Blood Seeker

by Lexi C. Foss

  “And you want me to do what, exactly?” he asked.

  “Compel her to stand still and not fight me.”

  He snorted. “No.”

  Annoyance muddled her features. “Do you want me to fix this or not, Sethios?”

  “You created the mess. You clean it up,” he tossed back at her. Except, as soon as the words left his mouth, another memory tickled his thoughts—one that reminded him of the day he and Caro had asked Vera to wipe their minds.

  He muttered a curse under his breath.

  “All right,” he said, not at all pleased by what he had to do but understanding the need for it. “Caro, drop the knife and don’t move or mist.” He threaded the compulsion through his words, earning him an enraged growl from the now frozen female.

  The blade fell to the carpet at her feet, the last of her fight draining from her currently steady limbs.

  He walked up behind her and bent to retrieve the knife.

  She growled again, making him smile.

  This reminds me of how we first met, he whispered into her mind. You couldn’t move then either. He drew the tip of the blade up her leg as he returned to a standing position.

  “I’m keeping this,” he informed Ezekiel as he twirled it between his fingers and then slid it into the pocket of his jeans. Then he stood dutifully behind his angel, ready to catch her just in case she fell.

  His lips twitched at the accidental pun in his mind—his angel falling—she’d fallen long ago into the pits of hell with him by her side. The heat emanating from her now seemed to confirm their position together.

  But it was the simmering anger that really captured his attention.

  You’re making me hard, angel, he told her, aware that she wasn’t responding to him at all. Should I take the knife back out and play? You’re already naked for me. Maybe we’ll find a window to fuck against, see if that jogs your memory.

  Release me, she seethed.

  Never, he vowed, clasping her hips to drive his point home. You’re mine, just as I’m yours.

  I will kill you for this.

  You’ve promised that before, he reminded her, bending to press a kiss to her shoulder. I’m still waiting.

  Remove this spell and I’ll deliver your fate.

  Once Vera is done, I’ll consider it, he replied, glancing at the memory-wiping Seraphim. “She’s ready.”

  Vera flashed him an incredulous glance. “She looks ready to murder us, not comply.”

  “She can’t break my hold,” he murmured, his grip tightening on her hips. “And if she does, it’ll be me she tries to kill, not you.”

  There will be no “trying” about it, Caro replied darkly.

  He chuckled. I’ve missed this side of you, angel. It’s like I need to teach you how to feel all over again.

  I feel just fine, thank you.

  Yes, anger. Which I can easily turn into something so much hotter, he replied, kissing her neck this time before nibbling on her ear. Keep taunting me, angel. See what happens.

  How are we connected? she demanded.

  You don’t remember? he asked, frowning.

  She fell silent.

  His teasing mood fled, his focus falling on Vera. “Fix her mind. She’s losing sight of who I am to her.” He could feel the uncertainty in their bond, the way it wavered between them, her knowledge of their mating undeniable one minute and gone in the next breath.

  “So you can offer demands without compulsion,” Vera said as she moved to stand in front of Caro. “Fascinating.”

  “Do you prefer to be persuaded? Because I’ll happily comply.”

  “No, you won’t,” she murmured, lifting her palm to Caro’s cheek. “This isn’t something you want me to rush—not with how much I’ve altered within her mind.” She closed her eyes, her voice growing softer with each word as she added, “I had to hide her memories not only from her but also from others of my line and all of Seraphim kind. This won’t just hurt her, Sethios. It’ll hurt me as well.”

  He wanted to say he approved of that reciprocated pain. However, it would be a lie. Now that he had all his memories back, he’d realized the sacrifices they’d all made—Vera included—in protecting Astasiya.

  And for that, he would forever be grateful.

  Which was why he kept his mouth shut and merely nodded, his way of informing her he understood what needed to be done and would do what he could to help. He slipped his arms around Caro’s waist, hugging her from behind and holding her as Vera went to work on her mind.

