“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” she demanded.
He enjoyed another sip of his wine, amused, then set it to the side and cocked a brow. “Like what, sweetheart?”
“Like I’m food.”
“Maybe I want to eat you.”
A frown tugged at her lips. “But you’re not an Ichorian.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy biting.” He did. Very much. And her visible shiver suggested she might enjoy it as well.
The level of intrigue between them shifted upward a notch. This woman provided a new opportunity—bedding a Seraphim who claimed not to feel. Evoking passion from her would be a delectable challenge, if entertaining. And seducing her into it would be vastly diverting.
She twirled the blade with skillful fingers. “How old are you?” she asked.
“A little over three thousand human years. And you?”
She blinked. “You’ve survived in secret for three millennia?”
He retrieved his wine while keeping a watchful eye on that knife in her hand. “Yes. My father felt it best for everyone to assume me to be an Ichorian, something I believe he did to protect his identity more than mine. Most of his progeny believe him to be a powerful being but have no idea it’s his blood that caused their immortal rebirths.”
Ezekiel knew the truth about Sethios and his father, but very few others did. It was a clever tactic to blend with the immortals rather than formally rule them. Sethios suspected that would change someday, but for now, his sire seemed content.
“But how?” she asked. “I understand why—the High Council of Seraph would have you assassinated immediately—but how has your existence remained hidden all these years?”
Interesting. He always assumed his birth was an abomination, but his father never confirmed it. Perhaps that was the true reason for keeping his existence a secret. Though, that would imply his old man cared, and Sethios knew better than anyone that Osiris only looked out for himself.
“Surely someone saw you as a child, yes?” she pressed, her weapon stilling between her fingers.
“He told others at the time that he kidnapped me from my birth parents, which was partially true since he murdered my mortal mother when he no longer required her services.” It happened such a long time ago that Sethios could say it without flinching, but the memory was forever burned into his heart. No seven-year-old should watch his mother die, especially in the horrific manner delivered by his father.
Caro nodded. “I’ve studied his cruelty.”
“Have you?”
“Oh, yes. He’s a legend among Seraphim—an example of what not to become.”
Sethios snorted. “Sounds about right, then. He’s a right ass here as well.”
She paused, her blonde eyebrow inching upward. “You’re not fond of your creator?”
“You tell me, angel. Is he the kind of being I should be proud to call ‘father’?” He finished his wine and discarded the empty glass.
“Seraphim,” she corrected, as she did before. “And no, not at all. He’s creating an army on Earth while my kind are sitting by allowing it to happen without recourse, which is completely unacceptable.” Her lips smacked closed and she covered them with a hand. “I have spoken out of turn. You forced me again.”
He chuckled. “No, sweetheart. That was entirely you, and quite fascinating, if I may add, because I do believe you’re right.” He often analyzed his maker’s motives, especially during the immortal war several centuries back. “He’s cultivating great power. I daresay your kind would be in for a fight if you decided to pop down and stir up trouble.”
She studied him. “You were able to compel me.”
He grinned. “Yes.”
“You shouldn’t be able to do that.”
“Why? Because you possess a rune to thwart lesser beings?” He prowled toward her. “As I’ve already explained, I’m not an Ichorian.”
“You’re not a Seraphim either,” she replied, her tone haughty.
He backed her into the dining area wall and caught her knife-wielding hand as she tried to slice his cheek. She dropped the blade as he squeezed her fingers, thereby ending the battle before it started.
