Chapter 2 - Above Cursed Winds

Stagnant air overpowered Jeremiah’s senses when his consciousness surfaced, the musty smell of his last-minute hotel room a combination of alcohol and regret. Groaning, he scrubbed a hand over his face before taking stock of his surroundings.

A startling variety of drained vodka bottles lingered in a half-circle around him, with beer bottles spilling their dregs towards the outer limit. A low-watt bulb hummed in whatever passed for a bathroom several yards away.

He was sprawled face down on the stained carpet, the shag now a mustard yellow that had long since given up on maintaining its original color.

Jeremiah jerked upright and instantly regretted it. The room spun, and he pressed a palm into the gritty carpeting to keep from face planting back into it.

When his balance finally righted, he called upon his supernatural gifts to heal his ailments. Within seconds, the air filling his lungs became a healing balm, and the room purified. The stench of last night stopped seeping into his skin, and the bruises from his violent outlet slowly faded.

One breath. Two breaths. Three.

Opening crystal-clear blue eyes, he sighed. Upon examination, his knuckles looked no worse for wear, their flawless ivory revealing nothing incriminating.

Good. Jeremiah didn’t need Gideon rooting around in his affairs, or any meddling in how he was dealing with his residual rage.

He shifted to get a better look at the place he’d slept during the night. Two queen beds, their lumpy comforters still tucked in, were to his left, and an ancient rear-projection television sat on a rickety table to his right.

A real classy place, this.

Grunting, Jeremiah sifted a hand through his shoulder-length red hair. It never mattered where he slept or what he did to ease his turmoil. He felt his old self slip further away every day, along with any shred of lightheartedness and joy.

Absently, he examined each amateurish work of art that hung on the smoke-stained walls. As with every other time he awoke in similar surroundings, he was thankfully alone. Though he’d never been partial to long-term relationships or taking a wife, he’d never noticed the absence.

That is, until his two best friends found their soulmates.

He’d spent over three hundred years living and working alongside Gideon and Rukia, and he keenly felt their absence now that their main focus was the other half of their souls.

Gideon had Rona. Rukia had Isaiah—and now she’d had his child. All Jeremiah had was a job that seemed far less fulfilling than it had been three years ago, in a town that no longer felt like home, and a morbid outlet that was barely fit for his purpose.

He gingerly rose to his feet. One glance around the room told him his shirt wasn’t anywhere within reach. Jeremiah trudged through shag carpeting toward the bathroom, and regrettably solved that mystery. The shirt he’d been in last night was partially floating in the porcelain throne, waterlogged and sodden with a questionable yellow.

He must’ve drunk more than he’d thought last night.

Part of him was almost impressed. It was nearly impossible for an Elemental to become inebriated. Their metabolism was too high to feel the effects of alcohol without ingesting a massive amount in quick succession. He gave up on rescuing his shirt. No sense in attempting to save something he’d just pitch regardless.

Turning to look for his shoes, Jeremiah had just pulled them on when he was surprised by a decisive knock on the door.

No one knew he was here; he hadn’t informed any of his ‘friends’ of his extracurriculars. In fact, he hadn’t even texted them to notify them he’d left the Elemental compound. For all intents and purposes, he might as well have been in his home. But that didn’t explain the eerie feeling that the man behind the door was someone he knew exceptionally well.

Gideon.

When his hand settled on the cool steel of the doorknob, his eyes briefly closed. Mentally, he prepared himself for the lecture that’d inevitably follow, the disappointment that’d fill those molten gold eyes.

Though it’d be for good reason, whenever Gideon chastised him for venting his rage or taking part in activities that the other man had deemed harmful, Jeremiah’s irritation only grew.

There was only so much a man could take, and he’d had more than enough of it from his monarch.

Another bang on the door, this one seemingly more urgent. Twisting the handle, he pulled it open to reveal the man in question—and, of course, his wife, Rona, right beside him.

“Where have you been?”

Gideon’s gold eyes speared around the room as if spying for an ancient artifact, the keen intelligence behind them otherworldly. Almost annoyed, the earth Elemental brushed past him, while Rona remained patiently outside.

No one could mistake Gideon for anything other than a powerful immortal. The man exuded an innate hum of energy that belied explanation, a tangible pulse that seemed to wash against the skin. Each step he took was a predator’s gait, a jungle cat prowling beneath his easygoing demeanor.

Taking a staggering step backwards, Jeremiah scoffed. “What are you doing here?”

“You haven’t answered your phone.”

Jeremiah’s lip curled. “I’ve been busy. How did you even know I was here?”

The earth Elemental gave him a blank look. “Credit cards aren’t that hard to track, Jeremiah. And Rona used suggestion on the motel clerk to discover which room you’d taken.”

“Doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”

Crossing his arms, Jeremiah bristled as Rona stepped inside and softly closed the door behind her. The vampire strode around him to her husband’s side, and Jeremiah finally noticed the prickling dose of anxiety they both wore like a second skin.

