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Isaiah immediately put her from his thoughts. He’d known since childhood that his would be a lonely road.
He had grown up here in Jacob’s clan territory, outside the city limits of Kitty Hawk. Far before the humans had settled here, Raeths had claimed the land as their own. The area would always sing to his soul, even if, by all accounts, he didn’t have one.
Jacob had been the sovereign of the small clan since the previous millennium. Now, nearing nineteen hundred years old, he was one of the eldest Raeths that still walked the earth. Before Isaiah had won the sovereignty of the Sylth, he’d been Jacob’s second for four centuries, and they continued their camaraderie to this day.
A faint shift of the air behind him. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
“Took you long enough, Caiaphas.” Isaiah commented blandly without looking over his shoulder at the approaching Raeth. “I’m beginning to think you’re either lazy or grossly inept.”
Hearty laughter sounded from the other man while he came to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, the pair looking out over the vastness of the oceanic horizon. “Jacob’s on the phone at the moment, but he’ll be finished soon.”
“A phone?” Turning to glance at him, Isaiah scoffed. “Since when does he use technology?”
Caiaphas shrugged, his muscular shoulders settling once more under the light blue tank he wore. “Sia convinced him, believe it or not. Plus, his messenger pigeon is long since dead and pony express is no longer functioning.”
“Praise be.”
Today, Caiaphas wore his platinum blonde hair with a streak of red at the temple. While he wasn’t much older than five hundred years, the other Raeth was one of Jacob’s lieutenants. Sia, Jacob’s current second, was nearly as old as Isaiah, but the woman had never desired to become a sovereign.
Numbering just over fifty members, Jacob’s clan was relatively small, and he could afford to have only two lieutenants. Isaiah’s clan numbered eight times as many, so besides Derikles and Jaeda, his leadership team also included his senior warriors Xedrix and Tien. Some would argue it wasn’t enough, but Isaiah rarely gave the thought merit. Given the strength of his team, he didn’t need to add additional bodies just for head count.
“Do you ever miss it here, Isaiah?”
The strangely emotionally charged question caught him off guard. While he’d know the other man for the entirety of his five centuries, Isaiah wouldn’t have considered them confidants.
He cast Caiaphas a sidelong glance. “Why do you ask?”
Caiaphas jolted almost imperceptibly before seemingly remembering himself and plastering a lopsided grin over his features. “Oceanside paradise versus the dust bowl you call Utah. Seems to me you’ve downgraded.”
“Perhaps the red paint in going to your head, youngling.” Isaiah glanced over his shoulder at the seaside town behind the sandy knoll. “Shall I break something to get Jacob’s attention?”
Comically widening his eyes at the mock threat, the faint hum of Caiaphas’ telepathy filtered through the air. Half a minute later, the weight of Jacob’s presence settled beside Isaiah.
“Who is this invader coming to my land without my consent?”
Isaiah felt the corners of his mouth tick up before he swiveled his head to look at Jacob. A stout man, his former sovereign was several inches shorter than he was, but no less intimidating. Raw strength pulsed through his aura, abrasive against Isaiah’s shields and reminding him of the power the other Raeth held.
Though Jacob was nearing two thousand years of age, his features were youthful, the clean lines of his burnished gold skin without wrinkle or blemish.
Isaiah had been a devoted mentee of his since early childhood. When he was only six, he’d begun combat training with the clan’s senior soldiers. In the heat of a training session, Isaiah’s abilities had manifested to protect him—and had nearly killed his instructor in the process.
The trainer would have died by his untrained, unskilled hand had Isaiah’s destructive abilities been fully developed. Instead, it became startlingly apparent that he was born of destruction. Jacob had taken him under his wing and personally tutored him in the arts of the blade—and of the mind.
“Jacob.” Isaiah clasped the other man’s forearm in a traditional warrior’s greeting. “It’s been too long.”
“It has, indeed. Come, let us walk.”
Both men turned toward the structures of the township while Caiaphas remained stationary on the beach. Clasping his hands behind his back, Jacob strolled beside Isaiah along the sandy paths that split between the tufts of oceanside grasses and sea oats. Drumming in the wind, the long reeds tangled at their feet.
Isaiah, well-schooled in the art of patience, remained silent. Jacob was not a man to be rushed, and Isaiah was in no hurry.
Before them sprawled the charming seaside town of Jacob’s clan. Raeths all, the inhabitants had grown up under the protection of their immutable sovereign, fearing little for their safety. While the homes differed slightly in taste and architecture, they were all a similar style: classic oceanfront villa.
Isaiah’s childhood home was long since dust, having been cleared away to make room for homes with indoor plumbing and modern insulation. Yet he could see echoes of it everywhere he looked: most of the houses were in the older style, having seen decades beneath the sun and been pelted by the sea breezes and the occasional hurricane.
Isaiah’s clan, on the other hand, was in constant architectural renewal. Every few decades, the more domestic Raeths would find a burst of inspiration and begin the lengthy process of demolition and recreation, the landscape of clan life always changing.
It was several minutes later when Jacob’s voice finally broke the silence between the two men. “My sources tell me that Jaden of the Menassa clan will likely mount a challenge soon. And, from what I’ve heard, his sovereign is keen to let him.”
