“You sure you’re okay?” Soren asks me.
I nod, forcing myself to laugh. “F-fine.”
“Not a fan of enclosed spaces, are you?”
Not sure what that means.
Soren leans back against the wall, his shoulder brushing mine. “We’ll be fine,” he says, and the confidence in his words makes the knot in my chest unwind. I exhale and lean into his side, my heart slowing to a steady thump. I trust Soren with my life. If he says we’re safe, then we are.
A flurry of delicious smells hits me as we step out of the portal and into a large dining hall. There’s a crowded bar, and many of the tables are full of people enjoying delectable meals. The music is loud, making me wince. I know human hearing is weaker than an ulfhednar’s superior senses, but do they really need the musicthatloud?
“A restaurant?” Soren guesses.
A woman smiles and waves at us. “Welcome, guys! Would you like a table or are you here for the axe throwing?”
Soren gapes at me. “Axe throwing? We’re throwing axes?” His face splits into a grin that I haven’t seen in years, one bright with the promise of adventure.
“The axes, please,” I say.
She leads the way through the crowded hall and up a set of stairs. There are several loudthwacksfollowed by cheering.
“Whoa!” Soren says, rushing ahead to watch as a woman in a cage throws an axe at a target and misses. Her friends laugh at her. Soren shakes his head, laughing too. “Drunk people throwing weapons. That can’t possibly backfire.”
There are several cages, all occupied by men and women throwing axes. Some hit their targets while others miss, but everyone appears to be having a good time. My fingers are already twitching to get my hands on an axe.
While we wait, an instructor gives us advice on stances and grips so that by the time Soren and I enter cages next to each other, we’re prepared. Soren appears a little uneasy as he glances back at the instructor for advice on his posture. I heft the axe with ease, unable to hold back my grin. “What’s wrong, Soren? Afraid I’ll best you?”
“I mean, you probably will.”
“Come on! Show me what you’ve got!” I fling the axe at the target, barking a laugh when it lands dead center just as I knew it would.
“We get it, you’re awesome,” Soren says, voice devoid of emotion. He steps up toward the target, shoulders tense. He’s in his head; I can see it in the way he keeps readjusting his grip.
“You can always walk away, Soren. No one will blame you for being a craven.”
Soren’s eyes light up at my teasing. “Fuck you,” he says, grinning, and hurls the axe across the room. It lands on target, and Soren throws his arms in the air and shouts in excitement.
I can’t help but laugh at his joy. I knew he could do it. He was always a natural. “A wager!” I say challengingly. “Whoever hits the most targets gets a free round of drinks!”
“You’re on!”
And so it begins. I work up a sweat as I throw and throw and throw. My arms start to ache, and when I miss one of my shots, Soren howls with laughter. Seeing him so happy and in his element suddenly becomes much more important than winning. When the timer goes off, Soren has bested me. I may have deliberately missed a few of my targets, but that will be my little secret.
Soren does a little dance, holding the axe over his head. “How do you like my dance? I’m calling it the free drinks dance!”
I lift my hands and show him my middle fingers, a gesture I learned from Kieran.
Soren laughs until he’s doubled over.
“Aye, you’ll have your drinks. Hope you choke on them,” I say, but without any venom. I’ll buy Soren whatever he wishes so long as it makes him happy. Swinging my arm around his shoulders, I guide him back to the bar and happily hand over my—well, Anders’s—card to pay for the first round.
Beyond the windows, the city lights come on as the sky darkens. By our second round of beers, Soren has regaled me with countless stories from his job as a tender of bars, each one more humorous than the last. I’ve laughed until my stomach aches and I fear I’ll throw up my beer.
“You jest!” I wheeze for air and thumb away a tear from the corner of my eye.
Soren shakes his head, cheeks red from drink and mirth. “Swear on my life! Five thousand dollars if I’d blow a line of coke up his ass!”
I am not sure what this coke is, but the visuals are enough for me to understand. “Tell me you refused!”
