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Chapter Two
Drydesertheatradiatedthroughout the expanse of Isaiah’s territory as he locked onto his target. Focusing on the shadowy figure, he ensnared the fledgling Raeth in a psychic vision. Projecting the images into the other man’s mind, Isaiah merely watched while the intruder sank to his knees, his placid features devoid of consciousness.
Encroaching on Isaiah’s territory was a terminal offense—as was the case with any sovereign worth their salt—but this youngling was barely a hundred years of age.
Little more than a young adult.
Given the darkness that swathed the desert, the intruder likely believed he could fly under the radar. Snaring his mind with visions had been child’s play, and as such, the recoil would be nominal at best. Derikles teleported in beside Isaiah only moments later in utter silence, watching passively as Isaiah held eye contact with the intruder, trusting his control implicitly.
“Shall I inform his sovereign?”
A single shake of Isaiah’s head, speaking what he’d sensed immediately upon contact with the youngling’s mind. “He’s clanless.”
“Why did he come here?”
Isaiah broke eye contact to glance over as Derikles. Even in the dark, the man was clear as day. Covered in tribal tattoos, his second was every bit the artistic soul wrapped up in an intimidating 6’3 package. As skilled with a sword as he was with a paintbrush, Derikles was a man of many talents. Strength and tenacity were stamped into every inch of his second, who had been his right-hand man for nearly four centuries.
“I’ll pull it from his mind,” came Derikles’ bland acceptance of Isaiah’s unspoken command.
Stalking forward, he knelt slowly before the young Raeth and pressed two fingers to the man’s temple. A scoff followed only seconds later.
“He came here on a dare. What a fool.”
Holding the vision in the youngling’s mind, Isaiah shrugged. “He’ll pay the price, but it won’t be with his life.”
While compassion wasn’t one of Isaiah’s more prevalent traits, there was no sense in killing the young Raeth. Loosening his grip on the other male’s mind, he watched the youngling blink and regain what little intelligence he had.
Faced with both the sovereign and his second, the intruder lost all color in his face, his clear blue eyes widening and blinking with instinctual fear. Isaiah raised a single ebony eyebrow, his face blank of emotion.
“Why have you ventured into my territory?”
“I—I … they dared me to.” The youngling stumbled for words as the corners of his mouth tipped downward. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”
“Youth is no excuse for stupidity.”
Eyes widening, the red-haired intruder realized the inevitability of his predicament. “Please forgive me—I meant no harm!”
“We know,” Derikles added obligingly. “Your mind isn’t difficult to read.”
“Regardless of your intent,” Isaiah said, “you still encroached on my territory. I have every right to kill you for the trespass.”
Hands coming together in front of him, the youngling bowed low. “Please, please, have mercy. I will never invade your lands again.”
“So be it.”
Isaiah strode forward, letting the weight of his power settle on the young shoulders in front of him. The youngling trembled under the sheer force of it, his hands splayed to hold up his shivering body.
“Open your mind to me so I’ll know where to send you once I’m finished.”
Mouth gaping, the youngling recognized the significance of the question before he answered. “Yes, sir.”
Ten minutes later, the young Raeth had been deposited securely in his home on the outskirts of Los Angeles. Though Isaiah had every reason to claim the youngling’s life, he’d taken a different route. In addition to the twin parallel scars he’d now carry on his left cheek, the youngling’s mind was rewired to panic whenever he so much as thought about the Sylth clan.
Isaiah huffed out a sigh of annoyance before teleporting his weapon to the armory on the first floor of his home. He started toward his clan’s township at a leisurely pace, Derikles following dutifully at his side. A fleeting sting of pain lanced into Isaiah’s mind, but the recoil was so nominal his pace never faltered.
That didn’t mean it went unnoticed by Derikles. “The youngling must have been poorly trained if he allowed his mind to be so easily persuaded.”
“Or he had no training.” Isaiah kept his eyes on the path ahead, his mind psychically assessing his territory to check for any other incursions. “Those without clans are fools to believe they’re stronger for it.”
