Blood Seeker Page 3

  Saving her had been a clear course, except it was driving the poor woman mad inside. Ezekiel bore the brunt of the guilt, his infatuation with her the reason she’d been imprisoned in the first place.

  That all led to Ezekiel’s current state and the pent-up rage riding his spirit.

  Sethios allowed a fist to graze his cheekbone, hoping it would be enough to pacify the ancient assassin.

  It did.

  The darkness overriding Ezekiel’s wary features receded, the gold flecks in his black gaze blazing with knowledge. A curse passed through his lips, followed by a shake of his head, sending his unwashed dark hair sprawling across his lean shoulders.

  If hell had a “look,” it was Ezekiel.

  “Go shower,” Sethios said again. “We’re going to analyze Osiris’s compulsion and see what can be done.”

  “Nothing can be done.” Ezekiel’s haggard tone revealed a part of him others rarely glimpsed—the part of him that cared for someone other than himself.

  “We’re going to try anyway.” Sethios owed it to his best friend after everything he’d sacrificed for him and Astasiya and Caro. “Let us try.”

  Ezekiel appeared ready to tell them all to fuck off, and if he did, Sethios would listen. But he suspected his old friend needed this break. And if Ezekiel was going to trust anyone to guard Skye, it was Sethios.

  “Your daughter already tried.”

  “Then let me try,” Sethios rephrased.

  “You’ve tried before, too,” Ezekiel muttered.

  Yeah, and it hadn’t gone well. “Do you have a better idea?” Sethios countered, knowing full well his best friend had no alternatives other than to allow her to remain in this magically induced coma.

  The assassin’s jaw ticked, then he took a step back. “Fine.” He started toward the door.

  “Steal some clothes from Gabriel,” Sethios called after him. He’d already raided the Seraphim’s closet himself, which was where his current outfit of jeans and a T-shirt had come from.

  Ezekiel didn’t reply, disappearing from the room with a trace.

  Issac lifted a dark brow. It was the only reaction he provided before shifting his sapphire gaze to Skye. He grimaced at whatever vision he found lurking inside her mind.

  His ability to control mental imagery proved useful in this instance, as he could not only force the prophetess into a dream state but was also able to warp her nightmares into something less violent.

  However, the strain of having kept her in that state for over seven days showed on his features. It required him to remain awake and alert at all times, something he could do as an immortal, but even one as powerful as Issac required some rest eventually.

  Sethios also suspected the male was using a great deal of energy to monitor Astasiya’s mind, which was how he’d managed to pull her out of her latest dream of Caro.

  Astasiya cleared her throat, her brow furrowing. “So I’ve tried compelling her on my own, just with verbal commands for her to dream a certain way. But each one always returns to a suicide attempt.”

  Issac nodded. “Yes, the persuasion is harsh and wrapped around her mind in every feasible way.”

  Not her mind, but her spirit. However, Astasiya spoke before Sethios could clarify.

  “I can see it. Well, not see it physically, but I can sense it. Like a dark strand of barbwire wrapping around her psyche. I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “I understand what you’re feeling,” Sethios murmured, his own senses picking up on the compulsion woven around Skye’s spirit. “We need to pull it apart. I just don’t know how.” If he did, he would have applied that knowledge years ago. “How did you break Osiris’s control over me?”

  If she thought it weird that he referred to his father by name, she didn’t react. Probably because she called him Osiris, too. Not “Grandfather.”

  “I… I don’t know. I was out of it. You didn’t recognize me, which hurt, and then I started thinking about you and Mom. My memories. How you made me run that day.” She swallowed, then cleared her throat. “And then I thought about where Mom is now. That’s when your compulsion seemed to fracture.”

  Sethios considered that for a moment, his heart skipping a beat in his chest. He’d been enraged by the cement encasing him, suffocating him, killing him over and over, and then he’d been freed. It’d taken too long for him to understand why because his mind had refused to recognize the female standing before him.

  When it’d finally registered, he’d thought it was his Caro, only the eyes were all wrong. They were his eyes.