  His angel screamed, the sound radiating through the bond and engulfing his entire being. It wasn’t out loud, but internal, and soul-destroying. Her suffering nearly undid him, leaving him shaking and causing tears to spring to his eyes. But he took everything she had to give, his persuasive grasp resolute.

  She would not move until this was done, no matter how much she yelled and cried. And he’d accept her anguish as punishment.

  He closed his eyes, wincing at the shrieks echoing inside him, at the pure agony setting their connection on fire.

  She blamed him.

  She hated him.

  She loathed her existence.

  She mentally wept.

  She shattered.

  She rebuilt herself, then fractured again.

  Over and over it went, each sensation slamming into him as though it were his own. He felt Vera meddling with her memories, picking them apart and piecing them back together again. It was worse than what she’d done to him, the amount of weaving and unweaving so substantial that it was a shock Caro had even been able to function.

  And it wasn’t just the memories, but her time in reformation, too.

  He overheard the chanting, the rules, the edicts that Seraphim were not supposed to feel or care or consider anything other than logic.

  Fuck, it was cruel. How could beings exist without so much as an ounce of humanity or remorse inside them? Not all decisions were driven by reason. Emotions mattered. Which he showed her through the bond, telling her how much he loved her, how much he missed her, how much he wanted her to come back to him.

  She shut him out.

  Then let him in again.

  Then slammed the door in his face once more.

  It was a mental dance that left him shaking against her, his arms holding fast, his body her anchor in a world she didn’t want to return to. There’s no choice, angel, he whispered, his voice agonized by the pain straining their link. You’re coming back to me. Then we’re taking them all down.

  Because this experience showed him something very important—a fact all of them had danced around for years.

  The Seraphim were just as big a problem as his father. Perhaps even worse because they had a society littered with harsh rules and stoic edicts.

  They’d created Osiris. Left him to do whatever the fuck he wanted on Earth. And now wanted to use Astasiya to remove the bastard.

  A twenty-five-year-old girl.

  Mated or not, she was still a child in the grand scheme of the universe. They all were when compared to the ancients on the fucking council. And they wanted a young female to take down one of the oldest beings known to time?

  She’s expendable to them, Caro whispered, their connection more alive now than it’d ever been. Or at least, it felt that way after years of being separated.

  He released her from his persuasion and turned her in his arms, finding her eyes filled with knowledge and history. It was all written there in her expression, the love they’d once had, the bond they’d held sacred, and the inevitable heartbreak they’d both endured.

  They want to use her because she’s expendable, she reiterated, drawing him back to his thoughts on the council and their intentions. She’s a soldier to them.

  Yes, he agreed. We all are.

  Her knees buckled, but he caught her with ease and lifted her up into his arms. Vera sat in a chair a foot away, her eyes closed.

  “Is it done?” he asked her. She didn’t answer, causing him to f
rown. “Vera?”

  “She’s resting,” Gabriel said from the other side of the room. He’d taken a seat as well, and Ezekiel was nowhere to be seen.

  “How much time has passed?” Sethios asked, noting the sunlight outside—a rarity in Iceland during the winter season. That indicated it was close to noon.

  “Several hours,” Gabriel confirmed. “Skye said your room is upstairs and two doors down on the left. Jacque and Owen are staying across the hall. I’m sleeping here.” He stretched out on his back along the four-cushion couch and tucked his hands behind his head. “We need to talk tomorrow” was the only other thing he said before his eyes fell closed.

  Yeah, Sethios imagined there was a lot everyone needed to say. But his first priority was taking care of the now dozing woman in his arms. She’d tucked her head against his shoulder, her blonde hair tangled and unwashed. That didn’t stop him from pressing a kiss to her forehead. I’ve got you, angel, he told her.

  I know, she replied, sighing against him.

  He took a moment just to study her, amazed that he held her.

  She was here.

  His Caro.

  His life.

  His heart.

