“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, merely 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.
“Maybe you’re ready after all,” he said, his voice softer than usual, almost as though the words were meant for himself and not his audience. “That’s good, son. You’ll need that strength for what’s coming. Especially now that you’ve left my circle.”
It took all matter of control not to ask him to elaborate. Sethios couldn’t afford to appear intrigued, even though the ominous threat about “what’s coming” had certainly piqued his interest.
“If the High Council hasn’t called upon you yet, they soon will. They’re going to want to talk to your daughter. I suggest you don’t allow that to happen if you value her life.”
“And let me guess your next suggestion,” Sethios drawled. “You want me to hand her over to you for safekeeping.”
“It would be a wise move.”
“Sure.” Sethios infused a healthy dose of sarcasm into that single word. “I’ll get right on that.”
His father made a noise of annoyance. “I retract my comment regarding your preparedness.”
“Astasiya is her own person,” Gabriel interjected before Sethios could lay another sarcastic comment at his father’s feet. “She would need a very good reason just to speak to you right now. The notion of going to you willingly?” Gabriel snorted. “That’s entirely impractical. It’ll never happen.”
“Are you saying I need to win my granddaughter’s trust?”
“I’m saying that from what I’ve observed of her power, she will not be easily compelled by her father, or you for that matter.” Gabriel twisted his wrist, his watch catching in the sun. A quick move, one that Sethios registered while the rest of him remained utterly composed, his legs stiff, thanks to Osiris’s compulsion. “The only way she’ll even consider such an absurd notion is if you give her a reason to. And so far, I haven’t seen any.”
Sethios’s mouth threatened to curl down, the young Seraphim’s proclamation strange. Astasiya would never agree to go anywhere near Osiris, even with a decent “reason.”
What are you doing, Gabriel? Sethios wondered, trying to follow the strategic path the male had set in motion. Because he was clearly after something. He’d also done something with his watch. Had Osiris noticed?