Leela shook her head and set her wine glass down to fuss with her salad plate. Balthazar had purposely left the lettuce naked, as he wasn’t sure of her preferences. “Seeing ethereal energy is the first phase. Being able to access and manipulate it is the final one. He has about twenty-five years before he’ll be able to draw on the essence. But he can at least see the markings now to learn them.”
Balthazar observed Leela’s assembly of tomatoes, onions, greens, and a light application of olive oil and vinegar. They were details he might need again later, as he enjoyed cooking for his lovers. It was an important step in the overall relationship. That, and listening when his partners spoke. Words were powerful and conveyed far more than most people realized.
Such as now—Leela’s tone suggested openness.
Which meant she was in a sharing mood.
Thus allowing him to continue asking questions while they ate.
He asked about the Seraphim growth process first, curious as to how that would impact Wakefield. That led to questions about teaching Seraphim wards, where he discovered that the various lines learned their own versions of the markings.
“It’s all about practicality,” she continued, having switched to her pasta dish of tomatoes, onions, scallops, and spaghetti noodles. Balthazar had noted that preference for later, picking up the pesto dish that she’d ignored in favor of the other. “Seraphim don’t bother learning unnecessary information.”
“Something your council defines, not the Seraphim in question,” Balthazar said, deducing the detail from everything she’d told him.
“Exactly. They tell each bloodline what to learn, and no one questions it.”
“Yet you did.” It wasn’t a question so much as a statement because he’d heard the inner workings of her mind while she’d misted around nearby, fixing the ethereal markings. “All the runes you just altered were protective in nature, which I can’t imagine is something most fertility Seraphim would consider necessary to know.”
“Yeah, most of what I learned growing up was focused on establishing the perfect environment for mating and ensuring health and prosperity at birth. I know a few helpful tricks for keeping younglings in line as well.”
He considered that while twirling some pasta around his fork. “So what prompted you to learn the protective wards?” He knew the answer revolved aroundhim—some unknown entity from her past—and the tracker Seraphim. But what was the history there? What had prompted her to learn outside her requisite line?
She clearly saw through the council’s partitioning of knowledge—that much was evident in her mind. But her thoughts didn’t clarify how she’d become the woman she was today or why. What events had brought her to that point in her life that forced her to grow beyond the societal norms of her kind?
That was the true heart of the woman beside him.
The mystery.
The allure.
The fascination that he couldn’t deny.
He wanted to know everything, craved the pieces of her that she kept locked away and the memories she’d stolen from his mind.
Who are you, sweet Leela? Tell me every detail. Let me know the real you.
“The High Council of Seraph rely on the Fates to dictate our futures, our uses, what we do in this life,” Leela started, her voice low and thoughtful as she stared down at her half-eaten meal. “My mother is the Seraphim of Fertility, meaning she’s the strongest of our line.” She glanced up at him. “All Seraphim bloodlines have someone at the top. They sit on the council.”
“And that’s decided by age?” he guessed, then frowned, recalling something he’d heard in her head about Stark. “No, power.”
“Power,” she echoed, nodding. “Age can play into it in terms of living and learning, but power… power cannot be defined by age. Stas is proof of that. Gabe, too.”
Balthazar reached over to steal a scallop from her plate.
She responded by taking one of his shrimp, the mannerisms between them natural and underlined with familiarity.
But he didn’t comment on it.
Instead, he waited for her to elaborate.
“So, my mother is the strongest of our kind and issues commands down through our line—commands that come from the council based on feedback from the Fates. They can be as simple as detailing living assignments, jobs and tasks on the islands, or…” She trailed off, her gaze narrowing. “Or idealpartnerships.”
Balthazar swallowed his current bite and arched a brow. “For procreating? Or…?”
“Procreating,” she confirmed. “They tell us who to fuck and when.” Her dark tone told him how she felt about that. “Seraphim children are rare and difficult to create. Our cycles are unpredictable at best, but that’s part of my job as a fertility Seraphim—I can sense when a female is most viable to receive a seed.”
“How beautiful sex must be for your kind,” Balthazar deadpanned.