  In his arms, against his chest, warm and fragile and beautiful and strong. Such a conundrum. He felt her vulnerability, her exhaustion and exposed mind, yet power emanated beneath the surface, his warrior refusing to stand down even in her weakest state.

  I love you, Caro.

  I love you, too, she whispered, the fatigue in her mental voice rivaling the one exuded by her body.

  He carried her upstairs and to the bedroom Gabriel had indicated was theirs for now. Inside, he found a warm bath already poured, the scents of eucalyptus strong and encouraging.

  Laying Caro on the bed, he stripped out of his clothes and hid the blade in the nightstand. Then he lifted up his angel and took her to bathe.

  She didn’t stir, not even when he used a shower head to wash her hair. It wasn’t an easy task, her body dead weight against his, but he took his time, cleaning her thoroughly and combing her hair afterward. Then he tucked her into the sheets and slid in beside her, determined not to let her go ever again.

  You’re mine forever, Caro. When you’re awake, I’ll remind you of what that means. For now, sleep well.

  “Clara isn’t the mole.”

  Balthazar’s statement reverberated in Issac’s head as he considered what that meant. When he and Lucian said they needed to have a conversation with him and Astasiya, he hadn’t known what to expect. With everything going on, the commentary could have been regarding anything. But this proclamation hadn’t even made his list of possibilities.

  What did it say about him that the female he once adored like a sister hadn’t even graced his thoughts?

  That you have a lot on your mind, Aya replied softly. We all do.

  “How do you know she’s not the mole?” she asked out loud.

  “Sethios somehow undid the compulsion around her.” Lucian stood with his arms folded across his chest, his gray T-shirt stretching across his pronounced biceps.

  He’d been channeling his grief over Aidan’s death by spending more hours working out rather than sleeping. Amelia had expressed her concern to Issac that her big brother wasn’t grieving properly. He was starting to agree with her. And not just because of the dark bags beneath Lucian’s emerald eyes.

  “He said it was crudely done, and he suspected that Osiris had left it for you to dismantle as practice,” Balthazar added.

  “Has Clara been able to give us any leads on who the mole might be?” Issac asked.

  Both men shook their heads. “But now that we know it was all a ruse, we can use it to our advantage,” Lucian replied. “We’ve left her in the cell, albeit with much more comfortable accommodations. As far as everyone else is concerned, she’s still guilty and not to be spoken to.”

  “Alik knows. But no one else.” Balthazar ran his fingers through his dark hair, fixing what the outside breeze had done to his artfully messy strands. “We’ll tell Jay when he has less on his mind.”

  “So that means the person reporting to Jonathan is still roaming among us,” Aya said, frowning. “Or has the culprit tried to flee?”

  “Jacque’s the only one not on the island right now, but he’s with Owen and your parents at Ezekiel’s undisclosed location.” Lucian didn’t sound pleased by that. “But everyone else is still here.”

  “Who do you suspect?” Issac asked. “Originally, you insisted on testing Nadia, Clara, and Tristan.”

  “We also suspected Ezekiel. Ash and Jacque were mentioned as well.” Balthazar’s tone held a lack of emotion, which was uncharacteristic of the mind reader. Perhaps he didn’t want to let his opinion show either way on the topic.

  Lucian’s eyes narrowed. “We know it’s not Jacque or Ash.”

  “We also knew it was Clara,” Balthazar reminded him. “And it wasn’t her.”

  The two Elders shared a long look, the tension between them palpable.

  Issac cleared his throat. “Right. We made a mistake. Let’s fix it by finding the culprit.”

  “One hell of a mistake,” Balthazar muttered.

  “And we’ll spend the next several decades or centuries making it up to her,” Issac vowed. “But first, we need to find the real guilty party so we can move forward. Until that point, we’re stuck in this perpetual cycle of blame, and it’s not healthy for anyone.”

  “He’s right.” Aya’s green eyes blazed with power. “What we need right now is to be able to trust each other, not point fingers unnecessarily. So tell us who you suspect, and we’ll go from there.”

