fault of antiquated Ichorian laws.”

  Not what she expected him to say. Her muscles loosened, reminding her again that her feet and legs hurt. She put more of her weight against the fridge, hoping it would keep her upright. “You don’t agree with the rules, then?”

  “You being alive makes that obvious.”

  “Really? And here I thought I was only alive because I’m the perfect pawn.” The words tasted bitter in her mouth.

  “Hmm, that bothered you.” He wrapped his palm around the back of her neck and started massaging her scalp. “You might be the perfect pawn, but that’s not why I risked my life for yours tonight, love.”

  Frustration laced with curiosity. How could one statement make her feel so confused? It’s the accent. That strange mix of English and American, melding together in a deep, hypnotic voice. Her skin cooled and heated simultaneously. It exhausted the last of her reserves, making standing no longer a possibility. She didn’t have the energy to continue this anymore. He caught her as she stumbled, lifting her with ease into his arms. She was too tired to be annoyed.

  “For the record,” he murmured as he carried her towards her room, “the woman who was auctioned tonight? What Aidan did saved her life.”

  “By turning her into Anya’s human slave? Sounds like a great life.”

  “You certainly are quick to judge something you know nothing about.”

  And whose fault is that? she wondered bitterly.

  Issac set her on the bed with more care than she expected from him. Then he rummaged through her drawers, picking out a pair of pajama pants and a tank top. She kicked her heels off.

  “I can dress myself,” she muttered, more to herself than to him as he laid the clothes beside her. Weakness was not her preferred trait.

  He grinned. “Is that your polite way of asking me to leave now?”

  “I never asked you to stay.”

  “Not vocally, no.”

  “Just turn around so I can change.” She meant to tell him to leave, but the words stalled in her throat. Being alone wasn’t what she wanted. Not with the fresh stream of nightmares rolling through her mind.

  “As you wish.” He inclined his head in a mock bow before facing the wall.

  Gnawing her lip, she started to work on the zipper of her dress. It was between her shoulder blades, a place she couldn’t reach well from any angle while sitting on the bed. She had to zip it in the front and pull the dress around to put it in place earlier. It took her over five minutes to get it right. Going through all that effort again exhausted her just thinking about it. After a few more tries she gave up. The damn dress wasn’t giving her much of a choice.

  “Can you help me unzip my dress?” It came out rougher than she intended. She blamed the exertion of trying to grasp the zipper for her shortness of breath.

  She expected a retort of some kind, but all he did was turn and ask her to stand. Pulling her hair over one shoulder, she stood on unsteady feet and presented her back to him. Warmth drifted over her as he stepped closer, his nimble fingers gliding up the dark fabric to where it met bare skin. Her breathing faltered when he grasped the metal hook and began ever so slowly guiding it downwards.

  This was a bad idea. The zipper went all the way to the base of her spine, just above her lace panties. When he reached a point she could reach on her own, she parted her lips, but no sound came out. Her skin flushed warm and cold as he gradually exposed it bit by bit. The moment seemed to go on forever until finally he hit the bottom. Heat surrounded her as he moved closer and placed a kiss on her shoulder. She shivered both at the light touch and the sudden coolness along her spine. She risked a glance and found him facing the wall again.

  Her arms were tight around her chest, holding the dress in place. She wondered what would happen if she dropped it and walked into his view. Pulse racing, she snagged the tank top and pulled it over her head. Dropping her dress, she pulled on the pajama pants and sat back on the bed. Tonight was not the night, not when she was this vulnerable.

  She stifled a yawn behind her hand. It was beyond late and her body was shaking with exhaustion. She was going to pass out soon. Then the nightmares would come.

  “How will you use the information about my parents?” Not that she admitted even half of it out loud, but Issac knew more than anyone other than her and the murderer.

  Hands in his pockets, he turned with a raised eyebrow. “Why would I use it for anything?” He sat beside her, his expression softening when she yawned. “You need to sleep.”

  She laid back into her pillow only because he nudged her down. It felt like heaven against her pounding skull. So did the kiss he laid against her forehead. But she wasn’t going to sleep without more answers. It was the least he could do after everything he put her through.

  “Are all Conclaves like that?”

  He sighed, lying down beside her. She rolled to face him, but he stayed on his back, one arm tucked beneath his head on the pillow as he stared up at the ceiling.

  “The Conclave is our governing board, so to speak. A show of power to keep everyone in line, and they only occur when someone breaks a blood law.”

  “How many blood laws are there?”

  “Several, most involving fledglings and Hydraians. As you may have guessed, my kind are not fond of the other immortals.”

  “And you? How do you feel about Hydraians?”

  “I think that should be obvious by now.” His dark lashes fell, fanning his defined cheekbones. “Good night, Astasiya.”

  “You’re staying?” The hope in her voice couldn’t be helped. Being alone was the last thing she wanted.

  “Apparently.”

  “Why?�
�

  “It feels right.” He looked at ease, like he stayed in her room all the time.

  “And you typically sleep in a dress shirt and pants?” It wouldn’t surprise her. She rarely saw him in anything else.

  One eye peeled open to look at her. “Are you giving me permission to undress?”

  “Depends. What do you have on under that?”

  He grinned, lowering his lashes again. “Go to sleep.”

  “Easier said than done.” She reached over and turned off the lamp, shadowing the room in darkness. There was a warm-blooded male in her bed. Not a frequent occurrence in her room.

  He shifted. Her eyes weren’t yet adjusted to the darkness, so she couldn’t see what he was doing. Was he removing his shirt? Fabric sliding over skin tantalized her senses. Definitely his shirt. It sounded like he folded it and dropped it on the floor, leaving her to wonder if he had anything on under it.

  When the telltale unbuckling of a belt tickled her ears, she turned so her back was facing him. No way was she getting drawn into that temptation. Moving more, she rolled enough to pull the covers out from under her and cocooned herself in their safety. He joined her a few minutes later, sans pants.

  His warm breath tickled her strands. He wasn’t just under the covers, but facing her and close too. His breathing evened, lulling her into a sense of ease and comfort. Too drained to think anymore, she allowed her lids to flutter closed.

  She was drowning.

  Thick black bands were wrapped in knots around her legs as she tried to kick to the surface. It was futile. She wasn’t going anywhere. Water clogged her airways, trapping her screams deep inside. Still she lived, despite her body’s craving for oxygen. Her skin was molted from years of decay, her once blonde strands resembling ash.

  Her consciousness nagged, reminding her that this wasn’t really happening. She wasn’t trapped miles under the surface in the dark recesses of the ocean. She was lost in the throes of a nightmare, one that refused to let her wake up.

  It started with her mother in that chair. Osiris filleting her alive. When he lit the match that burned her bright blue, Stas was taken elsewhere. Her mind traveled deep beneath the waves to the woman who looked so much like her mother but was really a skeleton of who her mom used to be. Her lungs burned from lack of fresh air. It was all too real. Soon she was the one trapped in the seaweed, unable to escape. The woman was gone, leaving her to fend for herself in the darkness.