1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Exhaustion wasn't something most Raeths ever experienced. Recoils and a temporary depletion of reserves called an energy drought were far more common and curable with time and rest. Enervation and fatigue, fueled by depression, was rare.

As the sovereign of the Osé, one of the most powerful Raeth clans in the world, Nero was many things to many people. Leader, protector, confidant, friend: he'd had centuries to shape his image as one of the most compassionate and levelheaded sovereigns to rule their immortal breed. That status came with little peace.

He was often approached by other sovereigns seeking an intermediary to settle disputes, and he hadn't yet found it in his heart to say no. Though mediations generally didn't take longer than a week, those sovereigns remained in close contact with Nero for decades afterward. Mentoring younger Raeths had always been rewarding for him, but it came at a cost.

Within the last few years, he'd signed up to represent Raethkind at an intraspecies peace summit. Through that experience, he'd personally penned the Peace Accords documents, signed by every immortal species that walked the planet.

The Heat, a short period of fertility experienced by his breed, had come and gone, and things had only become progressively busier since then. Petitions to enter his clan had exponentially increased. Many of the mated couples expecting a child had sought out the stability brought by a clan, and he'd fielded more requests in the last year and a half than at any other point in his sovereignty.

Eventually, they had run out of room, even with the continuous building expansions. Zia, his second in command, was leading the charge on that front, but it still seemed unfair to burden her with the entirety of the project. He helped behind the scenes—sometimes too much and too often.

Yesterday morning, he'd met with four new couples about the possibility of pledging loyalty to his clan. At lunch, he'd babysat two toddlers so their mothers could have a break, and in the afternoon, he'd helped install the electrical wiring in one of the new houses. He'd made it back to the office to answer any urgent emails that'd arrived while he'd been out, and finally dragged himself to sleep in a cold, lonely bed around midnight. No matter how many people he welcomed and houses he built, his home was still empty.

Nero hadn't slept more than two hours the night before because his mind was far too busy. Sleeping medications were ineffectual on Raeths—their metabolism was simply too fast—and he couldn't risk being drowsy through an emergency and leave his territory open to attack.

Sure, he'd put himself in this position when he fought for the sovereignty, but he was simply exhausted.

The words on the page blurred together. It was the seventh application he'd reviewed this morning, and it was far from the last. At some point, he was going to have to say no—his territory wasn't big enough to house every family that needed shelter.

Even that tore a hole through his heart. After twelve centuries of reading the emotions of others, Nero was very familiar with the devastation, despair, and sadness that news would create in the immortals who would find themselves without shelter.

Through his gifts, those emotions would funnel back directly onto him. One of Nero's psychic abilities was to intercept, influence, and sense emotions. As a Reader, he was capable of both perceiving and altering emotional states, able to make his enemies cower in fear or feel such happiness they'd never come down from their high. When it came to the new refugees, he would experience their anxiety on the same scale they did—and he would be the cause of it.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Nero sighed. No matter what he did, someone would always get the short end of the stick.

A telepathic ping broke his overthinking streak. The urgency behind the hail had him responding immediately. What's wrong, Zia?

Sovereign, Remmus has reached out and asked for help. The Citizens have staged an attack on Chicago, and he's asked for your and Jeremiah's help immediately.

Nero bared his teeth. What type of attack?

They're set to release rabid werewolves on city streets. Remmus intercepted the communication just minutes ago, and estimates their numbers to be around ten to fifteen wolves. He didn't have much more to say.

The Citizens group, a terrorist organization dedicated to the eradication of immortal beings, had escalated from one-off abductions and baseless threats to full-blown terrorism. This wasn't the first time they'd released infected werewolves in the middle of human civilian populations. Their intention was to expose immortals and create negative public opinion.

Every muscle in Nero's body screamed with fatigue. He knew what the situation on the ground called for, and going in with an empty tank meant he'd inevitably put other people in harm's way.

If Jeremiah is up for it, he's welcome to join them.

And you, sovereign?

I can't, Zia. He wouldn't admit the truth to his lieutenant and load her with remorse about the clan workload. I've scheduled meetings with potential new clansmen in the next hour, and I don't want to leave them in a lurch.

Zia hummed in agreement. There are other people who can go—I'll reach out to Remmus and let him know.

Guilt twisted with relief in his gut. Thank you, Zia.

Inside his mind, he had developed the unique neural network that tied him to each member of the clan. The mental bonds were as diverse and varied as the people on the opposite end. While some links were strong and hardened with time, others were new and untested. Those who'd joined his clan within the last two years were prime examples of the latter, and he'd instinctively kept a closer eye on those members. It was through these bonds that he could feel Zia's fear for her mate, Jeremiah, as they prepared for his departure.

Collapsing backwards in his office chair, Nero closed his eyes. He rarely said no to intervening in crisis situations, and every time he did, he felt the weight of every life involved. The rational part of his mind told him that this was for the best—but the emotional side argued that it was his job to protect the immortals deployed to address the danger and the humans who'd be caught in the crosshairs.

Massaging his temples, he braced against the sound of footsteps drawing near. He knew it was Key even before he opened his eyes and saw the foreseer in his office. Her normally optimistic expression was set in a disapproving frown.

"You said no?"

The odd note in her voice was mixed with a hiss of anger. All at once, Nero was on alert. "I said no."

