His lips twitched at the corners. “You can keep it to yourself for now, angel, but I know that look all too well. And yes, we’ll be obliging it later.”

He sipped his wine and set it on the side table before stretching his arms over his head. Muscles flexed and moved, drawing her gaze to his abdomen and lower. She wanted to taste him.

“We need to know what Skye prophesied,” he said as he lowered his arms. “And unfortunately, any avenue I use to contact Ezekiel about it will be tracked by Osiris. He has an uncanny ability to persuade those around him without their realization, and he’s no doubt interwoven several compulsion tricks into my best friend by now.”

“Then we need something Osiris hasn’t thought of,” Caro replied. “Or rather, someone.”

Sethios cocked a brow. “Do you have an idea in mind?”

“Yes.” She’d considered it earlier when he mentioned the council’s plans, and had already initiated her protocols. “My son.”

Both his eyebrows shot upward into his hairline. “Your son?”

It seemed logical enough to her. “He’s of my blood—thereby making him undetectable—and he’s a warrior. This task will be simple for a being of his heritage.” She also intended to ask his opinion on her superiors’ motives. As Adriel’s son, he might be privy to more details than Caro.

“A warrior, meaning what?”

She stared at him. “Adriel’s line.” Sethios’s expression suggested he didn’t understand. “Every Seraphim has a unique gift. I am a descendant of the concealment line. It’s why I’m the perfect messenger; my aura isn’t traceable. Adriel is the original of the warrior bloodline, similar to how your father is the Seraphim of Life and Resurrection. Are you not familiar with these family trees?”

He shook his head slowly. “In my three thousand years, Osiris never spoke of his heritage. I understood that he used his blood to create Ichorians, and in turn Hydraians, but he’s never mentioned anything about family trees or his title.”

“It’s an old title, one he hasn’t owned in several thousand years due to his exile. Part of his punishment was the inability to continue his line, which—seeing as you exist—clearly did not uphold. You might not be pure Seraphim, but your gifts are impressive.”

Amusement flashed in his gaze. “Was that a compliment?”

She ignored him. “My son is the product of my bloodline of untraceables, otherwise known as messengers, and Adriel’s warrior line. That is what makes him suitable to assist us. And I’ve already called out to him.”

“You called out to him?” Sethios repeated.

“Yes, when we departed from the alley.”

“Like telepathy?”

Osiris truly taught his son nothing. She’d be shocked if it wasn’t so expected of the ancient immortal. Either he hadn’t wanted to prepare Sethios for the future—likely—or he didn’t respect tradition enough to pass on these key elements of Seraphim society.

“Those bound by blood can communicate mentally, but it’s not telepathy. That’s a different family of abilities. This is more of an emotion tied to instructions that is channeled through states of unconsciousness. He may hear me right away, or in a few days. It depends on when he decides to sleep.” And knowing her son, it may be a while before that happens. “He’ll find me when he hears my request.”