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Isaiah didn’t blame her for her reluctance to approach. When they suffered such vicious assaults against their psyche, Raeths of destruction were known to lash out.
As it was, he was barely holding it together. As soon as the network had finished forming, he clamped down on the new and existing mental bonds that’d illuminated in his mind. The one-way valve instantly severed any unintentional emotional feedback that might cross the barrier from his mind to theirs, while keeping it open for their sentiments to bleed into his.
No one needed insight into the raw emotions that ravaged him and threatened to consume, the floodgates that’d opened and tore through him without compromise. Isaiah couldn’t afford to show weakness. Not here. Not now.
Not ever.
Sia hesitated in front of Isaiah. Slowly, cautiously, she knelt before him, her eyes locked on his. Everything about her body language indicated that she’d be ready to defend herself should she need to, that she’d react in a split second should he make any offensive move.
A wise instinct, but ultimately unnecessary.
Forcing himself to unlock his clenched muscles, Isaiah gave her a single nod. Fortunately, the gesture seemed to ease her tension a hairsbreadth. When she reached to gently touch Jacob’s shoulder in preparation for a teleport, she sighed sadly.
“I loved him, too.”
Upon her words, Isaiah finally lifted his eyes to hers. Sia would find no sympathy in him, only the stain of every ounce of malice, hatred, and vehemence that lived in him.
Sia was complicit in Jacob’s suicide. And Isaiah would never forget it.
Flinching at his caustic glare, Sia’s eyes flickered to Jacob and within seconds, she’d teleported them both back to Carath. Caiaphas’ signature disappeared swiftly following their departure.
Isaiah’s arms were empty as he dropped his gaze to look at the blood that painted his hands. Crimson coated the lines of his palms and the fabric of his clothes. The liquid had already begun drying, a flaking map that stained his skin.
Static, Isaiah found that he had no will to move, nor to acknowledge his lieutenants that still stood silently on the edge of the training grounds. Everything about him seemed to hit pause, his eyes locked on the bloody aftermath of Jacob’s decision, the red that now sullied his soul.
There was a sound of approaching footsteps, but he couldn’t bring himself to care enough to look up. When Rukia dropped to her knees in front of him, he didn’t respond. She said nothing, and when she took his hand in hers, he didn’t resist.
The cool sensation of water flowed over his palms, up his forearms. The water Elemental before him gently cleaned the crimson from his skin, quiet in her craft. Rukia’s hands were diligent, soothing, the water flowing from her palms as pure as she was.
As his features tightened at the genuine show of kindness, he met her eyes. Empathy lingered behind the velvet brown of her gaze; compassion hidden in plain sight. And when she finished her task, her palm cupped his cheek and her lips pressed delicately into his forehead.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Rukiarockedbackonher heels, unsure of how to help the broken Raeth in front of her. Hollowness invaded the depths of his obsidian eyes; acidic grief printed on his features. In her heart, she felt the crushing undercurrent of despair that began to eat away at him beneath the far larger tides of animosity.
None of his lieutenants had made a move to approach him, and she could see in their faces that they were just as lost as she was.
And then a flip switched in Isaiah, the light coming back on behind his eyes. Flinching, the man rose from his crouch and shot a blank stare over to the Raeths that stood on the precipice.
“Go home.”
Surprise flickered in their faces, unease following closely on its heels. While Tien and Xedrix acknowledged the comment at face value and teleported away, Derikles and Jaeda hesitated.
Derikles stepped forward. “Sovereign, if you need time—”
“Why would I need time?” Both Raeths recoiled at Isaiah’s hostile tone, the haughty expression that followed disarming them. “I told you togo home.”
And that was when Rukia saw the first flickers of fear enter Derikles’ eyes, the expression mirrored by the healer at his side. “Yes, sovereign.”
Without another word, the pair vanished, leaving Rukia alone with the Raeth sovereign. A fleeting stab of anxiety churned in her gut as she looked at Isaiah’s profile. Set in hard lines, his features were bleak, angry. Devastated.
“Let’s go back to your home, Isaiah,” Rukia prompted, keeping her voice low and soft.
For a beat, he didn’t respond, didn’t acknowledge the suggestion. And then, half a second later, she found herself in Isaiah’s living room, the air-conditioned chill sinking into her skin and making her shiver.
Her eyes fixated on the bleeding wound on Isaiah’s left shoulder. Stealing herself with a steadying breath, she took a step forward and brought her hands up to examine the wound. Gently, Rukia pulled back the fabric to reveal the saturated wound.
Biting her lip, she dared to look into Isaiah’s eyes. “This needs to be cleaned. Where is your first aid kit?”