"You can't do that!"

"Why can't I, Key?" Nero shook his head. "There are sixteen delegates who have a seat on the Accords. Jeremiah is already going. They don't need me."

"Remmus asked for you," she reiterated. "They do need you."

Nero resisted the urge to grind his teeth. Across the desk from him, Key's eyes shifted from lightning-streaked amber to pure white. It was a sign that she was expending a phenomenal amount of power.

"Go to Chicago, Nero."

The blatant command made his panther hiss in aggravation. "Someone else can go tend to the situation. I'm sitting here on my last leg, surrounded by housing plans and requests for arbitration, trying to vet applications to enter our clan, and attempting to keep up with Remmus' ever-evolving list of the Citizens' next targets—all while trying to make sure everyone in the clan is emotionally stable. Going to Chicago half-cocked and putting everyone in danger is not on my To Do list."

The foreseer didn't back down. "You need to go. Now! "

There was something about the way she said it that set him back on his heels. Key was the most powerful foreseer in recorded history—and that was saying something for immortal beings. When she mandated something, there was certainly a reason behind it, even though she didn't always share them.

Eleven centuries ago, Key had foretold Nero's fated mate. She'd telepathically shared images and scenes with him of their time together as a couple, and he'd been living on that promise ever since. And that's what it had remained so far: a dream. He'd spent his entire life waiting for a woman he'd never met.

In the past year, Key's prophecies had begun to stretch his trust in her. Recently, she'd put his clansmen in danger by intentionally misrepresenting her visions. It was nearly enough to drive Nero insane.

"I can't keep overextending myself, Key," he admitted quietly. "I'm already stretched thin, and I can't keep doing this."

His meaning extended far beyond today's latest threat. Nero couldn't keep hoping for a mate that might never materialize. He was tired of waiting. After eleven hundred years of living on a wish and a whim, he'd finally written her off. Despite this, he'd never tell Key he'd given up on his fated mate.

"Sovereign, please," she urged, " please— just do this one thing for me. I know it's been difficult, and I know your tolerance of me has been worn down to threads. I know you're exhausted and pulled in a thousand different ways and that you're tired of waiting for her , but please, just trust me one last time. Go to Chicago. I beg you."

A shiver skated over Nero's skin. Closing his eyes, the exhaustion beating at him pitched, but he forced it down as he stood. "Fine. I'll trust you. One last time."

Her lightning-streaked amber eyes laser-focused. "Be careful. Don't hesitate. Go down the alley."

On the heels of her words, she vanished.

While he'd weathered more than enough of her cryptic statements, this one left him confused and off-balance. Regardless, he didn't waste time. In seconds, he'd manifested his fighting leathers and summoned his preferred weapon for fighting rabid werewolves: a battle axe.

Previously, the Citizens had intentionally infected them with a non-lethal dose of liquid sunlight which coursed through their veins and turned them rabid. Once the poison took hold, the werewolves lost themselves to their inner beasts, unable to return to sanity. It was a monumental loss—one that affected Aidan, the werewolf alpha, the most deeply.

The moment Nero teleported to Remmus' coordinates, he turned into the deadly warrior he was trained to be. Kane, Remmus, Aidan, Riaz, and Zeke were already on the scene, each bearing weapons powerful enough to handle their prey tonight. The only ones who wouldn't be fighting were Jeremiah and Remmus: they were both needed to cover the ensuing slaughter and keep it from reaching news sources.

They couldn't ambush the truck before it opened. The last time they'd attempted it, the Citizens had pumped the air full of silver nitrate and airborne sunlight particles. It'd nearly taken Kane's life. Since then, the human organization had begun to equip their vehicles with even more technology aimed at taking the lives of the immortals that hunted them.

"Jeremiah, the truck over there—" Zeke pointed to a box truck only a hundred feet away, "—is part of the release. Can you cover the scene?"

The Elemental nodded, going silent.

"I've already got all technology malfunctioning within a two-block radius," Remmus whispered. "I can't go any larger than that."

Beside him, Jeremiah straightened. "We're covered."

"Stay outta trouble, Elemental," Nero warned. "The invisibility is vital to keeping this a secret."

Just as Jeremiah was about to respond, the box truck opened. Rusty metal creaked open in the dark confines of the truck, and the snarls of rabid werewolves filled the silence thereafter. The first leapt out of the truck, followed quickly by a second, then a third.

Every protective instinct within Nero screamed into focus. Charging toward the infected animals, his battle axe slashed through the air before the first even knew he was beside it.

Werewolves kept spilling out of the box truck, but before long, the vehicle was speeding off down the street. Too busy keeping the wolves from scattering, no one of the deployment team went after it.

There were more than fifteen this time—and against the five of them, they were outnumbered. Blood splattered across Nero's face as another werewolf met its demise. His axe, glistening crimson, sung as it slashed through the air. The exhaustion he had beaten back earlier crept back in, flagging his strength.

It was only when he heard a stifled cry that he remembered what Key had said: Be careful. Don't hesitate. Go down the alley.

Swinging his head around, he spotted the only alleyway within sight. He spun, tearing off toward the dark space between buildings, his heart pounding with adrenaline.

The low light didn't compromise his vision. A wolf had gotten away from them and had found a human woman. As Nero sprinted toward them, the beast lunged.