“It is when you act like you’re sixty. When was the last time you had a shag?”
I pour the boiling water over the teabag, watching it steep into a dark amber. “I don’t have time for shagging.”
“You don’tmaketime. There’s a difference.”
Maybe she’s right. It’s been a while. Too long, really, since I had sex, but I’ve got more important stuff to focus on. Like saving everyone’s arses on a daily basis.
“I’ll bear that in mind,” I drawl. “Bye, Rynna.”
She hangs up without another word, already moving on to whatever has caught her attention.
I dump the teabag in the bin and take a long sip, letting the heat scald down my throat, and carry it to the small kitchen table to sink into the chair, wincing as my ribs protest. I need to see if there’s anymention in the Order’s texts about the blade, where it suddenly decides to glow blue and demand blood sacrifices to seal a divine fissure.
The Order of the Veil has been around for centuries, passed down through specific bloodlines like mine. We’re the ones who keep the nasty things at bay, the ones who patrol the edges where the supernatural bleeds into the mundane. But gods? That was supposed to be ancient history. Locked away. Problem solved by women far braver and more powerful than me.
Except now it’s not solved. One of them was summoned and got stabbed in the face for her efforts, and another slipped through the cracks in her wake.
A god that Ididn’tstab in the face. His handsome, brooding face.
“Dreven.” His name comes to me with painful clarity. It’s a start. There should be something in the texts about him.
Time to get showered and hit the Order’s HQ to inform the Guardians of last night’s patrol and then spend the rest of the day in the library, trying to figure out what the hell is going on.
I drain the rest of my black tea and push myself up from the table, every movement a reminder of last night’s violence. The shower is scalding, the way I like it, and I let the water beat against my bruised ribs until the bathroom fills with steam. My mind keeps circling back to Dreven’s warning about what’s coming. Something this world isn’t prepared for. Something even a god fears.
That’s not ominous at all.
Finishing up and drying off, I dress in clean black leggings and a fitted long-sleeve shirt, practical for both training and potential demon encounters. The dormantblade goes into its sheath at the small of my back, hidden under a dark green hoodie.
I scowl at my muddy trainers that I forgot to clean off last night—again, an anomaly for me—but I don’t have time now. Besides, it’s started pouring down again, so they’re just going to get muddy anyway. I shove my feet into them with a moue of distaste at my lack of civility and yank open the door while grabbing my coat to protect me from the worst of the rain as I make my way on foot to the Order.
“Well, hello, there.”
I jump a fucking mile at the unexpected greeting.
My gaze goes to the arsehole scaring the bejesus out of me, and my scowl deepens. He is hot. Achingly so. More so, perhaps, than Dreven. Well, no, that isn’t quite right. Same level of hotness, but a different type.
“Who the fuck are you?” I growl.
He beams and runs a hand through his damp, tousled brown hair with copper undertones. His eyes are like molten gold when he’s amused or enraged. He looks a little dishevelled, but almost like it’s on purpose. “The question you should be asking iswhatam I?”
I grimace at him. “Don’t tell me? Another god who came through with that glowy bitch? You do know announcing yourself to a slayer is pretty fucking dumb. Now I have to kill you.”
He chuckles. It’s not the dark, amused sound that comes from Dreven, but a lighter, more genuine sound. “You know more than I expected. Dre been around already?”
“What’s it to you?”
“He’s a pompous arse, all brooding and strict. Figured he’d come around with his dire warnings and doom.”
Sighing, I drag my blade out and point the tip under his chin. “Name. So I know what to write in my report. God who thinks he’s funny and charming, won’t cut it with my bosses.”
“Thinks?” he says with mock-offence. “Rude.” He reaches up to push gently on the tip of the blade. I tighten my grip, but it makes no difference. He still moves it away even though he appears to be using no strength at all. “Take that back, I might reconsider giving it to you.”
I blink. “Take it back? What are you? Twelve?”
“Centuries? Yes.”
I freeze.Fucking what?