  He sighed.

  That method wasn’t going to work on Skye. Neither Sethios nor Astasiya had that kind of history with the prophetess, making it impossible to unweave this compulsion through a familial bond—which was what he suspected Astasiya had done. She’d used his paternal tie to her to infiltrate his soul, thereby snapping Osiris’s hold.

  Skye needed something else. She required them to unravel the mental strings, not cut through them.

  He twisted his mouth to the side as he considered the energy signature surrounding her. It was one he understood far too well. But he had no idea how to sever it. If he had, he would have used that knowledge long ago to destroy every single one of his father’s mental mindfucks.

  “Compelling her isn’t going to work,” he said slowly. “It’ll only worsen her state.” Sethios had tried it once at Ezekiel’s request. “Osiris built in safeguards long ago to prevent me from tampering with the compulsion. I imagine they’re still in place.”

  “That would explain why her mind reacted so brutally to Astasiya’s attempts,” Issac replied. “It seemed to be a defense mechanism.”

  Sethios dipped his chin, recalling a similar reaction from decades ago. “We’re going to need to—”

  He cut off on a curse, a mental spike ramming through his mind as Caro’s voice roared to life inside his head. Where are you?! she shrieked at him. Find me! Find me now! No! Don’t! It’s not—

  The words cut off abruptly, his breath leaving him on a gasp as an array of images assaulted his mind.

  “It’s okay,” he heard Issac saying from somewhere within the room.

  “Shh,” Sethios hushed him, focusing on the message his angel appeared to be trying to send him.

  A street.

  A building.

  What is that? he thought at her, trying to decipher the darkened blur phasing in and out of her visual. Feathers? Wings?

  A sign obliterated the previous vision. Not a theoretical sign, but a physical one. With a street name. English. Green. American, from the looks of it. But where?

  Another visual slammed into his mind, this one of a shoreline and a windmill spinning wildly in a storm.

  Slow down, he told her, that sable swirl consuming the visual. I can’t see, angel.

  Letters scrawled across a building, some old manufacturing plant with brick siding. Then the shore and windmill again. Followed by the street sign. All of it whirled through his mind like a tornado, her scream echoing in his ears until all of a sudden everything went silent.

  He blinked, finding himself on his knees, his head in his hands.

  “Show me,” a deep voice demanded. Not Issac, but Gabriel.

  Several others had joined them, including Ezekiel in a towel, a pair of guns in his hands. Issac’s progeny—the Irish one—stood beside him. A Hydraian with dark skin behind them.

  Names escaped Sethios, his ears ringing from the assault.

  Skye remained blissfully unaware, still fast asleep beneath Issac’s spell.

  It all happened so quickly, or it felt that way to him. He’d been in the middle of trying to help her. Then Caro’s screech had brought everything to a halt. She’d sounded frantic, her visuals scattered in a chaotic manner that made no sense to him.

  “Slow it down,” Gabriel said.

  “Slow what down?” Sethios asked, his palm against his forehead. Fuck! It felt like he’d been assaulted by a damn freight train.
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  “Issac’s showing us the scenes Mom shared with you,” Astasiya explained. “It reminds me of the East Coast.”

  “We need to search that name, including the plant. I think she’s trying to show us her memories from when Osiris had her drowned.” Gabriel’s emotionless voice made Sethios frown.

  “What was the blur?”

  “Perhaps Osiris in ethereal form,” Gabriel suggested.

  Sethios shook his head. “It felt… intrusive.” Like Caro had been trying to tell him something while sharing the visuals. He couldn’t say why or how he sensed that. His instincts just insisted there was something more to that scene. Something she’d been attempting to convey behind a mask of urgency.

  What are you trying to tell me, angel? he asked.

  But, of course, he received no response. Perhaps she’d drowned again and would reach out when she surfaced.

  However, five minutes later, she still remained mute and Gabriel had already pulled up a location on his phone. Sethios recalled a time when mobiles weren’t powerful enough to hold such vast information.