  “That’s the problem—only those in the inner circle knew about our test,” Lucian said, his expression turning pained. “Someone would have had to orchestrate Osiris compelling Clara to paint her as the villain.”

  Issac considered that before saying, “Unless she was always the scapegoat.” It would make sense to have that playing card lying in wait to be used at precisely the right moment. “Osiris’s compulsion isn’t always immediate. And now that we know he’s the creator of all Hydraians and Ichorians, it’s possible he’s left persuasive strands in all of us, for him to tug on as he needs to.”

  “Which means he could have compelled her months or years ago, and only recently called in that strand, as you call it.” Lucian lifted his hand to his square jaw to scratch the light dusting of blond hairs growing along his chin. “Do you think our real mole is also being compelled?”

  “It’s possible,” Issac said. “But whoever it is must have called him to let him know that he needed to activate his tie to Clara.”

  “What I’m trying to understand is the link between Osiris and John,” Aya said. “If Osiris compelled Clara to act as a scapegoat, then he’s actually the one in charge of the mole, not John. And if we’re right about that person being in the inner circle of knowledge, then Osiris let John die.”

  Lucian’s eyes took on that faraway gleam they always did when his omniscience kicked in, his mind working through the various puzzle pieces to arrange them into a neat answer for them all to hear.

  That look reminded Issac of Aidan, how he used to lose himself to the millennia of knowledge he kept stored in his head, never forgetting a single detail. It was why everyone considered the duo omniscient. They had lived through so much that they literally knew everything.

  “Osiris sees us all as pawns in a war he intends to wage with the Seraphim,” the Elder said slowly. “I can’t imagine he was thrilled by Jonathan taking down some of his most valuable assets.”

  “Osiris and Aidan were rather close,” Issac replied, recalling all the moments he’d witnessed between the two men over the last few centuries. “And he was fond of Anya as well.”

  “Jonathan also destroyed the CRF,” Balthazar added. “He blew it up. I can’t imagine Osiris appreciated having all his experiments taken down in the process.”

  “So John was no longer useful to him.” Ay
a leaned into Issac’s side, her voice soft. “Rather than try to save him, he allowed us to remove the problem from the chessboard and also triggered Clara to take the fall for the leak of information.”

  “He would see her as an ideal pawn—she can only sense emotion, not control it.” Lucian’s pragmatic nature had taken over, his tone no longer irritated, just flat and to the point. “She’s expendable to him. Which means his real mole is far more valuable.”

  “Jacque is valuable,” Balthazar said. “As are Ash, Tristan, and even Nadia.”

  “It’s not Tristan,” Issac replied, confident. “He’s my best friend.”

  “He also didn’t know about your test.” Aya radiated certainty through their bond, confirming she agreed with Issac’s assurance of Tristan’s innocence. He wrapped his arm around her, giving her a subtle squeeze to show his gratitude. She and his progeny weren’t friends. But her loyalty to Tristan meant a great deal to him.

  “So we agree it’s someone who knew about the test,” Balthazar said.

  Lucian nodded. “Yes. Unless Osiris has a spy in our midst who isn’t visible to our senses.”

  “Technology?” Aya suggested. “Or do you mean a Seraphim?”

  Issac frowned, her questions igniting a flurry of potentials in his mind. “Hold on. I think you might be onto something there.” He started to run through all the facts, piecing together everything they knew.

  Clara’s phone records had indicated she’d spoken to Jonathan on numerous occasions. So they’d all suspected she’d called Jonathan to tell him about the wedding on the beach. They also assumed she’d warned him about the assault on the CRF headquarters. Just as she supposedly called to inform him of the location they’d given her—a false location that only a handful of people knew about.

  But they’d tracked all those suspicions through one thing.

  Technology.

  His heart skipped a beat.

  There was only one person on this island with the ability to control technology. That person also happened to be involved in all the planning, knew about the tests, and could have provided the details back to Jonathan for him to act.

  Only, Aya’s comments about the culprit really working for Osiris gave him pause.