Page 49 of Despite Mortal Sins

Knowing that Isaiah had fallen victim to his own abilities—that was the worst of it all. “What percentage of Raeths are destruction as opposed to creation?”

“Creation outweighs destruction seventy to one,” Jaeda informed her, her hands busy working over the wound that had now ceased flowing scarlet red. “And those of Isaiah’s and Nina’s strength? I can count less than ten that history remembers.”

Jaeda gently probed the broken flesh of Isaiah’s shoulder concentrating on her work, giving her a nod that was dismissive but not disrespectful.

Rukia stood from where she’d been crouched, crossing her arms, as a shiver ran through her. “Why did Jaden attack him out of the blue?”

“Jaden challenged Isaiah for the right to rule our clan.” Derikles’ voice was icy. “Five centuries ago, Isaiah challenged our previous clan sovereign, Hector, for the same right and won. If two sovereigns were to challenge one another, the winner would take both clans. It’s how our sovereigns are established: a battle to the death.”

Flinching, Rukia’s arms tightened around herself. “It was savage.”

“Mayhaps,” Derikles responded, his emerald gaze drilling into hers, “but it ensures that only the strongest lead. Nepotism and charisma have no place in our society. We are not—and can never be—a democracy.

“Humans select their leaders by who can throw around the most wealth, not by merit or prowess. Regardless of what you may believe, loyalty runs deeply in clans, and none of us would ever challenge Isaiah for the right to rule. But should he ever be defeated, he will lose his life—because if he didn’t, the clan would be forever split between one sovereign and the other.”

He continued, eyes narrowing. “Our very structure, our psychic network, is solely dependent on him. If he is weak, we all are weak.”

“Then you’re weak right now?” Rukia questioned, unbelieving.

“No,” was his staunch reply, “because when Isaiah is in recoil, we, as his lieutenants, supplement his strength to maintain the network. When he succumbs after a challenge, we are the ones he depends on. It’s the only time the places are reversed—the only time we support him instead of the other way around.”

Rukia chanced a glance at the unconscious man. “How does he support you?”

“What does it matter to you?” Derikles snapped, irritated.

“It matters to me becausehematters to me.”

The words poured out of her mouth without inhabitation, without conscious thought. She’d spoken the truth before she’d even realized what she was saying--what it could mean. For a moment, all she could do was blink, processing what she’d said in the heat of the moment.

There was no lie.

But Derikles hit the nail on the head, criticizing her stance. “You’ve spenttwodays with him, Rukia, and he only stayed with you because he pitied you. You matter nothing to him—nothing to us—and I don’t care what you want.”

“Derikles.”

Jaeda’s warning had him straightening, but Derikles didn’t stop. “Isaiah holds this clan together—our psychic network cannot exist without him. If we’re dying, he’s the one who’ll pour energy into us to prevent it. If there’s an attack, he’s the one who’ll be the first line of defense. You asked how he supports us?” he scoffed. “Sovereigns bear the brunt of a psychic attack if the network is targeted, shielding us before we can be ensnared. The stronger a sovereign is, the stronger his people are. It’s an amplification effect.”

Silently digesting the information, Rukia eased off her line of questioning.

“Work on the laceration by his hip now, Circe,” Jaeda said quietly to the female beside her. “This one has stopped bleeding at the very least.”

Upon peeking back at Isaiah’s chest, Rukia was stunned to see that it looked markedly better. Circe repositioned herself to where she could inspect the bloodied lower portion of the Raeth’s abdomen, gently probing around the damaged flesh.

The laceration, it seemed, had cut through his Adonis’ belt, just above the rise of his blood-saturated pants. As the woman continued inspecting the wound, something dark and jealous reared its ugly head within her.

Both Circe and Jaeda manipulated and prodded Isaiah’s body with clinical care, nothing intimate or sensual in their touch. But the sight of their hands on him—on the man she’s just admitted mattered to her—made the possessive spirit within her bare its teeth in warning.

No one noticed when her expression darkened—except the giant beaming over at her.

Xedrix’s eyes positively gleamed, as if he knew something she’d didn’t. Her eyes thinned, but it only seemed to inspire a goofy grin from the giant she strongly believed was nothing more than a big teddy bear at heart.

The other Raeths milled around Isaiah’s living room, two of them setting up shop at the black marble chess board that was set near one of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Rukia,” Jaeda caught her attention. “I’m not sure if Isaiah told you or not, but we’re his lieutenants. You know Derikles and Circe. Xedrix is the six-foot six linebacker,” she nodded to the man continued to stand guard between her and Isaiah, “and Tien is the dark-haired one playing chess with Derikles over there.”

Tien, the quietest of the bunch, barely gave her a passing glance at the mention of his name. Rukia nodded, finally moving away from where Xedrix had appointed himself as Isaiah’s personal bodyguard. Walking around the couch to stand next to Jaeda, she tilted her head.

“How long will he be in recoil?”

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