  “We need to scout,” Gabriel said, his light green eyes landing on Sethios. “You and me.”

  “What?” While Sethios agreed that he should be the one to accompany the red-feathered Seraphim, he really wanted his head to stop spinning first.

  “You need to confirm it’s the right location. You’re also bonded to her. If we get close enough, you might be able to sense her.” He looked at Astasiya. “You need to stay here.”

  “Excuse me?” Her tone indicated just how she felt about that edict.

  “This property needs a Seraphim on it on the off chance the council sends an emissary. Until Leela or Vera returns, you’re the only one who can speak on behalf of the island.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “If the council sends a messenger, you’ll understand. Otherwise, I’ll explain it later.” Light green eyes focused on Sethios once more. “Let’s go.”

  “You really need to reconsider your approach with Astasiya,” Sethios advised as he and Gabriel materialized on the shores of Maine. The actual city name had escaped Sethios on the way, his head clouded and aching from Caro’s visual attack.

  He felt the wrongness in this approach even as they arrived, his stomach twisting with dread. Caro had been trying to tell him something.

  Yet, as he glanced around, he recognized all the images from the ones in his head. They’d definitely found the right location.

  “Recognize anything?” Gabriel asked, ignoring Sethios’s commentary on Astasiya.

  Typical. The Seraphim preferred logic and practicality over emotions.

  “It’s definitely the place she showed me,” Sethios replied. “But otherwise, no. I don’t recognize it. Nor do I sense her.”

  The only indication Gabriel gave that he’d heard Sethios was a slight twist of his lips that served as the Seraphim’s equivalent of a frown. He walked along the shoreline, his hands loose at his sides. He had at least three guns strapped to his person, all concealed by his brown leather jacket. Sethios suspected he had a knife in his boot as well, tucked securely beneath his jeans.

  Unlike Gabriel, Sethios hadn’t bothered with a single weapon. His hypnosis and manipulation abilities made such items irrelevant. He also refused to touch a knife until he had Caro back. Those were her preferred items in a fight. He wouldn’t hold one again until she stood before him. Then he’d either hand it to her as a gift or use it in another manner. Preferably the sexual kind.

  “I left Astasiya behind as a protective measure,” Gabriel said without looking at him. His light blond hair practically glowed, the sun high in the sky in this area of the world. “It’s only a matter of time before the council sends someone to check in on my estate. They’ll have sensed all the immortal traffic in and out of my home.”

  He turned then, his expression far more tired than Sethios had ever seen it. That appeared to be the common thing among them all at the moment.

  “I don’t know how they’re going to react, Sethios. But it won’t be good.”

  Sethios frowned. “Why do I feel like you brought me here for a reason, Gabriel?”

  “I merely took advantage of an opportunity to have a moment alone with you,” the Seraphim admitted. “You are the only one other than Leela and Vera who understands our politics. The council isn’t going to sit by and allow me to harbor abominations.”

  “So your response to that threat was to leave my daughter in charge and steal me away for a moment?”

  He ran his fingers through his hair, the unruly ends touching his ears. “The council won’t touch Stas. She’s too valuable to them. But they may try to take Skye. Not to mention Elizabeth. If they find out she’s pregnant...” He trailed off, flinching at wherever his mind went. “We’re in trouble, Sethios. Hiding Owen was one thing—he kept to himself and never left. But now the Hydraians are teleporting in and out of my house like it’s a damn airport.”

  “Why haven’t you said anything?”

  “I have. No one listens to me.”

  “So you’re hoping I can make them see reason,” Sethios translated. “And you brought me to Maine for that conversation?”

  “As I said, I took advantage of an opportunity. Caro provided the location.”

  “Yes, by showing you an eighteen-year-old memory,” a deep voice murmured. “I expected it to be sooner now that you’ve regained your senses. Which makes me wonder about your Seraphim’s current mental condition.”

