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Jaeda, who functioned competently as his third in the chain of command, had been left with his clan to protect from any wayward threats. While she was primarily a healer, Jaeda was also a seasoned soldier and a capable leader on the battlefield. He needed a talented regent to maintain his territory with both himself and Derikles absent.
Circe, though not a lieutenant, had originally come along to coax her out of her shell and be introduced to the immortal world. The fact that she’d met her mate in Lucius, a vampire councilor, had only served to strengthen his resolve in continuing her inclusion. Any truce that prevented ill will was a good one, and Circe had all but assured the vampires’ good will with her mating.
In his youth, there had been a time when Isaiah had coveted war and the glory it inevitably brought. Now, with so many souls to protect, he would desperately fight against it.
Derikles teleported onto the terrace beside them only seconds later, fittingly attired in a slim ivory suit. For once, his brunet hair was combed into some semblance of style.
“Sovereign.”
Isaiah merely raised an eyebrow at his second’s choice of suit, but it was Circe who chuckled. “Of course you would, Derikles.”
Derikles threw her a rare smile, his hands in his pockets. Even attired in formal wear, there was no denying that the man would be ready at the drop of a hat to protect Circe—or Lucius, or him.
“We’re already late,” Isaiah said without urgency. “Ready?”
They gathered closer to him, though it wasn’t necessary. At twelve hundred years old and naturally gifted in teleportation, Isaiah’s skill was rivalled only by other sovereigns. If necessary, he could move tens of people at a time, even from a remote location, but such a massive effort would undoubtedly leave him psychically sapped.
The earth blurred around them only seconds later, their bodies weightless. Solidifying in the humidity of the Iowa summer, Isaiah exhaled, resigned.
Iowa’s landscape was vastly different than his clan’s. Lush grass abounded everywhere he looked, and full, leafy trees swayed in the slight breeze. Surrounded by fertile soil and cocooned by sweltering warm air, the Midwestern state was as far removed from Utah as the beach was.
Before them was the massive, illuminated structure of Paracel’s central compound. A sleek exterior built of glass and wood, the main building housed the entirety of their operations and served as a meeting hall, should the need arise.
He’d been to the site once before and never ceased to be impressed by the Elemental’s intuitive meshing of nature and necessity. Though he’d never admit it, he had to hand it to Gideon.
Striding toward the meeting ground, Derikles and Circe fell into the standard flanking procedure behind him. Lucius walked abreast with Circe. Lucius was a senior member of the vampire council in his own right, but today he was graciously functioning in his capacity as a member of Isaiah’s clan.
Since he’d mated Circe, his mind had appeared in the network that connected a sovereign to his clansmen. For all intents and purposes, Lucius was a full-fledged member of the clan, and Isaiah wouldn’t hesitate to protect him as his own.
Even without looking at him, Isaiah could recognize Lucius—or any person he knew well—by merit of their psychic signature alone. Sensing their mental presence wasn’t a matter of identifying the clan bond, but of sensing the unique characteristics of their mind. Like a fingerprint, every psychic signature was unique.
No one greeted them at the door, but it was unnecessary. Immortals of every species were gathered throughout the space, a raucous cacophony of chatter humming the air.
Automatically, Isaiah registered the presence of the other Raeths. Ezekiel, Nero, and their assorted delegates were spread throughout the cavernous hall. Nina’s signature was absent from the room. Perhaps they weren’t the last ones to arrive after all.
Though he hadn’t been intentionally seeking her out, Isaiah detected Rukia near instantly. The sight of her rushed through his veins like a tumultuous wave, heating his skin. His gut churned, anxious but eager, as he thought about speaking with her again.
Up until this point, they’d traded jabs and banter, and had yet to share a single civil conversation.
The lithely muscled Elemental was wearing a striking lavender wrap dress, her long, inky black hair pinned away from her features. Dark, almond shaped eyes were lined in a hint of smoke, a dramatic contrast against her scarlet lipstick, her olive toned skin the same shade as Isaiah’s.
She held herself with the poise of a politician, and the fluid grace of a dancer. He found the combination incredibly seductive. There was no denying the attraction he felt for her, and he wasn’t one to keep his intentions a secret.
Rukia intrigued and beguiled him like none other. He’d cleverly portrayed his interest as nothing but lust, and she had no reason to believe otherwise.
It’d be better for both in the long run. Isaiah had no intention of initiating a committed relationship.
When he finally managed to tear his gaze away from the lovely Elemental, he noticed that Gideon and Jeremiah were striding over to greet them.
The monarch of the Elemental people was as much a predator as Isaiah. Reminiscent of a jungle cat, Gideon was soundless as he moved toward them. His bronzed gold skin was accentuated by a well-fitted navy tuxedo, and his dark hair was tamed and styled.
The air Elemental was their polar opposite. Jeremiah was as vivacious as they came, defined by his boisterous charm, all cavalier attitude accompanied by toothy grins and high energy.
“Isaiah, glad you could make it.” Gideon smiled with practiced civility as he welcomed them to his territory.
Taking the offered hand and shaking it once, Isaiah nodded politely. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Gideon smirked at the bland tone but didn’t comment. Jeremiah just grinned. “You’re the last ones, except for Nina and her crew. Apparently, one of her young clan members came into an ability she needed to help control.”