“What’s happened?”

“We’ve received word that information has been stolen,” Rona said as hesitation crossed her doll-like features.

Jeremiah studied her. While he’d never held it against her, Rona and Gideon’s relationship had been rocky at first. There’d been a point when she’d fed from Gideon and inadvertently caused him to lose consciousness. Jeremiah had nearly strangled the petite woman when he’d discovered the truth. That was before he’d realized Gideon had pleaded with her to do so, and she’d saved his life only moments before.

“What stolen information? And what does it have to do with me? Can’t you happy lovebirds deal with it?”

“The list with all of our locations,” Gideon clarified. “Every immortal address that was listed in the Accords database. It was hacked and retrieved from the private computer of the Peace Accords administrator. That’s in Nero’s territory, in case you forgot, so the security should have been unbreachable.”

“Whoever this administrator is, they’re clearly incompetent. How comforting.” Jeremiah scoffed, earning glowers from both immortals opposite him. “I’m guessing our old friends, the Citizens, are stirring things up again, huh? Despite the obvious security vulnerability, how is this any different than them knowing where we live currently?”

Several years ago, a terrorist organization known as the Citizens of the Light had emerged from the human community. They touted a manifesto that glorified the extermination of all immortal life. They’d discovered Paracel and all her inhabitants, and had lured Gideon away from the stronghold to deliver a message.

No one had ever discovered how the terrorist group had known of their Search and Rescue operation, nor how they had known Gideon would be among those who were deployed. Shuddering, Jeremiah forced the flashback from his mind.

“Because while they apparently mean us—Elementals—no particular harm, they offered no such exception to every other immortal race.”

Gideon’s golden eyes leveled with Jeremiah’s, understanding passing between them. It’d been nearly three years since the Elementals had signed a universal peace treaty with the other immortal nations: the vampires, werewolves, and the Raeths.

Vampires, like the woman standing by Gideon’s side, had initially extended an offer of peace to werewolves. The werewolves and Raeths had signed along the dotted line and brought the Elementals out of seclusion to round out the races. With their addresses having been exposed to the very mortals that’d vowed to end them, each community was under phenomenal risk.

But that didn’t mean it was Jeremiah’s problem, and when he said as much, blatant puzzlement passed across his monarch’s features. Gideon’s easy-going nature dissolved as his anger roared to the surface.

“What is your problem, Jeremiah?” he snarled. “You’ve been spiraling for nearly two years now, and every other word from you is a challenge.”

Jeremiah mocked, “What’s my problem? Where do I begin?”

Admitting the truth was far more complicated than could be explained in a squalid motel room. When Gideon had been targeted two years ago, Jeremiah hadn’t been able to save him. He had stood idly by, preserving the immortal nations’ secrecy, while Gideon had been assassinated.

It didn’t matter that Gideon had somehow miraculously come back to life weeks later. Watching his best friend murdered while he was incapable of rescuing him had been horrific and damaging. The incompetence he felt coupled with guilt and grief, and the emotions had warred within him ever since. Despite having lived for centuries, he simply hadn’t been able to cope.

Across from him, Gideon looked eager to fight it out, but a displacement of air signaled the addition of a fourth member to the party. Pivoting, Jeremiah’s element stirred in response.

Deep brown eyes connected with his, an ebony eyebrow raised defiantly. “I see you’ve found the degenerate.”

Jeremiah barely resisted the urge to throttle Isaiah, the Raeth sovereign who’d mated Rukia. Standing several inches over six foot tall, his features were twisted in the same taunting smirk the man had had ever since they’d met three years ago.

“I see you’re still a prick,” Jeremiah retorted, knowing full well that his standing half-naked in a seedy motel room would undermine his position.

Rukia was head over heels in love with the man, but Jeremiah could never quite welcome the Raeth with open arms. Granted, their mating had occurred in the infamous month-and-a-half gap where Jeremiah had readily lost his sanity, but the point remained. Isaiah had taken Rukia away from Paracel at a moment when she was Jeremiah’s entire support system, and the chasm opened in their relationship had never properly healed. The Raeth seemed to actively enjoy that.

Isaiah was a jerk.

It was unfortunate they’d never found common ground, especially when their child would be calling him Uncle Jeremiah. Isaak was the only one spared by his spiteful tongue and ill will.

It didn’t hurt that the little tyke was only six months old.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jeremiah saw Gideon toss something toward him. Nabbing it out of the air, Jeremiah frowned. The yellow T-shirt was emblazoned with the words ‘IOWA: Nothing happens here.’ A receipt fluttered down between them. It was apparently a purchase he’d made last night.

“Get dressed, Jeremiah. We need to leave.”

Cursing beneath his breath, but loud enough so that none would miss it, Jeremiah shrugged on the shirt and was thankful it fit. His basketball shorts looked free of any stains.

