Ignoring his crypt-keepers, Týr dropped onto the mattress. Hedori entered, a tray in his hand. He set the platter on the nightstand and uncovered the meal. “It’s good to see you about again, sire.”
Týr nodded and grabbed a thick sandwich made exactly the way he liked with layers of shredded beef, pickles, and mustard. He took a bite. Hell, he bit back a groan of utter pleasure and ate quickly. He was starving. Using his powers to their fullest extent after so long had drained him.
“What happened?” Aethan leaned forward, forearms braced on his thighs.
Týr demolished the rest of his sandwich, then selected the Red Bull instead of the soda. He popped the tab and swallowed some of the energy drink. “Ask Nik. He said to fight him,” he deflected.
Tell them about the anger burning in his gut since he’d encountered those eerie amber eyes stalking him in the darkness? Or the memories of his damn imprisonment in Tartarus? Or maybe the fact that he had to break a promise he’d made to their Oracle since he was more of a threat to Kira than his shadowy nemesis was to him. Yeah, right.
He couldn’t protect anyone, could he?
Not his best friend’s sister, Inara, and certainly not Jora. So, how could Kira ever be safe with him?
Hell, he didn’t want anything to happen to the little she-devil. She was the only bright light in his hollow existence ever since she’d stepped into it a year ago, and one he savored even if he could do nothing about it.
“He fought like I was the enemy, which is great,” Nik drawled. “But I draw the line at being killed while training. He went off like a detonating geyser. Scary for sure, but an astounding sight regardless.”
“We sensed an anomaly down in the arena,” Dagan explained. “And then found you burning like a firestorm.”
His hunger evaporating, Týr set his can down on the tray.
“No one else could touch you without doing damage to themselves,” Nik added. “I iced you over and moved you here before the females got wind of what was about and investigated. I’m sure you didn’t want the attention, considering you were buck-ass naked by then. Why did you lose control of your powers anyway?”
Týr ignored him, his gaze fixed on the large pool of water where he’d been detained with Nik’s icy fetters. His edginess back in spades, Týr shot to his feet and paced to the door, tunneling his fingers through his damp hair. With guilt eating at him, knowing they only wanted to help, he snapped, “I don’t fucking know, ‘kay?”
“No matter…” Nik flicked another card onto the bed, piling it on the others. “You did give us quite the show, worthy of a YouTube encore, watching your clothes melt off and revealing all your worldly goods… Not my thing, but whatever floats your boat.”
Asshole. But Týr appreciated the try for levity.
These males that he’d fought alongside against evil and any adversity through the millennia were worried about him. But he never felt more isolated, trapped in his guilt, anger, and need for vengeance.
Dagan folded his arms over his chest. “Did anything unusual occur during the time you were away from the castle after the reception?”
Týr breathed in roughly, the walls closing in on him as questions flew. Ones he could never, ever answer. He had to get out before he lost his shit again. “Look, when I find the answers, you’ll be the first to know. I gotta go get changed.”
Re-hitching his sliding towel, he stumbled out—grateful that his legs held him upright—and took the elevator to the second floor. The landing appeared disturbingly silent. It would be when everyone hounding his ass was still in the windowless chamber.
In his quarters, he shut the door and leaned against the wooden panel, music vibrating against the walls. Damn, he’d forgotten about that. He flipped off the system with a thought and shut his eyes. Dead quiet swept over him, but his head remained too crowded with thoughts of everything that had occurred since last evening.
A knock sounded on the wood.
Ignoring it, Týr stalked out from the small entrance hall and headed for his bedroom, not interested in talking to anyone. They’d only be here to bust his balls again.
The door opened. Gritting back a snarl, Týr pivoted.
Michael lifted a brow and entered, along with the long-haired, overweight feline who ruled the castle.
If the Arc were here to chew off his ass for losing control of his ability, then there was no avoiding this shit.
Týr retreated into the bedroom as the door shut. Bob waddle-stalked past him, tail high, then clambered onto the chaise lounge near the window and flopped down like a shaggy, soot-colored rug with a heavy orange ruff. How the cat pulled that girth up to the sofa, Týr had no idea.
He faced his leader. “You want to know what the hell happened, too? I have no damn clue, okay?”
“Yeah, figured with that attitude,” Michael countered, stopping near the cat, who appeared settled in for this debacle. “But I’m more interested in the wound on your jaw and why the hell it isn’t healing. Are you marked?”
He freakin’ hoped so. He wanted the scum to find him so he could end the fucker. Týr shrugged. “Probably got hit by one of the damn demonii horde I took on that night,” he evaded. “I sure wasn’t paying attention to any injury back then. Maybe I just need more of the Oracle’s miracle ointment.”
The shattered irises fixed on him made Týr feel as if Michael could see right through his falsehood. Truth was, he hadn’t bothered to treat it.
