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The room was quiet for a long time after that. Jaeda continued in her work, and shortly thereafter, Isaiah’s chest no longer bore any trace of the devastating injury that’d befallen him on the battlefield.
Satisfied, Jaeda returned to her book. Rukia retreated to the sanctuary of Isaiah’s bedroom, finding a spare toothbrush and rooting through Isaiah’s closet to find a suitable replacement shirt for the one she’d slept in. But she found it just as hard to wallow in that place as the night before and quickly made her way back.
Rukia caught Derikles’ eye. “How’s sleeping beauty?”
Derikles simply chose to ignore her and went back to the chess game between him and Tien, leaving her without a tether. Her attention went to Isaiah, who’d been uncovered once more—presumably for healing.
As if noticing the upper part of his body for the first time, her mouth went dry.
Every chiseled inch of his body was absolute perfection. Built like a god, Isaiah’s masculine form was beauty to behold, her fingers itching to stroke and caress the rigged panes of his chest and abdomen. There wasn’t a single ounce of fat on him, the taunt muscles of his core honed to a lethal edge.
A large tattoo spanned over the left half of his body, the edge of it crossing over the midline. Obsidian black, it looked like a slightly curved capital E, except that there were four prongs instead of three. The top line fell just below his collarbone, drawing outward to curve horizontally around his deltoid. Another band crossed over his pectoral muscle, stopping just short of the outside edge. A third rode just under his navel, and the final prong sat just above the low rise of his leathers.
She took a seat in the armchair beside Jaeda and motioned at Isaiah with her chin. “What’s with the tattoo?”
“Tattoo?” The barest trace of confusion crossed Jaeda’s features before realization set in. “Oh, it’s not a tattoo. It’s the physical manifestation of our clan symbol. We all have it somewhere on our bodies.” She brought down the shoulder of her blouse to show the same symbol under her collarbone, no larger than the size of a half dollar. “Since Isaiah is our sovereign, it displays more prominently on him.”
“What if you decide to leave the clan? Does it disappear?”
Jaeda nodded. “And if you change clans, the symbol alters to identify your new allegiance. If you become one of us, it’ll appear on you, too.”
“Rukia is never joining our clan.” Derikles interjected even as Rukia chuckled at the thought of it.
“Lucius joined our clan, or did you forget already?” Jaeda returned to her book, ignoring the man’s bitter expression.
Rukia nestled into armchair, the white leather cool against her bare arms. As she got comfortable, a visible jolt went through all of the Raeths in the room. Derikles breathed a visible sigh of relief, locking eyes with Jaeda.
“He’s back online.”
Despising her ignorance, Rukia quirked her lips to the side. “What does that mean?”
“Isaiah’s telepathy, telekinesis, his abilities: they’re all functioning once more,” Jaeda explained. “He’s supporting the network now, not us.”
“Even when he’s unconscious?”
Jaeda smiled. “Even when he’s unconscious. Besides the fact that he’s been our sovereign for five centuries and it’s second nature to him, his psychic strength eclipses ours by leaps and bounds. Supporting the network, even where there are four hundred minds connected to his, is like child’s play for him.”
Anticipation lodged in her gut. “Will he wake soon, then?”
Xedrix shot her a grin. “Twenty minutes tops, water lady.”
Chapter Nineteen
Isaiahfoughtthroughthefog of the recoil to rise to consciousness. Haze clouding his mind, he briefly examined the network to ensure it was functioning at capacity. The taut fibers of the psychic bonds with his clan were an intricate spiderweb of familiarity, the mental map as intrinsic to his psyche as his own personality. Most of his clansmen called Utah home, preferring their own breed to that of human or mixed company, but a good handful had settled in other regions.
Physical location didn’t necessarily affect their place in the network, but it did affect the clarity of the mental voice. Like all psychic traits, the closer you were to the source, the more potent it’d be.
As was expected, the network remained vibrant, bolstered by the power of his lieutenants while he’d been out of commission. Before rising, Isaiah conducted a test of his own psychic state and found it operating within acceptable parameters. Given the fatigue in his limbs and the stiffness of his shoulder, he’d been down for a day, two at the most.
The telltale headache that always ensued made itself known, throbbing in his temples like a jackhammer. He inwardly cringed. The initial agony of a recoil he could take, but the migraine that followed in the days afterward was a killer.
Isaiah opened his eyes.
The brightness of the room instantly seared into him, the ache behind his temples detesting the daylight. Sitting up, he threw a hand over his face as his legs swung over the side of the couch. Eyes squeezed shut against the light, he heard his people milling about the room before a melodic voice greeted him.
“Good morning, sunshine. How was your beauty sleep?”
Rukia.