“I’m flattered that you’ve come all this way for little old me,” Jeremiah said. “Where to, Raeth? I assume you’ve got our itinerary.”

“I’ve better things to do with my time that chase a sullen alley cat around.” Isaiah’s attention shifted to Gideon. “We’ve wasted enough time.”

Isaiah gave no additional warning before they became noncorporeal with a teleport. Capable of transporting nearly anywhere in the world on a whim, Raeths were unique amongst immortals. While each breed boasted a variety of gifts, all Raeths had some semblance of teleportation, transfiguration, and telepathy.

Moments later, Jeremiah solidified in the foyer of Nina’s Lexington mansion, fighting the dizziness that pinged within him. He’d readily chose flying under the power of his element any day over this. A wave of nausea settled in his gut, threatening to expel nonexistent food from a stomach twisted in knots.

Luxurious, modern, and entirely too ostentatious for Jeremiah’s taste, the foyer looked like it belonged in a magazine, complete with the grand marble staircase leading to what he knew was a well-outfitted second story.

Conversation had halted the moment they arrived. Glancing around, Jeremiah saw the tension on the faces of those assembled. Immortals from every race were gathered in Nina’s foyer, apparently waiting for his tardy appearance.

Three years ago, when Jeremiah, Rukia, and Gideon had attended the initial peace talks, the trio had stayed here on Nina’s goodwill. Their host, a neutral party for the initial Accords discussions and their moderator thereafter, was unique—an immortal of two breeds.

Both Raeth and vampire, Nina had sired the first vampiric fledglings and continued to reign over the largest clan of Raeths. No other immortal combined the gifts of two immortal species, and no one could match her innate strength.

Like Rukia, Nina had just given birth, in her case to twins. The younglings, now all just over six months, were a product of the Raeth mating period known as the Heat.

It was the main reason for the turmoil written across the faces of immortals from every breed. Children were precious, regardless of their mortality or immortality.

But the Citizens wouldn’t see it that way. To them, an immortal was an abomination; whether they had taken their first step or not was immaterial.

Rukia stalked forward to square off with him. “Where were you? You weren’t at home or in the office, and we couldn’t find you. We had no idea if you were okay or not.”

“I was in Iowa City.”

Her eye twitched as she reached up to yank the price tag off his hideous yellow shirt. “And you decided to do some shopping while we feared you were dead?”

“I wasn’t planning on company, nor on being rudely awoken from a rather peaceful nap.” The lie rolled easily off his tongue.

Aidan, an ancient werewolf alpha, gave him a glare from where he stood beside his powerful Elemental mate, Lucy. Having lived through twelve centuries, he rivaled Isaiah in strength, and the furious predator beneath his skin shone in Aidan’s tangerine-colored eyes.

Beside them stood Drake, the figurehead of the vampire nation. Toni, his wife, was the only fire Elemental in their nation. It’d been nearly four years since they’d met, and Paracel had been forced out of its self-imposed secrecy. They were the couple who’d started this—and the ones who continued to break down barriers toward lasting peace.

Isaiah had taken his place by Rukia, her Japanese features mirroring his own. Neither of them held Isaak, but Jeremiah wasn’t surprised. There were many people at their home in Utah that’d clamor for the chance to babysit the bubbly baby.

Jeremiah could feel the weight of Gideon’s ever-watchful gaze fixed on him, even as his monarch drew his wife closer to his side.

The last immortals in the room were Lucius and Circe. Nearly the tallest man there, the vampire’s kind smile offered him the only warm greeting. If anyone had borne the brunt of the Citizen’s malice, it was him. Lucius’ list of aggravations from the Citizens was undoubtedly the longest, ranging from the attack on his House that’d killed thirteen of his people, to his own physical and psychological torture at the hands of their most twisted leadership members.

Jeremiah wouldn’t have found reason to smile after everything Lucius had suffered. And that wasn’t the only thing that set the two men apart.

Lucius’ mate, Circe, stood steadfast by his side. The mysterious, red-haired Raeth clung to the vampire with a devotion Jeremiah couldn’t begin to fathom. She’d found her mate—and rescued him—when no one else could locate him.

Staring at their faces, Jeremiah suddenly had the urge to make himself invisible. He didn’t want to hide out of cowardice, but he’d give his left arm to avoid the confrontation and whatever plans they were about to make.

Rukia and Gideon had made it their personal responsibility to check in on him, repeatedly, over the last few months. If they weren’t in Paracel to ask him face to face, they would text him instead.

He never responded. He didn’t want to be anyone’s problem, and he certainly did not want their problems to be his responsibility.

Now, he’d be forced into a room with twenty other immortals to hash out the details of the latest disaster. There was simply too much on the line to let something of this magnitude slip, even when he’d said the exact opposite only minutes before.

Incompetence—his or anyone else’s—couldn’t be condoned.