Chapter 1
The castle pulsatedas if happiness exploded through it.
Flowers were everywhere. Even the windowsills of the back stairwell hadn’t escaped the intruders.
Týr tugged off the tie constricting his windpipe as he jogged up the narrow steps to the second level, nearly knocking the purple and white joys of nature spilling from the vases to the floor. Hell, a person could suffocate from all the gaiety floating around. The things he endured for his fellow Guardians.
Blaéz and Darci had tied the knot earlier that evening. Sure, he was happy for them, but all this cheeriness abraded his psyche like sandpaper. Two minutes tops, and he was outta here.
Sounds of footsteps. Dagan’s low voice drifted to him. “You’re heading out on patrol?”
Damn. His escape hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Yeah.” Týr didn’t look back, just continued upward.
“This event’s certainly been an eye-opener.”
More convo he didn’t want. Especially of this sort. “Why? You gonna follow soon? Not sure of your mate yet?”
Dagan snorted. “We’re fine.”
The male knew him well enough not to rise to his baiting. Týr was grateful that they’d finally put aside the eons-old cold silence between them, but he wasn’t in the mood for chit-chat. The tension in him grew, stirring the raucous rustling in his skull—a harbinger of a time he didn’t want to remember. As if he could ever escape those memories.
Tie dangling from his fist, he strode down the softly lit corridor to his quarters and shut the door behind him. The oppressive stillness of the darkened room grated on him, as did all the love in the air downstairs. With his mind, he flipped on the music system in the living room, and the thumping sounds of Metallica reverberated against the wall, crashing into his head.
Since his heightened senses made everything clear as fuck, he didn’t bother with the lights and made his way to the door past the huge fireplace.
In his gloomy dressing room, he flung the tie on the dresser, the tuxedo he’d worn as best man following seconds later. Exhaling deeply, Týr rubbed his face, his palms brushing his jaw. He grimaced at the sharp sting of the arc-shaped wound there. Two days, and it still hadn’t healed. Fury slid through him, dark and deadly. The asshole who’d dared mark him had hidden under cover of night like a fucking coward. But Týr was patient. No enemy escaped him for long. Ever.
He opened the closet running the length of the wall, got out his leathers, a black Henley, and boots. Back in the familiar comfort of his patrolling gear, biker jacket in hand, he switched off the music and headed out. His footsteps thudded on the marble floors of the elegant corridor, dotted sporadically by old suits of armor and priceless paintings on the cream walls.
Yo, Norse, you heading out on patrol?Aethan mind-linked with him.
Yeah.
You with Ely tonight?
Damn, Týr’d forgotten about their newest Guardian recruit and his babysitting duties. He’d have to put tracking the shadowy bastard on the backburner for tonight. Might as well get in his turn.Sure.
As he rounded the balustrade to the main stairs, he easily picked up on the chatter and laughter from the guests lingering in the rec room on the ground level where the reception had taken place.
Hell, the wedding was over. They should all go home.
A light, familiar fragrance drifted to him, and he slowed, his stomach twitching. In the last couple of days, the scent had enclosed him like a net, as if trapping him in a sun-drenched meadow.
Hers. A precursor to happiness.
The female appeared immersed in the sentiment, dragging joy with her wherever she went. Even his fury at his stalker subdued a little.
Another reason he had to get outta here, back to the alleyways where danger trawled in the shadows. He needed to find his normal again—far more preferable.
“Hedori, please, I need to leave.”
“I wish I could help you, Kira, but it’s impossible right now.”
Yep, their butler, all-round handyman, and sometimes mates’ bodyguard, possessed a helluva lot of patience. If it were him, he’d tell her to chill. There’d been a wedding, an unprecedented event at the castle, and Hedori had things to oversee.
“Pleeease,Heds,” she wheedled. “It’s urgent.”
Týr snorted. Feminine wiles, the most dangerous weapon of all. He’d found that out in the hardest possible way a long time ago.