  Ice drizzled through Sethios’s veins as his father fully materialized beside them, the olive-toned skin of his bald head gleaming in the afternoon sun. His black wings disappeared, leaving him clad in a smart tailored suit, his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the top and lacking a tie.

  “Don’t fight me. Don’t mist. Don’t run.” The commands left Osiris’s mouth in rapid succession, each statement underlined in persuasion. “Actually, don’t move your legs at all. I have things to say and would prefer to make this quick, given the circumstances of our meeting.”

  “Hello, Father,” Sethios greeted on instinct, his millennia of existence aiding his bored tone. He refused to show fear around this man. Anger, maybe. But nothing else.

  This is what you were trying to tell me, wasn’t it, angel? The black blur had been Osiris. But this was an interesting development. His father had referred to this “vision” as an eighteen-year-old memory, thus implying Caro had been here before. And if he was the black blur, then she’d visited this location with him.

  His heart skipped a beat.

  There was only one reason they would have been here together.

  This is where he took you…

  “Son,” Osiris returned. “You look healthier than the last time we saw each other.”

  It took physical restraint not to show any outward reaction to the inner chaos rioting inside Sethios’s mind. All he wanted to do was kill the bastard before him and find Caro. But he couldn’t move his legs or fight, thanks to his father’s fucking compulsion.

  So he feigned nonchalance, a skill set he’d spent a lifetime perfecting. “Well, my hair is growing more naturally now,” he drawled. “My skin also appreciates the fresh air rather than being burned by molten cement.” The calmly spoken words were at odds to the utter agony those experiences had caused him.

  “Hmm. And your mind is enjoying its freedom, too?”

  “Is it free?” Sethios countered, aware that his father enjoyed deploying delayed persuasive tricks.

  He didn’t acknowledge the inquiry, instead asking, “Tell me, how’s Skye? Has she died yet?”

  “Is that why you’re here? For an update on those you enjoy tormenting?” Sethios wasn’t interested in playing this game and allowed that sentiment to reflect in his tone. “What do you want, Father?”

  It would be wise to keep the old man talking and think through an escape plan, but Sethios found he was fresh out of patience.

  Gabriel said nothing, merel
y folded his arms and watched Osiris with a complete lack of concern. The Seraphim feared nothing. Not even his own death. He was probably working on a plan and just giving nothing away. Meanwhile, Sethios’s only idea was to endure whatever his father had in mind, then break free later.

  That hadn’t worked out so well last time.

  Except Sethios and Caro had been captured with the notion of not trying to escape. They’d wanted to protect Astasiya. Now that her presence was known, Sethios could fight back.

  “Always direct,” his father mused. “Also a wise decision, given that I’m not the only one monitoring this area, and as it’s not tourist season, we’ll absolutely be noticed.”

  Sethios remained silent but internally wondered what his father meant by that. Who else is monitoring this location? And why?

  “Has the High Council of Seraph demanded an audience with Stas yet?” his father asked. “I imagine they’ll be most interested in her talents. She’ll be a prime candidate to replace me at the table. Of course, if you ever find your wings, so would you.”

  Sethios didn’t miss the jab. His father had always faulted him for not being a pureblood. It was Osiris who’d chosen to procreate with a mortal rather than another Seraphim, yet he lay the blame at his son’s feet.

  The insult usually rolled off Sethios’s shoulders without leaving an imprint, but today he felt the slice of pain across his heart. Because he should have wings now, thanks to his bond with Caro. Yet he didn’t, and he suspected it had something to do with their time apart.

  She’d claimed nothing could break a blood bond.

  An insecure part of him worried she might have been wrong.

  However, he couldn’t ponder that right now. Not in front of Osiris.

  His father fed off fear and pain. Sethios possessed both in spades. But he’d suffer in silence and flay himself alive inside before he ever allowed an ounce of it to grace the air in the presence of his creator.

  Osiris studied him for a long moment, his lips curling just enough to hint at his growing amusement. Or maybe it was pride. The old man was hard to read, his mind too psychotic for anyone to truly comprehend.