Page 36 of Despite Mortal Sins

Rukia opened her eyes.

She hadn’t dreamed of her childhood, much less the event that spawned her Elemental abilities, in decades, if not centuries. A smile ghosted over her lips as she let the memories play in her mind.

Rukia had always loved the water. Born in the foothills of Mount Fuji, the little girl she’d been was obsessed with the lake within walking distance of her family home. One of six children, she’d been born last to an aging mother who’d primarily left her upbringing to the older siblings, many of whom were far more interested in the opposite sex than raising the hellacious spitfire Rukia had already become.

To entertain herself, she’d spent her days in the welcoming waters of the lake, dodging the odd fisherman that dotted the waters and the elderly crones who warned her of monsters in the depths.

She’d taught herself to swim, to hold her breath and dive to the murky depths of the lake floor to see what treasures it held. As she grew older, she got bolder, free diving to parts previously unknown.

Occasionally, it’d be profitable. She’d pick up fishing lines or other treasures lost in the depths that she could sell back to the villagers. But mostly, it was her haven, her home away from home.

When she’d become a teenager, her trips to the lake were often rescinded in lieu of chores and other tasks. As she grew, the playfulness of childhood was lost to the drudgery of adolescence.

One night, she’d escaped under cover of darkness, yearning for the refuge that she’d been unable to visit for weeks. As her dream had reminded her so clearly, she’d become confused in the dim light of the dusk underwater, suddenly panicking as her lungs gasped for breath.

The water had welcomed her without inhibition. It enveloped her with comfort, with contentment, and Rukia had never looked back.

By the time she realized she’d stopped aging, her parents had passed, and her siblings were busy rearing children of their own. When the other villagers grew suspicious of Rukia’s continual youth, Tyee’s appearance was nothing short of a miracle. Eager to explore the world and her newfound strength, she’d gone with him readily.

Sighing at the bittersweet memories, Rukia leisurely rolled over in Isaiah’s bed.

It was empty.

She frowned, somehow upset that the Raeth had vanished, and she hadn’t even noticed his getaway. Sitting up, she drew the covers over her chest as she glanced around Isaiah’s room.

No color here, either.

Black comforter, black furniture. White walls and an equally white set of sheets. Over her shoulder, she spied an abstract white painting on black canvas.

Quirking her lips, Rukia continued scrutinizing Isaiah’s home. He was nothing if not a minimalist. Only one small sculpture could be categorized as art, and it looked far more like a necessity than décor: the black dagger entwined within its flowing marble clutches looked impossible to remove, and entirely too dangerous.

Rukia inspected the dagger with a more studious eye. Instead of the flat black it’d originally appeared, it gleamed an inky violet where light reflected. Eerily similar to the key that Gideon wore around his neck, she mused.

It was odd, being alone in the Raeth’s bedroom. It humanized him, even if the space boasted a shockingly flat color scheme that screamed he had the personality of a doorknob.

Stifling a laugh, she extracted herself out of the far-too-comfortable bed.

Isaiah’s t-shirt hung loosely off her willowy frame, brushing down to softly caress her mid-thigh. Barefoot, she padded over to her jeans and yanked them on, knotting the t-shirt at her midriff so it didn’t drown her.

She soundlessly descended to the second floor and caught the sounds of discussion. Curiosity piqued, she tiptoed toward the voices and stepped through the doorframe.

Isaiah was leaning leisurely against his kitchen counter, looking every inch the delectable dominant that he was. His second, Derikles, was sitting across the aisle on a stool. But the duo wasn’t what immediately captured her attention.

Rukia had been in hundreds of kitchens across the world across the span of her long life, but this one was hands down one of the most beautiful she’d ever beheld. White marble countertops elegantly graced black cabinetry, and a double oven nestled in the wall next to a spotless duo of fire stoves. Stainless steel appliances were an understated element amid the clean lines of the space, with the main focal point of the room being a sizable island that could have easily welcomed eight people across.

Gawking, she barely noticed when Derikles’ gaze landed on her. Though he didn’t say a word, Rukia could feel the hostility rolling off him in waves.

“Down boy.” Smirking in the face of his animosity, Rukia chuckled darkly. “You’re glaring at me as if I’m encroaching on your territory. Have I missed something? Or would you prefer to warm Isaiah’s bed at night?”

The horrified incredulity of Derikles’ face made her laugh out loud, the sound of it ringing throughout the kitchen. When she came back to herself, Isaiah was scrubbing a hand over his face but not so obviously trying to hide the upturned corners of his mouth.

“Derikles, you know Rukia,” Isaiah introduced.

His second stared at her as though she was gum he’d just discovered on the bottom of his shoe. Tribal tattoos snaked over Derikles’ exposed skin, his long dark hair fanning slightly downward over his eyes. In his ears, he wore black gauges to accent his devil-may-care look.

“Why are you here?”

“Why don’t you ask your head honcho?” Rukia shot back, undaunted. “He’s the one who brought me here.”