“Yeah, you fall on your ass again, I’m not helping you.” Nik shoved the bathroom door open just as Aethan and Dagan walked into the chamber.
He couldn’t take this shit. “Would you all back the fuck off and give me a chance to get my dignity back?”
“Norse, you probably lost that as a lad,” Aethan drawled, raking back his blue hair, revealing the glint of tiny silver hoops in his earlobes. Like fucking shadows, the warriors followed him into the godsdamn bathroom.
Inside the blinding white space, Nik let him go. Squinting, Týr stumbled into the large shower stall, palms slapping on the tiles for purchase. Icy water splattered down on him. He lowered his head and shut his eyes, inhaling a choppy breath, trying desperately to get his mind to calm.
“You okay?”
Through the rustle of water, his old friend’s quiet voice reached him.
Týr cut Dagan a sideways look. He stood in the cubicle, his hand still on the faucet, getting drenched right along with Týr, his yellow eyes bright with concern. No matter that they hadn’t spoken for millennia and had only recently buried the eons-old hatchet, Týr would never forgive himself for his part in Dagan’s sister’s disappearance, or the death of all her handmaidens under his care. It didn’t matter what Inara had done. She’d been a child.
“What happened? You went berserker,” Dagan said, tone low. Troubled.
Obviously, Dagan recognized that side of Týr since he’d encountered it a time or two when they both squired as lads at the Gates of the Gods. “You need…me, let me know.”
He could meditate just damn fine on his own.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. How about I have a shower?Alone? You can all rain shit on me once I’m done.”
“Yeah, that attitude won’t work, you obstinate bastard,” Aethan retorted.
Týr growled, his focus snapping over his shoulder to the warrior who remained on the other side of the glass stall. Aethan lips lifted in a terse smile. “Spill now, later, whenever. We’re here to stay. Like a bad damn rash, you get me?”
Týr then glared at Nik. “You got nothing to add?”
“Yeah. Everything they said,” he coolly countered and walked out of the bathroom.
Aethan and Dagan followed, the door finally shutting behind them.
Týr thumped his brow on the tiled wall in anger and frustration, grasping at the wispy memories. Snatches of images leaked into his mind…killing demons in the cemetery…asking Nik to watch over Kira…the fury riding him…pacing his bedroom, the voices in his head escalating…going to the training arena— Ah, fuck!
He’d lost control. Týr squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t blame the others for worrying that he’d gone berserker in the castle when they had their mates here. At least he’d possessed enough acuity from his fast-eroding sanity to lock himself in the arena when he grasped what was happening. He would never hurt anyone. Never again.
But with his torturous past jabbing his mind like a malevolent murder of crows, his pyrokinesis had broken free in his pain and rage and had taken over, consuming him, wanting to destroy the images in his head…and everything around him, apparently.
The irony didn’t escape him. As a Guardian, he’d saved millions of lives, yet he’d destroyed those he cared about. Thoughts he could never quite bolt down broke free, taking him back to his old pantheon and two of his childhood companions.
Jora and Narfi. They’d grown up together in the Norse pantheon and had become best friends. Until that fateful day…
If only he and Narfi hadn’t had that stupid fight, Jora would still be alive. She’d tried to separate them, but instead, she’d gotten caught in Týr’s fiery ability.
Narfi had tried desperately to douse the flames, but none could aid her.
Remorse staking him hard, Týr pounded his head on the wall again, pain ricocheting through his skull. Even now, Jora’s agonized screams reverberated in his mind as she caught ablaze.Týr, help me!
He couldn’t let it happen again. He just couldn’t.
Good thing he’d asked Nik to aid Kira. Right now, he was nothing but a landmine waiting to be stepped on. Even though everything inside him rebelled at his decision to stay away from her, his jaw ground down in absolute conviction.
The very thought of hurting her—of her dying because of him—had his mind shutting down. It was better this way.
A few minutes later, Týr stumbled out of the stall and leaned against a shelf as the last of his energy bade him goodbye. Damn. It took a minute or two before he could dredge up the strength to snag a towel from the pile there and make a half-assed attempt at drying his hair before giving up. He hitched the terrycloth around his hips and shuffled toward the bedroom.
The place glowed like the damn sun was trapped in there, all the lamps blazing.
Dagan leaned against the wall adjacent to the bed, while Nik reclined against the headboard, cards back in his hand. Aethan sat on the wooden chest next to the water jug.
