The headquarters of the Catastrophic Relief Foundation, otherwise known as the CRF.
It was a humanitarian organization led by millionaire Jonathan Fitzgerald—an Ichorian of poor talents. The public saw him as an enigma, being in his early twenties and owning a rather large company that sprouted out of nowhere. His son, one Thomas Fitzgerald, resided with Jonathan’s supposed wife somewhere in upstate New York.
Supernatural powers were definitely at play here, but humans were naive. They believed the easiest lie rather than consider the impossible.
Gabriel crossed one jean-clad ankle over the other, waiting.
Sethios had given him a full description of Ezekiel. It was only a matter of time before the infamous assassin appeared. Especially as Gabriel had been anticipating his arrival for almost a week now.
His attempt at surveying Osiris’s compound failed when he realized the Seraphim was using locator deciphers.
Tricky, talented, and intelligent.
A lethal combination for a sociopathic immortal with no sense of right or wrong.
It was no mystery to Gabriel why his council wanted this Seraphim removed. He’d created an army of minions with varying degrees of abilities, all with the sole purpose of protecting him in a fight. Not that any of them seemed too eager to act on their leader’s behalf.
From what Gabriel had gathered, the Ichorians and Hydraians had no idea they existed because of Osiris’s blood.
Fascinating, really.
And odd.
His endgame, while predictable, was shrouded in confusing layers. Why not claim his birthright and rule his kind? Why allow them to live in a state of ignorance? What point did it prove?
Gabriel wanted all the answers. Including to learn more about what lurked beyond the CRF gates.
He had considered, more than once, misting inside for a look around but didn’t want to trigger any alarms. The runes surrounding the building rivaled those at Osiris’s home, confirming Sethios’s theory that the two men were working together.
But on what?
“You look like her,” a voice said as a man materialized to the left. The man Gabriel had been waiting for. The newcomer’s long black hair matched Sethios’s description, as did the trademark leather jacket and pierced lip.
“Ezekiel,” Gabriel replied, not missing a beat.
“Seraphim.” The astute gleam in the Ichorian’s gold-flecked gaze suggested intelligence and cunning, something Gabriel would need to keep in mind during their negotiations. “Or I assume that’s what you are since I can’t sense your origin.”
He ignored the assessment. Explaining his gift for tracking evasion wasn’t the purpose for this meeting. “I wish to speak with your seer.”
Ezekiel quirked a brow. “My seer?”
“Yes. The one Osiris uses to keep you on a leash.” Gabriel still didn’t understand how that worked. The being standing before him radiated power. He’d even been able to somewhat surprise Gabriel with his unexpected appearing act. Why would someone with such ability bother working for a Seraphim like Osiris? Further proof that emotions were a waste of energy and common sense.
“You’ve been talking to Sethios,” Ezekiel surmised. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me how to find him?”
“No.” Gabriel vowed to protect Caro, which included safeguarding Sethios. For the moment, anyway.
“Good.” The Ichorian grinned. “I would hate to have to relay any details to Osiris.”
“Compulsion?”
“Always.”
Gabriel nodded, understanding.
Osiris had likely weaved some sort of persuasion into Ezekiel to ask about Sethios’s whereabouts, as well as a need to relay any information pertaining to his location back to the master Seraphim. They would need to tread carefully in this conversation. Any little detail could trigger a compulsion to report back to Osiris.
“I’m here of my own accord. I require information, and it’s my understanding your seer has that information.”
