Chapter 1
It had been a hellish night.
Blaéz pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled roughly. The guffaws of laughter, sounds of chatter, and balls clashing on the pool table in Dante’s Bar grew, adding to the cacophony in his head.
He sank deeper into his seat in the shadowed corner of the bikers’ hangout, his back to the wall, and frowned at the bit of whiskey left in his glass. His mind still on the deadly battle that occurred earlier in the night between his fellow Guardian, Dagan, and a Fallen who’d dared to claim the warrior’s mate. It had been brutal, but Dagan had finally taken care of the insane bastard.
Blaéz’s jaw hardened. Apparently, not even the sanctity of a mate-bond was safe with arseholes like the Fallen around. If anyone came after Darci, he’d detonate the fucker in a heartbeat.
The door chimed and swung opened, and as if the icy air had rushed in and froze every atom of noise, the dead silence that followed, pulled him out of his dark thought. He didn’t need to look to know who had walked inside, despite the familiar scent of bergamot and green pine drifting to him. The effect of Týr’s outrageously good looks on the unsuspecting masses was a tad amusing, considering it slid straight off him.
As the warrior strode across the cracked linoleum floor to where he sat, the din restarted.
Týr’s eyebrow rose. “Now this is strange, Celt, you idling about here since we knocked off from patrol five minutes ago.” He dragged out a chair.
“Hardly. Just needed a little time to assimilate after all the shit that happened.” He sucked back the rest of his drink, savoring the fiery trail it left in its wake.
“Hmm, there is that…” The former Norse god sprawled in his chair like some big cat, his dark eyes glinting with humor. “But, this isn’t like you. Usually, you’d be high-tailing it off to the castle and your mate.”
True. But Blaéz didn’t respond as a dark-haired waitress in heels sashayed over to them. Any more tilt on the hip-jut, and she’d probably topple over. She set another shot of whiskey near his elbow and turned to Týr. “Hey, handsome, what—”
Her eyes glazed over. Her brain had probably shut off. It took several blinks, as if to make sure what she saw was indeed real, before her cognitive skills appeared to reboot. She breathed, “Can I get ya anything?”
“Bottled water,” Týr said, frowning at the pool players on the opposite side of the bar placing their bets.
“Spring or still?”
“Still.”
“Ice or no?”
Blaéz snorted, which was lost on the dazed girl. Týr’s attention remained fixed on the biker who’d tossed a coin to start the game. “Just get me the water.”
“Okay.” She tripped off.
“Chickens, the lot of them,” he muttered. “Playing for change. I mean, a single bike? I’d bet my millennia earnings against all their bikesandwin the damn things.”
Blaéz’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. That was a serious pile of dough. The ancient goddess, Gaia, to whom they’d sworn their fealty, had indeed been generous in her compensation for signing on as her Guardians. Just as well Týr picked his battles when it came to bets. He wouldn’t dare do so with any of the Guardians, he’d probably be an immortal pauper then.
Apparently, no longer interested in the bikers’ game, Týr pulled out a pack of M&M’s from his jacket pocket, dropped the candies into his palm, and looked up again. “So?”
Blaéz shrugged and leaned back in his seat. “Needed a drink. It’s been quite a night.”
“Yeah…” Týr popped the selected orange candies into his mouth and chewed, putting the package back into his jacket pocket. “It’s been a brutal one. Glad for Dag it’s all over, but bull on the excuse, man. Seriously, what’s going on with you?”
And that brought his thoughts right back to why he’d stopped off at Dante’s for a drink.
Blaéz met those rarely unamused, toffee-colored irises nailing him with a serious stare. How did he explain about the uneasiness that had been plaguing him for the last two days? Týr would probably think he was about to be hauled back to Hell again.
He asked instead, “You and Dagan good now?”
Something dark flashed in those pale brown eyes, an emotion Blaéz couldn’t quite decipher. Hell, the warriors all had personal demons they’d tried to shut off after their escape from Tartarus—he, more than anyone, knew that.
Týr didn’t respond as the waitress with the hip-tilt reappeared. She set his bottled water in front of him. “Thanks.” He dropped a ten on the table, then opened the frosty bottle and swallowed some. Finally, the snail-moving waitress trudged off.
“Yeah, we talked…” He plucked at the damp label on the bottle. “Dag and I. We’re finally back on par. Yeah…we’re good.”
Yes, both warriors seemed more at ease these days. However, neither Dagan nor Týr had volunteered any information regarding what had caused the rift between them. Blaéz didn’t ask.
